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olivinesea · 3 years

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Oooh fun! Okay, do you have any headcannons or thoughts on a dyslexic Hotch? I feel like I never see dyslexia with any characters really, and I like the idea of him with it. And if you do and you want to write something about it, a dyslexic Hotch with the team (and them being the supportive and protective family they are?) Thank you! ❤️

I hope you have fun, wherever/whatever you’re doing!!

I love this so much!! Thank you :) okay I don’t have much personal experience with dyslexia so hopefully I get this decently accurate. The biggest thing that surprised me when I was doing a quick search is that it isn’t actually a matter of reading words or letters backwards? It’s more an inability to connect letters to the appropriate sounds or to break words up into component parts; a general phonological awareness struggle.

So, as with many things, it seems to me to be a matter of slowing down, learning at your own pace. This ties in nicely with so many of my other Hotch thoughts, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Idk what this is, it’s neither headcanon nor proper story but hopefully it’s something like what you were looking for:

When he’s a kid he gets called a slow learner due to his undiagnosed dyslexia. It was much less common to get that kind of diagnosis back then in general and I am sure his dad would have hated the idea of his son needing any kind of extra help. So he’s slow to speak, slow to learn how to read, has difficulty with numbers, absolutely hates being called on to read out loud because it’s actual torture and the other kids have no hesitation about laughing at him. So he becomes withdrawn, labeled a “bad kid,” stops trying because, fuck it, he never gets any kind of support, who cares right? It’s always a fight at home, he starts hiding his work, lying about his grades. This works for awhile bc his parents are distracted by other things. His problems are much bigger than grades by the time they do notice.

However, while he hates school and the way people talk about him and his struggles, like he isn’t even there, he discovers that he doesn’t hate learning. There’s a small library in town where he found he could hide out, no one bothering him for hours if he just sat still for with a book open. He was good at sitting still, at being invisible. But eventually a librarian notices that he’s always got the same book open, some sort of technical manual, that he is rarely turning the pages. She asks him if he likes what he’s reading. He’s just alarmed to be spoken to, afraid that being noticed means he will soon no longer have this sanctuary. He nods and tries to bluff his way through but it’s obvious he hasn’t read it, despite having looked at it for weeks straight. The librarian doesn’t say anything outright, just lets him be for now.

Next time she sees him she brings him a different book, a collection of Grimms fairy tales. He wants to complain that it’s for little kids but is too nervous to refuse it. She asks if she can read him her favorite story from it. It’s dark and twisted and fantastical and he can’t help but be drawn in by it. He’s sad when she’s done reading, wants to hear it again, to capture all the details to replay to himself later. She shows him where it starts, encourages him to read it himself. He doesn’t look at her bc he doesn’t want her to see how upset he is by that, already frustrated by the anticipation that he won’t be able to get through it. But she stays with him, helping him where he gets stuck, asking him questions about the story, making sure it’s making sense to him.

They slowly work their way through the whole collection over the course of months. They spend days on each story, repeating it until he’s confident, she never makes him feel like he’s taking too long or wasting her time. Sometimes has to reread a section multiple times, gets hung up on the language rather than the story but it’s okay, she gives him a notebook to copy down parts that spin too loudly in his mind, saving them and also releasing him from their hold so he can move forward. She lets him keep the book, tells him it was too old to stay in circulation anyway, they had a new copy on order already. She’s the first person who was patient with him, that showed him he could do it, he just needed a little more time, a little more practice than other kids.

In college this is part of why he spends so much time at the library. Part of it is his natural inclination to overwork himself, push until he’s given more than he can in hopes that it might be almost enough. He knows he’s never been enough, why would that change just because he’s in a new place? But the other part is he simply needs more time to get through the coursework, to make it through the excessive amounts of reading he’s assigned. Some other students don’t even bother to read but he would never do that, he makes sure that he not only reads every chapter assigned but he reads it again, takes notes, highlights, annotates, does everything in his power to be prepared. Sure he might work himself to the point of exhaustion, to the point where he makes himself sick (though he’ll try to deny that too) but he’s never caught trying to read something while others wait for his answer, the letters and sounds meaningless, slipping away from him faster the more eyes he feels turn towards him, wondering what could be taking so long. No one ever gets the chance to laugh at him for being slow in college, he never allows them to see that side of him.

As an adult, the leader of the BAU, he’s too well respected for anyone to dare laugh at him but he still hates feeling unprepared. This ends up looking like long nights in the office, reviewing case files to the point of memorization, so that he won’t have to read any of it in front of his team. He can if he has to, he’s developed skills over the years, ways to calm the panic that only makes it harder, can fake it well enough that no one would really notice. Until one day, distracted by a migraine and the fallout of some fight with Haley, he gets stuck. He can’t remember something and he tries to read the sentence that has the information but the stupid word just won’t resolve into sounds that make sense and he just stops talking. He’s glaring at the form like it might catch fire. No one says anything for a moment while he tries to refocus, tries to work around echoes of laughter, decades long past but always ready to jump out at him if he lets his guard down, allows a mistake, a tired moment to derail the image of perfect competence that he’s built around himself. Penelope jumps in, finishing the thought, completing the list of traits shared by the victims. He forces himself to smile at her because he really is grateful, it wasn’t her fault. She scrunches her nose at him, dismissing his silent thanks with a toss of her head. It was nothing, everyone needs a little assist now and then.

No one brings it up and he doubles his efforts not to let anyone see. But he’s so tired on the plane coming back from a case, he’s been staring the same forms for an hour at least. He can feel his ears turning red with frustration. There’s really no reason he has to do this now but the fact that his mind is refusing, almost seems to be teasing him, makes him dig in harder. Emily sits down opposite him, pulling the folder away without asking. He’s about to say something sharp, something he’ll regret saying to her when he really means it for himself, but the expression on her face is so odd, smiling with a frown between her eyebrows. It isn’t pity, she respects him far too much, but there is curiosity and something else, something soft.

“Drink with me.” She slides him a glass and they don’t talk, just look out the window, look at the light playing off the ice in their glasses. He doesn’t see the file again until it appears on his desk, every form neatly filled out, the places needing his signature flagged. All but the last spot, where she’s signed his name eerily perfectly, difficult for even him to see that it’s not his own. Just so he knows she can if she wants to. Equal parts offer and threat.

Penelope and Reid start a book club. Derek joins right away. Emily rolls her eyes when she’s invited, muttering something about spending her free time on more work but they know she will join. Rossi flat out refuses to read the books but offers his house for meetings. Hotch hesitates, wanting to say yes but nervous to commit to an activity like that. He loves books, loves to talk about books. He doesn’t love a time limit on books.

The next time they have to drive to a case, Derek puts on a copy of the audiobook. It’s the first time they make it to a destination without any bickering from the backseat. They don’t get through the whole thing but later he finds a copy of the audiobook on his desk, complete with a disc player and headphones.

A different month, Reid tells him about how his mother always used to read him books and somehow finesses an offer to read to Hotch without him even realizing he’s accepted it. So Spencer comes in to Hotch’s office on lunch breaks occasionally and reads to him whatever the book of the month is. He loves it, remembering the first person who read to him, how shocked he’d been to be treated with patience, with understanding and wondering how he got so lucky to be surrounded by people like her, so ready to support him, wanting him there with them rather than off alone, uselessly fighting with himself to prove his self sufficiency over some uncooperative letters.

Okay, that was so much more than I was planning on but here we are. I hope you liked it and thank you SO much for the idea. If you ever have any others you want to share I am totally here for it. :)

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undignifiend · 4 years

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Theme Ramblings - On Evil, Honesty, Violence, and Better Ways to Rule Number Two (Local Windbag Spends All Night Pontificating Again)

I really like Trollhunters and Tales of Arcadia. I feel like it addresses important themes that I also want to address in my own writing, and I feel like that is part of what makes it an awesome world and story to explore, through the original stories, and through fanfiction. I find exploring ideas within an already established world is very helpful and therapeutic. So here are my current thoughts on some of those themes, which have also been informed by various other stories. Narrative is one of the ways through which we process the world. And one of my goals is to learn how to do that with clarity, practicality, and compassion. So here’s a bit of what I think I’ve learned so far.

Warnings: Talking about violence, with pain and trauma. Stay safe. Also, spoilers for Tales of Arcadia - Wizards, and for the film You Were Never Really Here.

+++++

‘Evil’ is not a word that holds a lot of weight with me, at least not the way I feel it’s commonly used, especially in stories. Some bully without any redeeming qualities beating someone up for a power trip is a common motif, but I don’t find it a compelling or useful model of how or why some people act shitty, or how to possibly fix it nonviolently. As something of a determinist, I don’t believe our decisions just pop out of a vacuum - rather, that they are informed by our experiences, which we react to in healthy or unhealthy ways depending on what we think we understand and what we want to protect.

Or at least I think that’s a nice idea, but I don’t know how practical it actually is. For instance, maybe there are actual people who are just idiots, cowards, or cruel and nothing more, and interacting with them in a good-faith manner is an entirely hopeless waste of our limited time - especially when those mofos are actively threatening people. “They’re complex people, too!” seems kind of irrelevant when they’re calling for killing those who disagree with them, for example.

Maybe I’m having trouble with this idea because I haven’t actually recognized such mind-numbing simplistic malice in anyone directly involved in my life. I’m starting to think I might be spoiled that way.

I also want to emphasize that I’m not even remotely claiming “Everyone is right in their own ways”. Some mofos out there are objectively incorrect. I’m currently convinced that we all think we’re right, but not that we all are. Or that even when we realize we’re wronging someone, we tend to spin narratives that twist the situation to make ourselves look better, or even like we’re “The Real Victims! D:” to justify and excuse something we may otherwise deem tragic.

What horrifies me (what I’ve witnessed) is when harm is done by people who think they’re doing the right thing, or that they’re justified, or that it’s normal. People who otherwise have potential to do good, making a selfish call out of fear, anger, apathy, a misplaced sense of righteousness, or even just a desperate and ill-advised attempt to feel seen or important. The ‘evil’ that scares me most is a loss of perspective that leads to (and justifies or excuses) tragedy. That loss of perspective, I also think, is a key part of what makes propaganda possible. Calling someone ‘evil’ is often intended to deface them and simplify them into a problem or obstacle to be rid of - no longer a complex individual, but a symbol of all that is wrong with the world - a bully or ‘monster’ without redeeming qualities. (Often represented as something “subhuman” that we supposedly don’t have to feel bad about killing.) An external threat to vanquish in favor of facing whatever horrible truth we’re running from, or what conditions led to people acting in these harmful, tragic ways. (And if we can understand those conditions, perhaps we can guard against them and hopefully even save some lives and change them for the better?) I think calling someone ‘evil’ is not only impractical (and useless when it comes to diagnosing why someone is behaving a certain way, or how to effectively either help them grow up or maybe at least help prevent them from causing more harm), I think it opens the door for otherwise good people to do horrific things, all the while avoiding the root of the problem, and calling themselves justified and heroic.

That’s part of why I’m so excited about Wizards. (Finally got to ToA!) I appreciated Arthur as an example of what’s familiar to me, and the kinds of thinking I want us to learn to recognize and avoid. His grief was relatable - we’ve all lost someone, and we all have people we want to protect. But it’s monumentally important that we don’t commit Arthur’s tragedy, and take our pain out on others. And it’s also important that we don’t dismiss the pain that others are struggling to cope with, as Arthur dismissed Morgana’s and the trolls’ when he called them evil. And part of why I genuinely like Arthur as a character (not just an antagonist) was that he came around and admitted that he was wrong, and wanted to repair the damage he did.

At least until his Green Knight chapter, the motivations of which I’m still unsure of. I’m not the sharpest crayon in the shed, but it seemed like a non sequitur to me... after a certain point. If you have some insight into what’s going on with him, I’m all ears. I’m a little worried I might just be projecting my issues again.

So far, here’s what I think I can glean: I relate to the lines “How can I be at peace when the world is still broken?” and “He awoke to a legacy of a violent and awful world.” I don’t want to get into the specifics of my own experiences, but I understand the horror of “waking up” to a horrifying reality, and the motivation to try to change it somehow. The all-consuming restlessness of it, and the inability to escape or reconcile it, and the constant, never-ending tension that slowly rips you apart and isolates you from everyone and poisons your faith in humanity because you’ve looked into the abyss so long you now recognize that it’s where you’ve lived all along. Because no matter what kind of new equilibrium you scramble for, the truth remains that terrible, unnecessary harm is being done, and will continue to be done (and justified and excused and even laughed at) by otherwise good people until we all die out - and that will be our legacy even as we continue to squawk empty platitudes about how intelligent and compassionate and special we are, and nothing makes any of that okay.

In my worst, most melodramatic moments, I even understand the ‘Let it all burn, if it can’t be saved’ mentality. But I don’t have a lot of patience for defeatism, so it’s not a mentality I can take seriously for long at all, and that’s where my understanding (if I may be so pretentious?) of the Green Knight stops. Because I know there are many others who have seen what I’ve seen and feel the same way I do, and believe that a better way is possible, however distant, and who have done loads more than I have to change it. And (perhaps more importantly) I know that even those who perpetuate some of the same harms I want to stop, and even crack jokes about it, are still good people who mean well, and have their own pains to cope with.

What I want is for us (and our heroes) to recognize when we are being dishonest or unfair, and to call ourselves out, even when it’s inconvenient (or when it feels impossible, like when we’re scared, angry, or hurt). I love and admire people who can face their feelings and uncertainties honestly, and I want to be like them, because I believe that’s the most important, constructive kind of courage there is, it’s part of growing into a stronger, kinder person, and this stupid world needs a lot more of that in it.

And I think the whole topic of Evil is connected to our fascination with violence, and those who are skilled at it. (Though I’m not here to say ‘Violence Bad’. I know it’s not that simple.) In some situations, no other method has a chance of saving you or those you want to protect, and if you find yourself in such a situation, it pays to be good at violence, and to have friends who are, too. The stakes are high, so it makes for great drama, and is prevalent in stories all over the world. This also makes it a rather dramatic delivery system for Justice - or the Retributive version, anyway. Retribution is visceral, and easily understood, and speaks to our instincts of promoting and preserving status (teaching others not to screw us over or They’ll Pay), and discouraging harmful behaviors by harming the perpetrators...

I consider myself a rehabilitationist. But I understand the draw of retribution. I really do. The vast majority of my intrusive thoughts revolve around it, in particularly violent manners. It’s not fun, and it doesn’t feel powerful, and it feels weird to me to see stories that portray it as powerful, rather than as a failure or a loss. I understand the emotional desire to punish someone who has hurt an innocent. But I also understand it to a degree that transcends its original feelings of righteousness, takes itself to eyebrow-raising extremes, and makes me sick. Retribution has been glorified all throughout our history, and it scratches a primal itch, and yes, sometimes it may be the only available answer in order to prevent further harm. (Rehabilitation requires far more resources than Retribution, often making it impractical or overly risky in contexts of scarcity. I think that’s a huge factor in why ideals like Law, Justice, and Decency break down in a lot of Post-Apocalyptic story environments. It’s not just that our sense of Order has collapsed, it’s that we no longer have the infrastructure to support the ideals that Order was established to protect - though I would Not say that our current “justice” system in the US is rehabilitative or even ethical, but that’s a whole other rant.) But beyond that, I don’t believe Retribution is practical or productive. I believe it’s tragically ironic, loses sight of context and systemic issues, lends false-credence to the idea that people are the way they are due to innate, immutable qualities rather than taking their environment and experiences into account, and as a result, opens the door for good people to, again, do and justify horrific things.

It’s a hard, brutal film to watch, but I recommend You Were Never Really Here. The violence in this film feels far more real than the violence I’ve seen in any other because they don’t dress it up, or make it flashy. It’s more like something you’d see in a hidden-camera documentary. And their honest treatment of it was a visceral reminder of what violence actually is.

It puts a gut-wrenching twist on the ‘revenge fantasy’ and what it actually means to watch someone suffer and die. Even someone who had it coming. There’s a painful empathy to this film in its treatment of the characters and all the rituals (harmful or not) they use to cope with the violence they in turn have suffered. And the climax of the film centers on the awful realization that, despite his efforts, the protagonist was unable to protect someone from violence, or having to inflict violence of her own - like him, she’s marked by it now, too. She absolutely did it in self-defense, but the fact that she had to do it is still tragic. She has to live and cope with it now, as he does. And in the final scene, there’s this hellish sense of separation between them as they are, and the comparatively bright, happy lives they might have lived if they had not had to go through such horrific experiences. It’s unstated, but there’s this intense feeling that they’re haunted. Like they can be near that bright, happy life, but never cross the veil to reach it, themselves. The film ends with the girl deciding to try and find some happiness anyway. (“It’s a beautiful day.”) It’s not a happy ending, but it’s a hopeful one. It’s not a Good Triumphs Over Evil story. It’s a painful confrontation with an awful reality, and the struggle to find a way to carry on somehow.

And that resonates. Because we all know to some degree or other what it’s like to confront something awful, something we can’t just deny or forget or reconcile, and to try to find some way to cope with it. That tension can be so painful that it’s understandable (but still not excusable) why people sometimes try to pin it all on a scapegoat - so they can take something insurmountable, and turn it into something they can fight and triumph over. It’s a form of processing our grief, but it’s unfair, dishonest, and harmful, and inflicts more grief on others.

Anyway, in this fanfic I’ve been puttering around on (and trying to explore these themes through), Jim tries to solve things non-violently (as he often tried to do in the show, which I really like). Someday/night, he might not have the option, or can’t see any other way out. He knows that he (or someone else) is being seen as an outlet for someone’s frustrations - they’re using him as a symbol to project their own problems and issues on - something external they can beat up and triumph over in place of something intangible.

If he’s going to fight this outlook, I think he has to understand it - on more than a theoretical level. He has to go there himself. Maybe he punches Steve after all. (Maybe in the 2nd draft - or maybe later in the current iteration.) And he hates it. He’s changed forever, but not the way he expected to be. He feels capable, and righteous, and he doesn’t regret standing up for Eli or himself, but he doesn’t feel good. Because even if it’s easier to just dismiss Steve as a bully, and even if it occurs to Jim to do that - and even if he can feel it viscerally for a moment, Jim isn’t going to lie to himself. He can still see what Steve is, past his own anger. Steve is lashing out because he feels wronged and powerless, and he’s acting like his dad because that’s who made him feel that way, and that’s who showed him how to deal with those same feelings. Steve is a kid trying to process what he’s been through. It’s easy to forget that when Steve is trying to beat Jim down - when Draal has been trying to beat him down, too - and he’s had enough of all these angry people twisting their ideas of him in their heads and taking their anger out on him. He fought back because he couldn’t see any other option for handling it, and Steve was not willing to give him one. But from this, Jim knows how it feels to be demonized (seen as a manifestation of someone’s problems, some enemy to vanquish). And it becomes monumentally important to him never to succumb to that way of thinking, himself.

He’s not a crusader. If he has to fight and hurt or kill someone, it’s not because he thinks they’re a manifestation of evil. It’s because he does not see any recourse in stopping them from hurting or killing others. To him, violence is a tragedy meant to prevent another tragedy. And whether that justifies it or not is a question he will have to carry.

A lot of the combat we see in media, I would classify as “action”, and not violence. The vast majority of the time, it’s a choreographed dance that’s fun to watch, full of cool stunts that look like they’d be fun to do. It’s more like competitive eye-candy than anything else.

It’s fun, and I like the idea of writing that, but only in the context of sparring, or play. I don’t even want to call those “fights” or make a distinction between those and a “real fight”, because fighting is violence, and I hope to write about violence as honestly as I can. That’s part of what I like and admire about a lot of Guillermo del Toro’s other works, too. It’s not a dance, and it’s not glorious*. It’s ugly, terrifying, and it hurts to watch, and it makes us worry for his characters all the more, because it forces us to acknowledge how vulnerable they really are.

*Or, glory as it’s often treated, I think. If there really is any glory to be had in real violence, I think it’s in the willingness to act in a crisis to protect others. Terror is notoriously paralyzing, so this is where the value of training comes in - as a kind of autopilot mode to fall back on, and suppress our panic in the moment. The emotional fallout and trembling will come after the crisis has passed, but in an emergency, not knowing what to do, and feeling helpless, can be one of the most devastating weapons against us.

Sparring and training can be a fun and exhilarating test of skill, where no one intends to maim or kill you. It’s completely different from fighting. In a fight, the goal is not to learn or grow or compete, the goal is to either kill someone, or hurt them so badly that they can’t try to hurt you (or anyone else) anymore (or enough to give you time to get away). It’s very stressful and often traumatizing. One wrong move will have lasting consequences, if you’re lucky enough to survive to put up with them. Even if you win, odds are, you’re going to get hurt - maybe permanently. It’s the visceral understanding that someone has decided to disassemble you, and the only way to stop them is to disassemble them first. It’s an ugly reminder of the components of our bodies, and how fragile they really are.

“There are better ways to finish a fight than punching someone in the face.”

I agree with this - there are better methods of conflict resolution, and we must use them. And I really like how Jim carried this forward in sparing Chompsky and Draal. But I also felt like Claire fundamentally failed to understand what she had witnessed (and maybe I’m the one who misunderstood). I just didn’t appreciate what I felt was a lecture from someone who didn’t get it. Not that I’d wish for her to get it - it’s a horrible position to be in. When someone is actively trying to hurt you, it’s hard as hell to remember those better ways, and there’s no guarantee that they would work - at this point, you have to get the attacker to stop quickly. Steve resisted all other attempts to defuse the situation, and I don’t think it’s fair to blame someone for fighting back.

“A hero is not he who is fearless, but he who is not stopped by it.”

But I’m also not going to put down someone who still seeks to defuse a situation, even despite the risks. That’s a huge gamble, and it requires a massive amount of courage and good faith in the other party, and it won’t always pay off. But when it works, I believe it can open up possibilities that might not otherwise exist, because to demonstrate good faith in someone is to demonstrate that you are Not The Enemy. I think Douxie demonstrated this marvelously with the Lady of the Lake in Wizards. He gave up the most powerful weapon he had - or what was left of it - to free Nimue rather than fight her when it looked like she was about to End everybody. Once he realized the truth of her situation, he took action to alleviate it - because he wasn’t going to beat up a prisoner, and he did not consider her imprisonment acceptable in the first place.

Jim is not a pacifist, in Trollhunters canon, or in the AU idea I’ve been messing with. He will fight to stop others from killing, and he might end up having to kill in the process if all other attempts fail. But (at least in this AU thing) he will see it as a tragic failure to bridge a gap. He refuses to succumb to the way of thinking that presents his opponents as evil, even if that would make it simpler for him to process their horrific actions. They’re living, complex beings, not symbols of everything wrong with the world. And often, the reason they’re trying to hurt others to begin with is because they have succumbed to that “seeing their opponents as evil” way of thinking, themselves. As Jim sees it in Building Bridges, that Lie is everyone’s greatest enemy. It’s part of what allows otherwise good people (like Arthur and Morgana) to do, justify, and condone horrific things.

He will fight if he must, but he will do his best to reach others first, to show them the truth, and try to find a way to effectively address whatever underlying pain is causing them to lash out. If Maria Edgeworth has a point about how “The human heart opens only to the heart that opens in return,” Jim will transcend “human” by taking the risk of opening his heart first (whether or not he also becomes a half-troll in this AU idea). I currently think that’s the most profound way to prove that “evil” view wrong.

This is not to say that he will do so incautiously. Jim takes his role as a protector seriously, and he will do what he must in service to that. But he sees potential in others, and values it. He’s not a saint, but he strives to be understanding and compassionate. And that’s damn hard work. It takes effort to be good, and to see the good in others, especially when you’re hurting.

#rambling thought-barf #theme talk #fanfiction notes

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years

Text

Decryption_Error: “Undefined^Behavior”

Summary: Refusing to give up, refusing to shatter the trust she had worked so hard to build, Y/N fights to get Elliot back; only, when she reaches out, she meets someone new.

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

Word Count: 6200

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel @alottanothing @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @moon-stars-soul @free-rami @ramimedley @hopplessdreamer @sweet-charmie @polarcrystall @hah0106 @clumsybookworm18 @diasimar @ramisgirl512 @aboutthatmelancholystorm

Warnings: Angst and believe it or not, SMUT

I hung up the phone and pushed my chair back from my desk, standing to stretch and shake away the agitations of the day and of my life. Lying for Elliot all week had my mind bouncing between irritation and a desperate, black sadness threatening to swallow me whole if I let myself get too close to it.

As I walked to the panel of windows in my office, I thought back to my conversation with Darlene. When Elliot missed work on Friday, I had texted her that evening to see when she could meet me. Leaning against the cool class of the window, a comforting chill creeping across my arm and my forehead, I was reminded of how she and I watched the people from the coffee shop window as we talked about her brother.

Darlene was not one to get out of bed until double-digits popped up on her alarm clock, so we agreed to meet at a coffee shop about a block from Lafayette and Broome at noon on Saturday.

My eyes swept over the muted beige walls and the dark wooden tables of the small, cozy seating area, and I saw she had snagged a corner stool at the high-table built to look out onto the street. I smiled as I took in her legs as they stretched out across the stool beside her, unapologetically taking up twice the space a person needed. My smile split into a grin as I saw the two extra-large coffees clearly purchased without her even bothering to take off her heart-shaped sunglasses.

Darlene let her legs flop to the underside of her stool as I approached. She spun to face the window, reaching up to slide her sunglasses to the top of her head while I shrugged out of my coat and sat down.

“Thanks for meeting me. And for caffeinating me,” I said as I took a cautious sip, cringing slightly as the scalding coffee washed over my tongue. I longed to guzzle it considering I had barely slept since the incident with Elliot.

Darlene looked over to give me a flicker of a smile as she twisted her coffee cup between her fingers, her apprehension palpable.

“No big. What’s up?”

I pressed my lips together as I took a breath to buy a moment as Darlene watched me from the corner of her eye.

“Have you talked to Elliot, uhm, since Thursday night?”

I glanced at Darlene’s profile as her big eyes watched the people on the sidewalk scurry by. For once, she was holding back.

“Don’t,” I pressed. “We know each other too well to start holding shit back now.”

Darlene huffed and swirled on her stool. She leaned back into the wall as she looked at me in that same searching way as Elliot, like a child deciding whether or not to reveal their secret for fear of being punished.

“I haven’t talked to him, okay?”

“You know what happened.”

Darlene fidgeted as she plucked at the tights she was wearing under a pair of a stone-washed denim shorts. “He wasn’t answering my texts so I went to see him last night. He was a dick. So I left. We didn’t really chat.”

I took another sip of coffee, formulating what to say next. Any conversation with either of the Aldersons had the potential to turn bad pretty fast. Darlene was always the easiest of the two to be straight with, but if she felt like she needed to protect her brother, I knew I wasn’t going to get very far.

Mostly, I didn’t want her to feel like she was making a choice: me or him. Darlene and I were both on the same side, whether she fully believed it or not.

“He wasn’t himself on Thursday night,” I stated, opting to avoid another question.

“That’s just it, Y/N. He is himself, right? Isn’t that what’s so fucked up about this whole thing?” Darlene pushed off from the wall and swiveled on her stool again, returning her gaze to the sidewalk. “And he wasn’t, like, the crazy version of himself. He was just . . . a dick. He gets like that sometimes, too.”

“We can all be dicks.”

“Duh. But this was different,” Darlene said, her voice quieting. “I interrupted him.”

A prickle of fear crept down my spine and I tightened my grip on my cup.

“Interrupted what?”

“He was writing a kernel rootkit. When he noticed me looking, that’s when he told me to get the fuck out.”

“And I’m sure you smiled politely and did as he asked,” I said with a huff of a laugh. “I’m guessing there’s no way to swing that it was work-related?”

Darlene chuckled darkly, “Maybe your ship’s gone to shit since you moved up to the big office?”

“Elliot was supposed to be working on new scripts to track WiFi vulnerabilities.”

“Definitely not what he was doing,” she said as exasperation tinged the edges of her words.

I turned away from Darlene’s profile. People were passing quickly by on the sidewalk, tucked into their coats to stop the early-spring wind that always seemed to hold the threat of rain. I watched as cars sat bumper to bumper, waiting for the light at the crosswalk to change.

The longer our silence wore on, the longer I watched such seemingly normal bits of life pass by, the louder my mind repeated the names of the people who had been hacked at my company and at Dad’s.

Colin. Bill. Kurt.

The other anonymous hacks flashed through my mind, the ones I couldn’t assign a name to, and I wondered, really wondered if Elliot was responsible.

Don’t be crazy.

Elliot and I were together more than we were apart up until a few weeks ago. What could Elliot have even gained from those hacks? They had nothing to do with E Corp, which was the only hack I was really worried about him committing: a vengeance hack.

“This is such a mess,” I forced myself to say to distract my thoughts before they could spiral. “I need to see him.”

“Give him space. It can be awhile before he’s normal again.”

“He missed work, Darlene. I . . .”

“What?” she said, turning her light blue eyes to my face.

“I lied. Said he had a death in the family.”

“Fuck!” Darlene said too loudly, making me jump and drawing the eyes of other patrons.

“Jesus,” I hissed, “What’s wrong?”

“I fucking hate this!” she said, her voice low again. “We were hanging out more. Having fun. He was . . . happy. I was happy. Things felt normal for fucking once and here we fucking go again. I can’t keep doing this shit.”

My lips turned down in a frown of compassion. Sometimes I forgot how young Darlene really was.

“You aren’t his keeper, Darlene. He should be taking care of you. Actually, you should be taking care of each other.”

She made a little huff of derision.

“Yeah fucking right.”

“I’m serious. You need to prioritize your own well-being.”

“He’s all I have, Y/N. He’s all I’ve ever had,” Darlene said sadly, then with irritation, “But I’m sick of his fucking shit.”

“I wanted to talk to you today because I’m not giving up on him without a damn good fight. I promised you that.”

Darlene took a big gulp of her coffee and without turning to look at me, she linked her arm in mine as it sat on the tabletop and leaned into me, resting her head on my upper arm.

I sighed, “Let me take care of him this time,” and tilted my head so it was resting on top of hers, the slight warmth radiating out to my cheek.

We sat like that for a long time as I reminded myself that all Elliot needed was one more reason to close himself off forever. I started our relationship knowing he had an inability to trust people, an inability to even like people. It was clear he had never let someone in this far before and the appearance of this other told me I was right.

We watched the people outside, feeling like we were actually the outsiders, looking in on something we couldn’t understand. As I breathed in her scent, oddly similar to Elliot’s, I realized that Darlene hadn’t let anyone in this far either, not in a long, long time.

* * * * *

I pushed back from my office window and rubbed at the cool spot on my arm, nibbling at my lower lip as I thought about how I took Darlene’s advice and gave Elliot space.

Except that under the guise of giving him space, I was actually scratching a very selfish itch.

My parents had kept their apartment uptown as they transitioned to permanently living in Greenwich, deciding that it was more convenient to keep it while Dad still sat on the board. Their apartment was close to a library that was open late into the evenings because of the slew of after-school programs it ran for kids with nowhere else to go. So, instead of going home to my empty apartment, I took the 4 uptown and spent most of the evening diving through psychiatric volumes on disorders that fit Elliot’s symptoms. I was smart enough not to so much as google anything slightly related to Elliot’s possible condition; I didn’t trust that he wasn’t keeping tabs on me in the best, safest way he knew how.

I started with the list Jill had ticked off months ago, and after eliminating anxiety and most stress disorders, I was left straddling dissociative identity disorder and schizophrenia.

After spending so much time with Elliot, I couldn’t recall any instances when he seemed to hear or see things that weren’t there. I couldn’t even really recall him being flat or withdrawn, something schizophrenics tended to be as a result of everything that was going on in their minds. Elliot was almost always happy, or at least content and relaxed, when he was with me; if he was distant, it was because he was sad and it almost always had to do with him believing I was unhappy or upset with him.

I also hadn’t noticed any episodes of him losing time aside from the server room incident and Jared’s smashed nose, which both surely qualified as being traumatic enough to trigger a flashback.

According to my research, traumatic experiences didn’t trigger schizophrenia—that was DID. And what I witnessed on the Fourth and on Thursday was someone protecting Elliot. The more I pushed about the cause of his changes or outbursts, the angrier that protective personality got.

Both disorders scared me because I knew neither one could be addressed without psychiatric care. Schizophrenia, at least, could be managed with medication, but DID was a developmental disorder with no medication available to treat it, psychotherapy and behavioral modification being the most practiced options.

After nearly a week had passed with no word from Elliot, I texted Jill. I was armed with my research and ready to seek a medical opinion. Being a PA in an ER had exposed her to a lot of patients with mental health issues. If anyone could discreetly give me some more information, it would be her.

I finally walked away from the window and back to my desk, settling in to answer the cache of emails that never seem to stop growing. I glanced at the clock on my computer five times before I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to focus on work until I needed to leave.

I kept all my texts ambiguous, no longer trusting in Elliot’s promise to ask, not hack. My message to Jill was lighthearted, a simple, friendly check-in since I hadn’t seen her much since Christmas.

It was just after 7 when I popped into the hospital cafeteria, my eyes catching the wave of Jill’s hand as I scanned the room.

“Hey, babe! It’s been a minute!”

“A long, long minute,” I said as I sat down in front of her, twisting to hang my tote off the back of my chair.

“What happened?” Jill asked, as she bit into her sandwich wrap.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Weren’t things literally rosy on Valentine’s Day?” she asked, her words slightly muffled as she chewed.

“Yeah,” I sighed, “Things were.”

I stopped and bit my lip, surprised by the tears that filled my eyes. Sometimes friends could bring out your vulnerabilities just because you knew they loved you without condition.

Jill put her wrap down and waited, her face soft, compassionate. It was no wonder she was so damn good at taking care of people.

“I guess … we just stopped communicating. And it built into this weird tension.”

I knew I had to be careful—I trusted Jill, but there was no way I could tell her, or anyone, about E Corp.

“Do you remember the night you met Elliot?” I asked in a rush.

“Hard to forget. Handsome and wounded. Rescued by the one person who’s always trying to save everyone from their worst selves.”

I smiled, a quick upturn of my lips to show my appreciation for her assessment of me.

“You have no idea just how wounded, Jill.”

I took a deep breath and recounted what happened in my apartment a week ago with as much detail as I could. My eyes were fixed on her sandwich as I fought to maintain an even tone.

When I finally lifted my eyes, to meet her serious gaze, I continued, “And he—whoever he is … was—that was the last I saw of him. I’ve tried calling, texting, emailing. And I tried from work, too. I had to lie to HR today so I know I’ve got to go see him. I can’t just let him fall into the void, but I need to know—what the fuck was that?”

“Shit, Y/N,” Jill breathed.

“Any ideas? I know you’re not a psychiatrist, but you see a lot of people in a day.”

“You said it was like he wasn’t himself? Like he was a completely different person?”

“Yes.”

“Did his voice change pitch?”

“No … but the intonation was different. The words he used were different. It wasn’t like Elliot at all.”

“Was he Elliot when you first got home—like for sure?”

I thought for a moment and nodded yes.

“Did anything happen, even something seemingly normal before he changed?”

“What do you mean?

“Well, like a tic. A neck crack, a twitch, body tensing, fluttering eyelids—even a prolonged blink.”

“Yeees,” I said slowly, then excitedly, “Yes! His eyelids fluttered and … and it seemed like he was withdrawing into himself.”

Jill was quiet, her brows furrowed as she thought. With an even voice, one that I recognized as her doctor-voice, she said, “I really think it’s dissociative identity disorder.”

“I do, too,” I replied with a sigh of relief. “I’ve been researching.”

“Unsurprising,” Jill said with a small smile.

“What do I do? Do I tell him—”

“No,” Jill answered quickly. “He needs to see a psychiatrist. DID is an incredibly complex disorder. People who have it spend a lot of time pretending to be normal, and there are parts of Elliot that may believe they are perfectly normal—maybe not normal, but at least in control. It’s all a part of the system’s coping mechanisms. If DID was easy to detect, it wouldn’t serve its purpose of protecting the core from their trauma.”

“So my research was right—DID is the result of severe trauma.”

“Severe, yes. Also, prolonged emotional, physical, or sexual abuse. Because DID usually begins in childhood, most cases involve parental neglect. A child is rarely able to cope with any sort of abuse on their own, so without a parental protector, the mind copes with that abuse anyway it can.”

“From what Elliot’s sister told me, neglect only begins to describe what their mother did to them.”

“Y/N. You can’t fix everyone who needs fixing.”

“You sound like Franco.”

Jill sighed, a smirk turning up the corners of her lips.

“I just want you to be careful. You absolutely cannot handle this on your own. Elliot needs professional help.”

“Can he—” I struggled to ask the one thing that scared me the most, the one thing never clearly answered in my research, “Can he ever get better?”

Jill frowned, “There’s no definitive answer. Some psychologists believe that if the alters can be integrated, a person with DID can live a normal life. But that doesn’t mean it’s a cure. A person with DID will always run the risk of dissociating. And if more trauma occurs, more alters may be created. It’s—complicated.”

“I never really knew there was anything wrong until Elliot was triggered. What if he’s not triggered anymore?”

“Well, that’s part of the most effective treatment. He needs to explore his triggers, learn his trauma, and heal. It’s years of therapy,” Jill said as she reached out and squeezed my arm.

“I love him.”

Jill finally smiled, “I know you do. And he loves you. I have no doubt about that, babe. But you have to realize there are no guarantees with this disorder. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“He’s worth the risk.”

I was already resigned to fight for Elliot. Every bit of our relationship was one step forward, two steps back, so it came as no surprise that with a leap forward, it was time to damn near fall back off a cliff.

* * * * *

Later that evening, close to 10, I used my key to let myself into Elliot’s apartment.

I was unsurprised to find it empty but surprised to find it in the same state of mess it had been over Memorial Day weekend: Dishes in the sink, unmade bed, clothes scattered, an ashtray near the window almost overflowing, and the trash full.

I took a step toward the garbage bin and realized that it was full of packaging materials and old computer parts.

Why the hell did he need to do a complete scrub?

I walked over to his computer desk and realized everything was new—tower, monitors, all of it had to have been purchased since the last time I had spent the night.

My mind again flashed to the hacks, and there was a gnawing in my stomach that I knew I couldn’t dismiss. Maybe Elliot wasn’t capable of such destruction and manipulation, but whoever he was when he wasn’t Elliot sure as hell might be.

With a sigh of mental exhaustion and because I had no idea how long I’d need to wait, I started fusspotting. I made Elliot’s bed, or at least I started to. As soon as I caught that sweet, citrusy scent of his shampoo mixed in with stale cigarette smoke, I spent the next few minutes sobbing into his pillow. He was broken and I was helpless to put him back together.

But I wasn’t helpless to pull myself together, so I sat up, scrubbed the tears off my cheeks and after a hearty sniff, I finished making his bed.

I glanced at his computer again, and felt a strong pull, like when high tide is coming in and the ocean’s waves are crashing and pulling with a ferocity. I could feel the water rushing past me, sucking me into the abyss.

I took another step toward his desk, my fingers twitching at my sides. I glanced at the door to his apartment before I slid my hand over the cool wood of the back of the chair.

My mind was at war.

Elliot hacked me.

Because he didn’t trust me yet.

He hacked my ex-boyfriends.

Because he didn’t trust himself.

He hurt me.

I withheld information about his own father.

Elliot loves me.

And I love him.

I backed away from the desk, swallowing thickly, my heart beating fast. I ran a shaky hand through my hair as I made my way into the kitchen and flung open the cupboard where Elliot kept his dish soap. I filled the sink with scalding water and concentrated on getting the few dishes in the sink commercial-clean.

I cleared the counter of the few take out containers that let me know he had at least eaten something this past week, and I stuffed them into the already full trash. I took the trash out to the dumpster alongside the building, and returned to the apartment, still empty.

I looked around for Elliot’s weed box and contemplated smoking up, but there was nothing inside. He was either too busy to refill or he was smoking that much now.

I scrolled through my phone, blindly reading a few work emails before I stopped and pulled up my messages. I stared at the screen, Elliot’s name already typed, a stupid black heart beside his name which felt achingly symbolic now. I had thought it was funny once—my dark little soul in his dark jeans with his dark hair.

I typed a message telling him I was waiting at his place but I deleted it, realizing that if I spooked him, I had no idea when I’d get another chance to talk to him.

Tossing my phone on his worn couch, I stood up and began pacing. After several laps, I pulled a book off the shelf and settled on Elliot’s mattress to read, my nervous energy slowly giving way to tiredness as the night wore into morning.

My head snapped up when I heard the keys in the lock; it was 2:30 in the morning when he finally came home, backpack on, hood up, my little black heart finally in front of me for the first time in a week.

He started to shrug out of his backpack as he walked further into the room, but he noticed me as I shifted on his bed, my feet sliding off the mattress to ground myself on the floor.

He froze.

His eyes were wide, staring at me like this was the first time he had ever seen me. Then they started to dart all around his apartment. I could see the panic settle across his features, and I tossed the book off my lap as I stood.

“Where the hell have you been?” I said with an anger that startled us both.

Elliot’s eyes washed over my face in a wave of apprehension, but he remained silent, his eyes moving away from my gaze to focus on the book I had dropped on the bed.

The longer he was silent, the more agitated I got. I knew what was going on wasn’t his fault, but it wasn’t fair he got a pass for walking out on me, consciously or not, I really didn’t care at the moment.

“I lied for you, Elliot. First Ali, then HR. I told them your mother died because you’ve been gone for a fucking week.”

His head snapped up and he fixed his eyes on me for a few seconds before reverting them to the floor. He shrugged the rest of the way out of his backpack, tossing it beside the kitchen table. He glanced up again, his gaze traveling slowly up my face to look at me once more, his eyes a stormy hue as they peered at me from beneath his hood.

Still, he said nothing.

“Well? Where have you been?”

He took a deep breath, his mouth hanging open just a bit as he pulled his hood down and subconsciously fixed his hair.

I froze, my own face twisting into confusion.

There was something different about his movements.

This Elliot was slower, more deliberate, as if he were carrying on a conversation inside of his head before he decided to do anything, even blink.

“You know what—fine,” I said quietly, my mind swirling with a confused anger that I was now using to build a barrier between us. “You win. Everything is always on your terms. Fuck you, Elliot.”

His eyes snapped to mine as I took a few bold steps forward, determined to brush past him and get the fuck out of his apartment.

But he closed the distance between us, moving more swiftly than he had since he walked in the door. He grabbed my shoulders and stilled me. My eyes were burning into his as his searched my face, as he looked at me as if maybe he’d never seen me clearly before.

“How could you do this to us?” I asked, my voice a choked whisper, my eyes bouncing between his as I prayed to whatever god that was listening that he would finally answer me.

“Us?” he questioned in a gruff voice, his brows drawn and his eyes still the dark grey of a sky before a storm, still searching.

“Us,” I repeated, my voice barely audible.

His eyes bore into mine, contemplating, struggling to understand, then suddenly he closed what distance was left between us and kissed me.

When my lips parted with a soft oh of surprise, he pushed his tongue into my mouth as his fingers dug into my shoulders, steadying me.

My mind raced.

Elliot didn’t kiss like this.

Elliot didn’t move like this.

Elliot didn’t burn like this.

I pushed him back and stared at him, wondering if he was the same as he’d been in my apartment, but there was no iciness in his gaze, no boldness: only an unabashed want, a need. He seemed . . . more Elliot than not.

And I missed him.

I stepped closer to him, my hands shaky as they reached up to cradle the back of his head and the side of his face.

“Is this—is this okay?” he asked, his voice thick with lack of use, as one of his hands circled my waist and flattened against the small of my back while the other moved to tangle in my hair.

“I’ve missed you,” I said in answer, leaning in to kiss him, to get lost in this not-quite-Elliot.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself. Looking back, I should have known in that moment that if I was too weak to resist him, I was going to be powerless when he needed me to stop him—when he needed me to protect him from this part of himself, a part that would prove far more dangerous than his protector.

His hands were roaming over my body, grasping and kneading as we made quick work of each other’s clothes. He walked me back toward the bed, and I expected him to comment on the fact I made it, but he didn’t.

This Elliot didn’t care.

His hands found my shoulders and pushed me down, my breasts bouncing as they hit the mattress, but he was on top of me before my heart could even hammer out its next beat.

He stopped attacking my mouth long enough to pull back as he dragged his fingers over my body, pressing into my soft flesh and leaving little red lines that seemed to fascinate him until he bent to lick along wherever he left a trail.

His want was palpable, as if he had gone without human contact for far too long.

I tried to push him off so I could settle on top of him and slow things down, but he pushed back, clearly craving control.

His body was heavy on top of mine, pressing into me as he slid his hand between my legs, his fingers becoming slick with my arousal, especially once he pushed two of them inside of me, pumping once … twice, before he replaced his fingers with his cock.

I groaned as I yielded to him, my eyes slipping shut for a moment as I shuddered when he bottomed out.

His eyes were shut tight as he began to move in me, so I reached up and squeezed his shoulders before sliding my hands around the base of his neck, squeezing at his throat until his eyes shot open, his mouth parting in a long sigh of satisfaction.

I couldn’t read him at all as he looked at me, his eyes now making a solid argument for dark blue.

His eyes stayed locked on mine as he bucked his hips into me.

I moved my hands down to his chest, grasping at his pecs before he grabbed one of my wrists and squeezed, shifting as he pinned it above my head. He did the same to my other hand and I clutched onto the edge of the mattress since he didn’t have a headboard.

He stretched out over me, holding my hands in place as he fucked me.

“Control? Is that what you need?” I breathed out.

He said nothing, but he released my wrists and moved onto his haunches, pulling me with him.

Elliot did not have sex like this.

He grasped me around my rib cage as he pushed into me, fucking me slowly until his fingers crawled to the flesh of my breasts. He kneaded them, tweaking my hard nipples before he grasped onto the sides, pushing them together as he started to pound into me.

His fingers dug into the flesh of my tits as he picked up his pace and pounded into me, and I knew there would be tiny bruises in the morning. Air was escaping his mouth in breathy little pants, and still, he didn’t speak.

My fingers clenched around the edge of the mattress as I braced myself against him, wanting to take it all, wishing I could give it back—I wanted to consume his anger and his hurt, but I also wanted to feed him mine.

He pulled out of me with a hiss and scrambled to stand beside the bed. He held his hand out for me and when he yanked me to the edge of the mattress, he reached down and gathered a handful of my hair. He held me still as he pressed his cock against my lips, silently commanding me to open for him.

He was so quiet as he slid past my lips and onto my tongue; the only noises he emitted were sighs and low moans. He didn’t ask permission to come in my mouth and I added that to the list of reasons this was not-Elliot.

Not-Elliot, who watched with fascination as I swallowed every bitter drop he left in my mouth.

I barely had time to take a breath before I found myself pushed back on the mattress with his face between my legs. His lips immediately wrapped around my clit and sucked with fervor, demanding my orgasm instead of coaxing it. I tried to squirm away, the feeling too much, too soon, and when I firmly told him to stop, he did.

He looked up, his lips still glossy with my arousal, his face a twisted combination of confusion and frustration. It was clear a very strong part of him did not want to obey my request.

“Ease up. Please.”

He lowered his gaze slowly before he dipped his face back between my legs; this time, his tongue worked my clit and the little noises that escaped from his mouth made me impossibly wet.

I felt my orgasm building, my body desperate to clench around something, but he was either denying me intentionally or denying me because he didn’t know my body like Elliot did.

I had to settle for thrusting my hand into his hair and grinding up against his face as I came; he took it, burying his face against my heat as if he couldn’t get enough.

For only a moment, a hummingbird heartbeat, I relaxed into the mattress as my senses returned.

But before I even opened my eyes, he maneuvered my body onto all fours and was sliding into me with a long, low moan.

Elliot and I had a solid, satisfying sexual connection, but tonight, this part of himself was unleashed, like he had been caging some form of an animal-self.

We fucked for well over another hour and by the time he came again, this time while buried deep inside me, we were both spent, sweaty, bruised and scratched.

By the time I came out of the bathroom, he was asleep, passed out on his back, the sheet barely covering his body despite the chill that had crept into the apartment. I laid down and pulled the comforter up over both of us, keeping to myself on one side of his bed and wondering what the fuck just happened.

I didn’t want to fall asleep because I needed to be at work in a few hours, but I must have dozed off because I woke up to Elliot’s fingers ghosting over his handywork on my chest. When I opened my eyes, I startled him, his hand freezing along with his face.

With one long look into his eyes, I knew; whoever he was last night, was gone.

“If you want to keep your job, you’re going to have to come back to work on Monday.”

I knew he was listening, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the fingerprint bruises on my breasts. He swallowed thickly as his fingers brushed across a red scratch on my arm.

“You were a little rough last night.”

“I hurt you.”

“I let you.”

Elliot’s eyes filled with tears and he began to move away from me, his hand lifting off of my skin like it was poison.

“Do you remember last night? Or the past few days?”

He looked at me, helpless and hopeless, as a tear crested and slid down his face.

“You have to see someone, El. I can’t handle this on my own.”

He swiped at his eyes and at his cheek before he nodded in agreement.

“Come here,” I said softly, opening my arms so he could settle onto my chest.

I held him tightly, refusing to let him put anymore distance between us, and eventually, I felt his body shift and his arms circle around me.

“I—” he croaked and then tightened his grip.

“I’ll go. I’ll do whatever you want because I can’t lose you.”

“That’s the problem, El. You have to want to get better. Not because I want you to—but because you want to.”

“I want to be normal,” he said, his voice a desperate ache.

“At least I finally understand what that means,” I said with a dark, soft chuckle. “I fought you on it, but you’ve been right all along. You hurt so deeply. Until you stop hurting, you’re never going to feel normal.”

“Don’t—please don’t leave me.”

“I don’t want to leave you. But if you can’t stop hurting, you’re not going to stop hurting me. I can’t—I’m not a saint, Elliot. I get angry, depressed, and when you hurt me, it’s the scariest, most empty feeling I’ve ever had.”

I felt his tears start to spill onto my chest, hot and wet, and my own eyes welled up in response.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasped, his voice thick with tears.

“Oh, El,” I breathed, burying my face in his hair. “I love you.”

“I’ll go. I want to go,” he said with a determined desperation, his voice breaking its characteristic monotone.

“Okay,” I whispered into his hair, not bothering to hide the relief I felt.

* * * * *

Glassy-eyed and in yesterday’s clothes, I texted my secretary to let her know I was running late. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed, my exhaustion a malignance, settled deep, all the way to my bones.

But I had Elliot, my Elliot, back.

And more importantly, he knew he had a problem that was beyond his control and he was finally willing to face it. If we could just get through this next stage, I knew there wouldn’t be anything left that our relationship couldn’t weather.

I snagged a seat on the train and I leaned back, my body gently lurching from side to side as the train sped toward my apartment.

The clatter of the train and the quiet of the early-morning car permitted my mind to drift back to the Fourth of July, and I was assaulted by a deep sense of happiness, by a longing for a real future with Elliot.

I saw him, my little niece sitting on his lap, but slowly, Molly’s hair darkened and instead, there was a little boy, the spitting image of his beautiful father, sitting in Elliot’s lap. The little boy’s face was filled with awe as he watched the fireworks explode overhead.

This imagined Elliot turned to me and smiled with a picture-perfect grin of contentment.

Yes, I thought, my mind flirting with the edges of sleep, falling into a dreamy, dangerous state of half-consciousness, dangerous because my mind was too awake to ever forget the image I had just created.

Yes, I thought. It’s possible.

#Elliot Alderson #elliot alderson x reader #female reader #rami malek #mr robot #mr robot fanfiction #Elliot x reader #rami malek character

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wichols · 4 years

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Angst/Fluff Writing Prompt Fun Wrap Up!

Now that I have finally finished all the submitted prompts I thought it would be fun to do a cute little wrap up in case you might have missed any of the stories along the way, along with some background/thoughts/feels about each one! Duration May 13th - July 15th (that was longer than I expected but cool!) 1. Rain and Confessions (Kyoya X Haruhi WC: 1,662) Prompt: “And yet, you’re still not enough.” Summary: After her graduation from law school, Haruhi and Kyoya pack up her apartment in preparation of Haruhi moving back to Japan. Kyoya has been waiting years for this moment and he is going to let Haruhi know exactly how he feels about Haruhi and isn't going to let a little rain ruin his plans for them. AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: This prompt is a canon insecurity for Kyoya and so it was easy for me to write- considering I posted the prompt list on the 13th and uploaded it on the 14th. But also it was so hard to write because they are my OTP!! It pained me to make them suffer like this. To make Kyoya vulnerable is tough. To bring down his walls in front of someone is a struggle. Upon reading back through it I dare say there is a peep of inspiration from Pride and Prejudice (can you spot the hidden Mr. Darcy-like quote?). Favorite Line: “You say that you will do all these things out of your love for me but it is because of my love for you that I cannot accept your offer because you become less of who you are and more of the person you think I need.” 2. Public Masks for Private Matters (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 1,269) Prompt: “Being alone would be better than being married to you.”

Summary: Haruhi has finally reached her breaking point. After winning her career-defining case her world comes crashing down. Blame has been assigned and trust has been broken between Haruhi and Takashi.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: The TakaHaru ship is by far one of the hardest ships to use with angsty writing because of the nature of Takashi. The hurt he could inflict on Haruhi isn’t something so obvious like physical/mental/emotional abuse. I think in my mind that it is his lack of response is the most believable response to causing conflict between them- his inability/insecurity to say the right thing at the right time. At least that is what it would come off to others. Takashi is an introvert/observer. If he was experiencing emotional distress he would probably cave in and bottle things up, holding the burden alone. (Spoliers!!) The real secret behind this fic is that Takashi only ever told her the truth. Haruhi busted a major company for the terrible working conditions of their low income employees. A week after the close of the trial she was jumped by a group of people and was sent to the hospital. They had know she was pregnant for a short while and wanted to keep it a secret because of the high profile nature of the case- not even telling friends or family. They lost the baby and it broke them. To this day they still have not mentioned the loss of their child. So naturally they suffer alone, putting on masks for the public. I honestly thought about writing something more with this background information but it just seemed a little difficult to set up the scene. Favorite Line: “The love I held for you is what blinded me.“ 3. Cameras and Questions (Kyoya x Haruhi WC: 1,181) Prompt: An almost kiss Summary: Yet again Kyoya convinces Haruhi to be his date to another gala event. Haruhi asks a question that gets answered in the most unusual way. Is there more going on between a young no-name lawyer and one of Japan's Top 5 Eligible Bachelors than the public is aware? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: This was so fun to write! I love writing snarky Haruhi. I also love writing the back and forth between them. I mean they are my OTP I love the chase. XD I feel like they both can be very up front with each other but that they enjoy the subtleties of their conversations. I love the challenge between them, and how they push and test each other. I think in the beginning I didn’t quite know how to put them in a situation where there was an almost kiss, mostly because I still couldn’t get myself to fully commit to a fluffy piece of writing. But I think with what I did I could classify it as fluff defined by my standards (nobody died and everyone is happy). Favorite Line: “I don’t know any Ootori man to half-ass anything.” 4. Disgust and Devotion (Hikaru x Haruhi WC:1,083) Prompt: “Please don’t cry.” & “It’s three in the morning. What could you possibly want?” Summary: They said that it wouldn't work between them. Are their worlds so far apart that it is impossible? Hikaru is caught up in another scandal and Haruhi has reached her limit. Does she love him enough to stay or is she just too weak to leave? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: I think at this point in the prompts I still couldn’t get myself to write fluff and this ask was a fluff/angst mix with the two prompts provided. I do enjoy writing the HikaHaru ship even if there is not much out there. Originally when I was working on brainstorming ideas the end game was for them to have angry makeup sex. But I just couldn’t twist what I had in a way that would flow naturally with the base plot. I think I like writing Hikaru slightly drunk. It curves his temper and makes him more mellow. But he is still our impulsive little boy and he still has a ways to grow up. This wasn’t the first time that something like this has come up. Though both times he was not at fault (though in the original idea he totally did cheat one drunk night but couldn’t really remember). If anything the fluff is implied at the end.... Favorite Line: “The media can make it look like anything they want to with a well-timed photo.” 5. Love Over Reason (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 2,102) Prompt: “Are you blushing?” Summary: Loving someone is complicated. Sometimes we feel as though the ones we love deserve more than we can give. Does spending six months apart change Takashi and Haruhi's feelings for the better or for worse? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: There was about 5 days between this fic and Disgust and Devotion and I still couldn’t really bring myself to write straight fluff... But this turned into quite a piece. I think I was hitting a stride of coffee shop AUs and I just couldn’t help myself. Ever love someone so much you push them away because you think it will be better than dragging them through your mess? Well same. I think the fluff in this fic is subtle. They care so deeply for one another that they don’t want to hurt each other more. And just to be kind I added more fluff at the end. I’m not sure I really like how I used the prompt for this one but what’s posted is posted. Favorite Line: “All I have ever wanted from you is you.” - This line still gets me all sorts of choked up when I read it.

6. Brutality Mixed With Intimacy (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 1,455)

Prompt: 'Please don't cry' or 'You know I have feelings for you, right?'

Summary: After months of following dead ends, the Ouran Association finally has a solid lead to obtaining useful information on the ring leader of a major underground human trafficking organization in Japan. All other hits had gone to plan for Takashi but this one hit too close to home. With Haruhi as their next target, he couldn't handle the risk of possibly losing her.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: Cue the beginning evidence of my current obsession with Mafia AU’s... The mafia au is just the perfect setting for my dark angsty heart! I just couldn’t resist. Especially when fluff was so far down the list of things I still wanted to write. I won’t name names but a certain TakaHaru shipper threatened me that they were going to write a fix it fic so that Haruhi actually ended up with Takashi instead of Tamaki. And of course she would end up with Tamaki, he of all of them would have the least blood on his hands.

Favorite Line: “You were never going to make it to the drop off location.”

7. Fashion and Feelings (Hikaru x Haruhi WC: 2,691)

Prompt: “You know I have feelings for you right?”

Summary: After years of silently watching and pining for Haruhi from afar, Hikaru finally gets the courage to reveal his true feelings for her. With his new spring line debuting in a few short days Hikaru is going to lay his fashion reputation and love all on the line in hopes of having his feelings reciprocated.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: Finally, FINALLY, finally I was able to pull out just the most fluffy fluff I could write! Like it took everything I had to put no angst in this one at all. This prompt sat for weeks and weeks without progress. I didn’t have a clue with what I was going to do with it. Like, it laughed at me with it’s blank doc. I wanted this final prompt to be just fluff so I left it to sit until I finally had a spark of fluff. This can be read alone or as part of the back story for Disgust and Devotion.

Favorite Line: “Most people would be creeped out by someone other than a significant other who bought them lingerie.” Final Thoughts:

Shortest- Cameras and Questions Longest- Fashion and Feelings Combined Total Word Count: 11,443 Title Themes- I really wanted to give this round of prompts a slightly longer title theme. My favorite is probably Brutality Mixed With Intimacy but a close runner up is Public Masks for Private Matters.

Favorite- Fashion and Feelings Least Favorite- Love Over Reason Thanks to everyone who submitted requests! It is always a pleasure writing for you!

#OHSHC #ouran host club #ouran hshc #ouran high school host club #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh #Kyoya Ootori #hikaru hitachiin #takashi morinozuka #Takashi x Haruhi #Kyoya x Haruhi #Hikaru x Haruhi

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legacyofabsolutewalnuts · 4 years

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@swtorpadawan tagged me in this meme, and I am hella into it. This is my favourite musing bc swtor in the canon of star wars is fucking hilarious. On a side note, for anyone who does this and chose only one oc, but has thoughts about the others oh my god do and let me know. Im a snoopy bish give them all to me. In this case I’m going to try to keep it brief while covering my main four, Viticalia, Thomsyn, Belville and Montym. Partly bc I’ve been thinking about their dynamics for a joint Alliance Commander AU lately

This got really long, bc I couldn’t choose one, and Im a wordy bish, so I’ve put the actual answers under the cut, so as not to kill everyones dashes

What would your OC do if they were thrown through time and into Star Wars the Clone Wars:

1. Who would they fight for?

I think most of them would either end up going independent or siding with the Republic. Montym and Belville would actually be the most likely to commit to the Republic, they’re both two people who value loyalty and understand that sometimes things need to be changed from the inside out. Thomsyn I think would stay with the Republic, but may end up with the Grey Jedi. She isn’t inclined to this whole “just peacekeepers” deal and would want to take the fight to the Sith directly. Viticalia would be an independent, committing to neither except for who would pay her most, or just destroy the CIS and take her place at the top of it. She would not be willing to submit to being ordered around by Dooku, or lord forbid Grevious or Ventress, and she definitely wouldn’t appreciate Sidious being unwilling to step up on the frontline with his troops.

2. If not a force user, would they keep their job (Would a trooper still work for this new Republic and would an Agent be loyal to the Separatists?)?

Bel would probably make a play to join the SIS. And then immediately question how the SIS went from agents like Theron to seemingly having the capabilities of two people and paperclip. I’m just saying how did no one put any of the diddly dang dots together. He’d be the type to pull off an op and then basically drop it at the Jedi’s feet like “here, give me a job.” I’ll get into why he would go to the republic in a bit.

3. Who would they hate?

Vits would despise Dooku and Sidious. She would like Ventress but find her training considerably lacking. She understand some cunning, undercover work, and what it can do, that’s why she and Bel get along, but the lack of commitment to stand beside your men and fight with them is something she despises.

Thomsyn would have some problems with the way the Jedi, but she and Montym would both have a much bigger problem with Senate oversight. They’re both used to working with politicians, but the inability to work without that oversight would bother them. Neither of them think the Jedi are infallible, but they both have a big problem with the idea of needing politicians to greenlight things like humanitarian missions.

Bel would have a huge problem with the Jedi that he keeps under lock and key. Part of it would be due to Kothe. The other part is...well he’s seen what happens when Sith lead, he doesn’t really think the Jedi should be given military power for their ability with the Force either.

4. Who would they get along well with?

Bel would actually get along really well with GAR Specforces. I think he’d adjust pretty easily to them, and people like Skirata and Vau would be comfortingly familiar as Bel actually got along really well with Shae and Torian. And he would very much enjoy the troopers, he understands their mindset, and especially with the Commandos, they understand the importance of intel people like Bel are meant to provide. He’d also be all in to spar with the ARC’s, and hone his skills against theirs.

Montym would have had a romantic crush on Obi-Wan within five seconds of the man dramatically dropping his cape and that’s really all there is to it. He would also get along well with Senator Organa.

Like I said earlier, I think Vits would have liked Ventress, and probably tried to poach her as an apprentice in a damn second. Thomsyn I’m not really sure who she’d get along with best.

5. What would they think of the Jedi Order?

Viticalia has, and always will be fascinated by the Jedi in that sort of detached, research-esque way. Otherwise she doesn’t care about them much, although she does find it a bit amusing to watch some of them tout the ideals of the Republic as things go down hill. She at least never had any misconceptions about the Empire. Thomsyn and Montym sort of understand how the Jedi could have come under such heavy control of the Senate. They both would have hoped for better, but aren’t that surprised, not after Saresh.

Bel could not care less about the Jedi. Likes them well enough individually for the most part, but that’s his approach to any and all force users really.

6. What would they think of the “rule of 2” Sith?

Viticalia thinks its the stupidest thing ever. Probably starts taking on as many slightly sensitive people as she can and calls them her Apprentices just to piss off these new “Sith”. Really she’s just adopting herself a bunch of children, but it counts and that’s all she cares about.

7. What would they think of having a clone and droid army fighting instead of typical soldiers?

Bel understands what its like to be treated as less than a person. As an asset only. It’s still something he does to himself, thinking about himself as only an asset or a liability, which is a mindset Theron’s working on having him get rid of. So he would sympathize pretty heavily, which is part of why he’d go to the Republic. He’s turned the tide of a war and saved countless of his coworkers in the military before, he would try it again.

Viticalia and Thomsyn would have more practical issues with the idea a droid army. They aren’t creative, they can’t interpret, and they aren’t built for every situation. Thomsyn however would have a lot of problems on the legality of clones, whereas Vits is used to slavery and is prone to forgetting about how that works.

Montym thinks the whole idea on either side is terrible, for various reasons, but cannot stand that clones are not legal citizens but the Republic uses them anyhow.

8. If Republic - if they became a general in the army what would their relationship with their clones be like?

I think Montym would accept a position as a General, Thomsyn...maybe for a while. Montym is a little better with handling the cost of war, whereas Thomsyn counts on herself to keep everyone around her alive. I think they’d both be on good terms with their troopers, Montym would take a bit longer, he’s quiet and a bit...odd, but when he likes people he makes it clear. Thomsyn would get close to them quickly, and each death would hit her pretty hard.

9. If Imperial - what would they think of the complete lack of sith and excess of droids in the Separatist army?

Viticalia has soooo many problems about tradition with the way the Sith operate, but in particular thinks the CIS is...stupid. The idea of a civil war is fine, sure, but their execution is lacking. Bel thinks they’re stupid but also finds it very funny. Terrible tactics, questionable leadership, not a good spy in sight... but he also thinks the way the Republic has alienated so many of their own...well he’s seen it before with Imperial worlds, and after Saresh it isn’t surprising. He’s largely disillusioned and just wishes someone would learn from their mistakes already. Part of what would push him to join the Republic in this case would be that he values peoples lives a lot more than droids, and he hasn’t valued the Sith as leaders in a long time, so he has no reason to go to the CIS and as far as he’s concerned, Republics got the better chance.

10. Consider they were born in this era - where would they fit in Clone Wars canon?

This I’ve actually thought about this a bit. Thomsyn and Montym would be still pretty much the same, Jedi, although Thomsyn would not have joined the Grey Jedi in that AU as she would be more accustomed to what this Republic is like. Viticalia I would go with a Jedi who leaves the order eventually, simply because it would be really fun to explore a much more light-sided Vits. Bel’s a bit more difficult to place, in a society that doesn’t put as much importance on genetics and perfection, he would have the chance to do whatever he liked, which he didn’t in the Empire. In an au that follows his canon life a little better, he would probably join the SIS, but more likely as an anaylst or undercover agent, not as a sniper and agent.

Honestly time travel and born in that era, they’re def aus I’ve thought about writing

#tag meme #Viticalia Volcatius #Belville Abelard #Thomsyn #Montym #swtor #my ocs #swtor ocs #thank you for tagging me!#this was really fun #and I adore these au musings

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0x1ashtyn · 4 years

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A Letter For You...

I forgot my diary when I went to get coffee today so I'm going to type. I'm trying to be happy these days. Even when things are crashing and burning around me, I'm smiling. I keep telling myself the answers and solutions are in my hands.. hopefully this will manifest into being true (see, positive talk aha). But even though I'm okay most days and aren't brought down by my thoughts it doesn't mean they still don't run wild. I'm thinking a lot as my life is in a shifting period. I've moved to the big (expensive) city. I've slept on my friends' couch and finally found a place (I can't afford) after my first Christmas away from home. I've been looked down on and called manic or irresponsible and even stupid for doing this so spontaneously. I came here with no plan, no job, nothing. I packed a suitcase and left. I needed to run, I finally understood that feeling now. I always thought of moving to the city when I was growing up. My best friend and I would plan it together in media class when we were 15, but I always planned it as a plan, not an escape. Life happens, unexpected circumstances arise, pain comes and sometimes doesn't heal as easily as a bruise does, it’s much deeper than that. For me there was blood, a lot of blood, so much that the only thing that could stop it was a 3-hour plane ride. A whole new life, a rebirth without physically dying.

So here we are. Today I've decided to share my deepest thoughts and struggles of growing up in the 21st century with you. Welcome my 20's. Here's my story, I hope it can comfort you and feel like we are in this together and you can find strength to carry on too despite every reason to surrender in defeat. I also hope that when I fall, you fall, we all fall, we can come here. I know and I'm sure you know the feeling of falling onto the cement instead of someones arms after a hard day. I will be your arms, and if you don't feel any of that, that's okay, I'm happy enough to speak up for the ones of us who can't. So, mock me all you want, I will wear the embarrassment proudly.

Here's the part that we all dread on the first day of school whether it's out of anxiety or just pure annoyance of this stupid activity, I shall introduce myself. A name to the fallen words. I shall not run from the mistakes and dark parts inside my heart with you guys, my name is Lina. I'm 21 and I can now proudly say I live in Sydney, Australia. I'm finally in the place I've always wanted to be. Living the "girl goes to the big city and becomes everything she's always been destined for" dream. I've been here 3 months now. It's currently 11:02 on a Thursday morning. I'm jobless. I have no source of income and I made the actual reckless decision to rent a place I can't afford. But like, if not now? when? I don't regret coming here, I would rather struggle here then where I was. I am thought currently studying so hopefully I will be able to find my feet soon.

It might seem empty, my introduction, but that's the point. It's that whole blank canvas thing, this is my new start. I guess I could tell you my hobbies and things like that but it really is true the whole blank canvas thing. Along the way somehow my body turned to survival mode and I've forgotten how to live. I've forgotten something as simple as walking. How? Literally it's the only thing that is certain about why we are here. Life. Living. I've forgotten. I don't know how to have fun, like what to do and things like that yes, but even if I get myself up and somewhere to do things, I can't even enjoy it or I'm left there constantly checking in with myself trying to figure out if I'm having a good time or not because I'm in this constant defence mode to the world. I can't let my guard down; I can't let myself be hurt again. Nothing has ripped my heart out more than when I first saw happiness in the flesh only to see the flame burn out before I could feel it's warmth on my skin. I haven't seen it since. It makes me wonder if it was all just a dream. An illusion I made as a naïve little kid. This could sound dramatic but if you've had this feeling you understand the arm bar you keep up ever since at moment. Not completely shut off by the idea of life but not completely jumping at the idea of participating either. So yeah, I don't have fun. I can't remember the last time I genuinely enjoyed myself so much to create a memory for later. It's okay, I haven't had fun in a while and I'm still alive. You can't really miss what you haven't had right. plus, school takes a lot of energy for me. I'm up at 6am and back home by 7ish in the evening. This is enough to keep me busy.

This is actually what inspired me to write today. I now have 2-3 hours a day with myself to think thanks to these long train rides and overly deep and emotional Korean songs I listen to on my way to school. I want to cry a lot these days. No particular reason as to why, the urge just creeps up slowly throughout the day until it's taken complete control over me before I can even realise it. By then I don't have a choice. I just let the tears go. I'm very much well aware it's okay to just cry. My heart must feel heavy for reasons undiscovered yet. So, I will let my body try fight it off naturally in tears before it gets out of hand just like it would with the common winter cold. I'm also at this point where I sit in coffee shops and whisper conversations to myself.... this is totally not good. I even laugh at my own jokes.. THEY ARE EVEN FUNNY. Like why am I telling myself jokes in the first place ? It's kind of cute in a way I guess.... maybe not aha. I need friends. I TOTALLY need friends. I've never been good at not really the making friends part, more like not good at keeping the friends part. I always leave so then I can't feel the heart break of them seeing my broken parts and not liking me anymore, seeing me as "too much of an effort" to be around. Now because of this I've never been close to anyone. I have never had a friendship last longer than 2 years because by that stage you should be getting to know each other on a deeper and personal level. The forming of a committed relationship as one may say. You know what that means, I am and have been professionally told I have an underdeveloped social cognition for someone 21 years of age. And fun fact, this is actually a narcissistic trait. I have learnt that just like everything else in the world even narcissism has a spectrum, so I'm not the whole "I'm better than everyone else" kind of narcissist, I just have more of the inability to socialise part which we all commonly know would come from the ‘superior complex’ associated with narcissism which THANK GOD I don't have. I’m slightly too depressed to ever feel that way. So, I guess you could say I'm a little sad. I think we all are in this day and age. That's what I'm hoping this letter (?) can help with. Being alone in this world goes against all of our primal animal instincts. We are physiologically made, wired in our brains, to be in a pack, so without that we feel vulnerable and weak, as if we would not survive in the wild. So, I don't know, I guess if you are feeling the same, or in a similarly made structured boat, I guess I'm saying come here. Come to me, come to the others who I know will find this page because this here is the pack we belong in, it's meant to be. I will try my best to be a comfort for you to tell your stories to. Rip them out and give them to me instead, I shall take your burdens away happily and I'm sure others will too. We can be in this together. So, for now, read this, read it as a hug. Respond. Tell me your story, I want to hear every word you ever say. It’s beautiful. We shall grow together. This is a safe place for you to come to when you aren't sure where to turn. Use me. I promise I will be here and I will do everything in my power to turn your scars into works of art. Thank you for coming today and reading this. Have a wonderful morning, afternoon or evening. Hug yourself tight for me. And I mean it. It's not stupid. And I will talk to you again soon.

- Lina over and out.

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autisticmight · 4 years

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how does someone who knows little-to-nothing about it get into sanders sides? i saw thomas' vines, and i've been sort of tangentially aware that the facets of his personality that he portrayed in the vines have since become characters, but there's a whole bunch of new ones??? what the fuck is a janus???? HELP. tldr where do i find The Lore? plz obi wan ur my only hope

it’s very simple!!! you hyperfixate on thomas sanders’s content in, like, 2016? and then he uploads a video called ‘my true identity’, which is a bit weird, but you love those vine characters. then he uploads more, and it becomes a trend. apparently people in the comments are shipping the prince guy and anxiety. you rewatch the new year’s video an embarrassing amount of times with your dog

i had a whole paragraph here about why i like the series, and why i dropped it and then picked it up again, but it was just a block of lowercase text and i guess it’s kind of hard to read

anyway, here’s the playlist of every episode, but i’m going to put a summary of the series and individual episodes under the readmore, while also ranking them, because i am Special Interesting and i like being useful. and i guess i’m gonna write using. like. actual grammar. if the readmore doesn’t work, then. have fun reading my infodump

here we go

Sanders Sides: A Summary

Fictional Version Of Thomas Sanders (known as Character!Thomas, and will be simply referred to as ‘Thomas’ henceforth) has ‘Sides’, which are parts of his personality that have been exaggerated and personified. It’s a nice little series set in some kind of semi-urban fantasy world, but mostly in Thomas’s living room. It mostly uses the idea of ‘Sides’ to represent the inner schemata of an individual. In simpler terms, you know when you’re conflicted, and you end up arguing with yourself? Yeah, it’s that.

Also, don’t read the comments, unless you want to disregard the care I’ve taken to not put spoilers in the Season 1 Summaries.

Season 1

I’d like to split this into parts, because there are a lot of things in earlier episodes that conflict with later characterisation. However, it’s also fun to watch them, and then rewatch them after some of the longer episodes, and feel your heart shatter!

This half of Season 1 was made solely by Thomas. It tends to be a bit more scattered, and can be watched out of chronological order, or completely skipped. Yes, I’m telling you that you can skip literally all of this section, if you want to. However, these are also the easiest videos to watch, and offer a taste of Silly Sanders Sides Hijinks without the emotional commitment.

My True Identity (6 min) - Thomas delves into the three aspects of his personality; his Logic (Teacher Guy), his Creativity (the Prince, also called Princey), and his Morality (Dad Guy who is Not Thomas’s Dad). At this point, the characters are far more similar to their Vine counterparts, and the characterisation clashes with later episodes. (3/5 - A nice way to see if you’ll enjoy the humour of this series)

Way Too Adult (5 min) - Thomas is asked by his family to help cook Thanksgiving dinner. Dad Guy pops up and discusses with Thomas how he can better learn to take care of himself. Features a talking stove, which is part of the reason why I classify this series as urban fantasy, and the start of a running joke. (2/5 - A fun, albeit rare, look into Dad Guy being responsible. I actually prefer this to My True Identity, but ranks lower due to conflicting with later S1 characterisation.)

Taking On Anxiety with Lilly Singh (6 min) - Thomas hopes and dreams to get rid of his Anxiety, who is a sassy, snide guy, sitting on the staircase. Princey, as the embodiment of Thomas’s hopes and dreams, is... Usurped by an imaginary version of Lilly Singh, who helps teach Thomas how to cope with feeling anxious. (3/5 - Introduces some secret tools that will help us later. The tools are Thomas being able to travel to various places in his head, and also Anxiety.)

A New Year of Lying to Myself... In Song!! (7 min) - The first video wherein you realise that this is A Thing. Thomas welcomes in the new year, hoping that 2017 will be better than 2016. Logic shows up to help him figure out some New Year’s Resolutions, accompanied by Dad Guy and Princey. Anxiety joins in to point out that Thomas has rarely, if ever, kept to his resolutions before. Through the first musical number of the series, the Core Sides and Thomas figure out simple, achievable resolutions that Thomas can use to improve his wellbeing. (4/5 - Unintentional foreshadowing in the form of a bop.)

The Dark Side of Disney (6 min) - Princey, not for the last time, enthuses about the wonders of Disney. However, Anxiety also appears, insisting that Disney is not as wholesome as it first appears. They argue and bond, despite the fact that Thomas still hasn’t redacted his statement regarding his hopes and dreams to get rid of his Anxiety. (2/5 - I have strong feelings on the meaning of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’, both of which are shrugged off in favour of the tryhard-edgy ‘blegh stockholm syndrome’ and ‘blegh change yourself to get your man’. Still, it’s a fan-favourite for a reason, and the endcard always makes me smile.)

I’m in a Disney Show!! (6 min) - Princey enthuses about the wonders of Disney, because Thomas is in a Disney show. He talks about what happened, while the Sides (mostly Logic) suggest clickbait titles in order to entice people to watch the video. (2/5 - L*gan P*ul is mentioned, as he was also in the episode.)

The Mind vs. The Heart (6 min) - Thomas finds himself split between following his mind, Logic, or his heart, Morality. Features onesies, and looks further into the characters of Logic and Dad Guy. (3/5 - Pretty calm and peaceful, to be honest. It’s nice.)

Then we move onto the second part of Season 1. This is when Thomas’s friend, Joan, began to offer their input into scriptwriting and directing. They’re most of the reason why Sanders Sides is an actual series, instead of being silly skit characters in short vlogs. From here on in, episodes become more complex, and work on an actual timeline.

Alone on Valentines Day (9 min) - Thomas is rather upset that he will be, as the title says, alone on Valentine’s Day. The Sides try to help him figure out how to get a date with an imaginary version of his friend Valerie, but each of them has a weirder way of going about it than the last. (4/5 - Far more cohesive than previous videos, but Thomas still wasn’t fully out as gay, so his hypothetical date is a woman. Yes, I took points off because of that. Yes, I’m about to erase the 3/5 to make it 4/5 because Valerie is a delight.)

Losing My Motivation (9 min) - When Thomas finds himself procrastinating, Logic takes it upon himself to find out which side is causing it. In order to get into a deductive mindset, Logic dresses up as Sherlock, while Dad Guy joins in as Watson. Once the case is solved, an important piece of information is revealed: the Sides have names. (Logic’s name is revealed) (3/5 - It’s just a fun little video, and I can’t keep giving every video from here on in 4/5, or that’ll ruin the whole thingy.)

Sanders Sides Q&A (9 min) - Exactly what it sounds like. There’s not much else to say. (2/5 - I love it, but it’s not really necessary to understand the whole series. It’s just extra characterisation.)

Am I Original? (12 min) - Thomas finds himself in a creative rut, trying to think of a completely original idea. Princey requests full creative control - “full-on Daydream Mode” - in order to rapidly consider and enact many different concepts, all while trying to make something that has never been seen before. (Princey’s name is revealed) (4/5 - Important characterisation for Princey. I originally rated it lower due to Thomas’s inability to rap, but upon rewatching, i found that the ending dialogue between Princey and Thomas was worth two points, rather than the single one I gave it previously.)

My Negative Thinking (13 min) - When Thomas messes up in an audition, his ego - Princey - is out of commission and being cared for by Dad Guy. Therefore, the only Sides available to aid him in this situation are Logic and Anxiety, neither of whom can help Thomas in the way he wants to. Anxiety is worsening Thomas’s mental state, so Logan proposes a debate in order to combat those cognitive distortions. (4/5 - A fan-favourite episode which offers a lot of insight into Logic and Anxiety as characters. It is useful as a tool for identifying cognitive distortions in real life, which may help with the individual’s mental health. Even though it introduces another running joke, it’s educational and fun, and it develops their relationship in a positive manner, I just don’t particularly enjoy it.)

Growing Up (15 min) - It’s Thomas’s birthday! He’s in his late twenties, and he’s still a kid at heart. He hasn’t done his laundry, he's silly and immature, and he feels like he isn’t at the point that he needs to be in his life. Therefore, all the Sides, except for Dad Guy, who ironically embodies Thomas’s inner child, work on trying to make him more mature. (Morality’s name is revealed) (3/5 - Features the concept of Voltron Shirt. I love this episode, but there is a noticeable change in audio quality at the end which affects how enjoyable it is.)

Making Some Changes (15 min) - Back in Thomas’s living room, and in opposition to his view from the last episode, Anxiety is worried about how life changes in unpredictable ways, and especially about losing contact with Thomas’s friends. Therefore, in order to keep Thomas’s friends permanently by his side, Princey gets them all to shapeshift. (3/5 - It might be skippable, but it’s just really, really fun.)

Becoming A Cartoon (10 min) - Adding to the whole urban fantasy thing, it turns out that animators can literally, physically turn people into cartoons. Thomas wants to be a cartoon. Princey catches Anxiety in his arms and says “everybody loves the villain,” and I think that’s all you need to know. (1/5 - Co-stars B*tch H*rtman, known for Fairly Odd Parents, Danny Phantom, and Being A Bigot, who did the character designs for the Sides, if not the actual animation. And the designs are kind of. Eh. Just watch some fanmade animatics.)

Accepting Anxiety (23 min) - Part 1: Excepting Anxiety (10 min), and Part 2: Can Anxiety Be Good? (14 min) - HOO. If the musical number or the animation didn’t clue you in, this video confirms that Sanders Sides is A Thing. Remember how Thomas hoped and dreamt to get rid of his Anxiety? Remember how he never redacted that statement, or even expressed a bit of remorse? Well, here, his wishes come true, and he doesn’t feel bad about it at all! That’s because he has absolutely no shame, caution, or fear of death. Yeah, he’s a mess. Therefore, the Sides make him take them on a magical quest to Anxiety’s Room, in order to un-mess-ify Thomas. (Anxiety’s name is revealed) (5/5 - The team really went above and beyond with this one. Like. Hoo. That’s it. Just. Hoo. Hoo. I’m an owl.)

And that’s Season 1!!! I’m going to add Season 2 in a reblog, because this has taken roughly three hours and it’s been really difficult to not spoil their names!!! which i did anyway because their names are all easier to type from muscle memory!!!

#helen stfu #asks #sanders sides tag da lee lay da lee loo #Anonymous

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liveyourjam-blog · 5 years

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Managing Fear during COVID-19

World Health Organization experts agree that the spread of COVID-19 is going to get worse before it gets better. For those in the Western hemisphere, the threat is no longer far away in China. It is now at our doorstep. Taking aim at our beloved sports events, our hospitals, our schools, our tireless healthcare workers, police and even the US national treasure, Tom Hanks.

As recently as this weekend, like many of us, I was weighing travel decisions for spring break. Now, four days later, it’s clear a no-go is the only decision. Things are changing quickly. Panic is setting in and we need to manage our fear in order to get through this together.

Our brains are wired for short-term threats

Humans are wired to act on more present threats than the distant future. The thought of climate change is a far less threat to our brain than a baseball screaming at our head. There has been much written about the perils of the evolution of our short-term, problem-solving brain.

Now that the COVID-19 is a clear and present danger our brains are ready to go on the defensive. And, boy are we ready! First, we saw the supply of face masks depleted, then hand sanitizer, and now in some countries, toilet paper.

8 ways to prepare and not panic during the COVID-19

Educate yourself. Find a credible source like the World Health Organization. Read up. Write down any questions you have and follow-up with your doctor, local public health office, local government, and school system for more specific information. Writing down your questions and getting answers is a much more productive way of dealing with them than letting them spin in your problem-solving brain. And, let’s face it, if there’s an absence of information, we tend to make up stuff, and it’s not usually positive. We are hardwired to see threats, not opportunities.

Limit your social media and news cycle time – If there was ever a time to put your phone down, it’s now. Especially if social media is making you anxious, confused, or irritated. (Wait, isn’t this every day? wink wink) There are many “health experts” on social media who are not qualified to provide information as well as their cousins — alarmists and pot-stirrers. Unfollow them for 30 days or forever. Your life satisfaction will improve drastically. Admittedly, I don’t have any empirical data to support that claim – it’s just a keen hunch.

Also, stay out of the endless media news cycle. It’s not healthy. In this information age, you can go to sites (online/on-air) when you need information. Take control and don’t let information be constantly pushed at you.

Lean into your fear. Remember Stuart Smalley from Saturday Night Live? (The hyperlink includes one of my favorite bits with basketball legend Michael Jordan). Stuart would replace his negative thoughts with a positive affirmation. This is a classic cognitive-behavioral technique. His famous affirmation when the thought occurred that he wasn’t good enough was,

“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and doggone it people like me.”

Stuart used a technique to replace negative thoughts with positive ones. While it is true that stopping a thought negative thought and reframing with a positive one is a strategy that can work. Over time, it can backfire on us. The way language works in our brains is that it is relational. Therefore, with repeated use replacing a negative thought with a positive one, the thoughts become associative and related. Meaning, our brains can equate a fearful or harmful thought to the positive one. While it’s an innocuous answer, try saying hot to yourself and then, pause. Wait for it! After the pause, often, the word “cold” will come to mind. This is the relational nature of how our brain learns language.

Instead, try leaning into your fear and defuse it. Let me explain. Many of us might experience “What IF” questions. “What IF my elderly father gets COVID-19, What IF my child gets it, What if we go somewhere and someone is infected.” What IF” questions are natural in life. But, when they become looping, repetitive, and drain our energy and focus, we need to make a change. Try this technique from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy which is rooted in research and mindfulness.

Make a distinction from the thinking mind and the observing mind.

Your thinking mind produces the thought, for example, “What if my 90-year-old father gets COVID-19?”

Your observing mind then notices the thought. And uses curiosity. Why am I worried about this? The answer would be something like, “I love him and am afraid of losing him.”

Even the act of noticing that thought vs. being in can bring you some relief.

Next, thank your thinking mind for being concerned about your father. After all, it is doing its job.

Give your fear a shape or a color. This will help defuse the fear. You might notice your heart rate reduces and the charge of the thought reduces. You might have to practice this a few times and it’s best to do it when you are really caught in the thought loop.

If you really want to take action on the thought, write it down. Then, write out the constructive ways to address the legitimate concern for your father instead of swimming in the anxiety and fear. For example, you could write a letter letting him know how much he means to you, you can make sure he doesn’t have to go out for groceries, etc. These positive actions are often helpful, constructive and can remove our suffering. Sometimes, it literally just takes defusing the fear to release it. We give it less power by leaning into it. It sounds counterintuitive, but it works. Note: This technique works best when the emotion doesn’t match the facts. So, in this case, if your father is in a safe place, has food and is well-cared for and the fact is that he is at low-risk in his current situation and you keep obsessing that he is going to become ill, then, writing down the fear and making the actions logical is helpful.

Help Others – We are relational beings — our survival depends upon it. Help others who are in need and at risk. If you know of people who are in high-risk categories, drop them a note in their mailbox, InBox, or call them to see if you can run an errand for them. Make sure they are still in connection with others. Isolation can cause stress for humans and reduce the immune system. Set-up a daily time to talk to them on the phone or a free video service like Skype or Google Hangouts.

Be with your kids – Really. Spend quality time with your family. With the cancellations of events, schools, and adults working from home, use the time for positive connection. Play board games, draw, exercise, and answer any questions they may have. Limit their screen use, too – never a bad idea under any circumstances.

Go to Nature – Mother Nature is our best healer. She is the conduit to a feeling that there is something bigger than ourselves, and can change our brain by improving our moods. She’s a powerhouse! Plus, all that quality time with your kids is going to require a change of scenery. Especially if you have two active tweens, as we do. Take your kids out in nature! They might complain at first, but they always adapt and get into it. I’m still amazed at the hours our boys can spend skipping rocks or playing by the side of a stream. And, I’m equally amazed by how fun it is when I join them despite my inability to improve my rock skipping skills.

Practice Gratitude – Gratitude keeps the mind focused on the present moment and the beauty in our lives. During times of crisis, our ego wants to take over and worry about the future and wish for calmer times in the past. Keep a gratitude journal or at mealtime have each family member share something they are grateful for in the present moment. Not what happened yesterday, but something they are feeling or having right now. It’s never too late to teach young and old this simple mindfulness technique.

Practice Compassion – Elizabeth Gilbert one of my favorite authors and people I admire just posted a helpful reminder on Instagram:

“Overreacting to people overreacting Another form of overreacting.”

Judging others is another way our ego keeps our identity safe, right. and in charge. Resist acting on the judgment. Notice it with the observing mind. And, then, put your attention on your heart. It always has the right answers. We don’t need our ego to practice compassion for others during this challenging time.

Stay safe everyone and remember to choose love not fear. Please pass on to anyone who might find these tips useful. Love and light, Ellen

#covidー19 #self care #mindful

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kcwcommentary · 5 years

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VLD8x08 – “Clear Day”

8x08 – “Clear Day”

This episode is so frustrating. The carnival is a waste of time, but that’s less frustrating than Allura’s hallucination and dream. All writing is a choice. If you write a cryptic dream into a story, it has to be for a reason, it has to mean something. And I want Allura’s hallucinations and dream to mean something. I feel like I desperately try to tease out a meaning from it when I watch it. But I don’t know what it means. It’s never explained in the show, and it’s so frustrating. Ultimately, I end up so annoyed by it that I just think that the show’s creative team didn’t actually have a real meaning for the hallucinations and the dream. I think they probably just had these cryptic moments for no other reason than to just be cryptic. I don’t think they thought they had to have an explanation for what it all meant, let alone that they had a storyteller’s obligation to explain it in the story.

I’m left feeling that this episode is just more audience manipulation, and I’m not okay with that.

The episode starts with Allura talking to Tova. Hunk’s cookies caused zealots who wanted to commit genocide to now want to cooperate with Allura. That ending scene last episode leading into this cooperation really only works if you ignore everything the show has established about these Alteans. If they had only been angry and hadn’t really done anything and were captured and then they ate cookies and calmed down and changed their mind about Honerva, that would be fine. But the show specifically identified these Alteans as the ones who were piloting the Robeasts, and those Robeasts were used to drain the quintessence of several planets. Just because the Rebels seem to have been able to evacuate the population of those planets doesn’t negate the fact that these Alteans were trying to commit genocide. It really is creepy that this show just ignores that now.

Tova tells Allura that he doesn’t have much time to talk to her. This connects to how in 8x01 “Launch Date” when Luca talked to Romelle, Honerva remote killed Luca. Tova says, “Now that she has Lotor, she will use him to destroy everything—” So the show is again explicitly saying that Lotor is back. Tova states this as fact, so Honerva had to have specifically spoken to the Colony Alteans about this being the goal. Since Lotor doesn’t actually come back in this show since he’s a melted corpse, are we supposed to assume (assume, since the show never bothers to show us) that Honerva was just lying to the Alteans?

Tova convulses and falls on the floor, two creepy-mask medical personnel (seriously, who thought the visual design on medical personnel was a good look?) come in, and Allura tells them to back off. At first, I thought it was weird that she was keeping Tova from receiving medical attention. She kneels down, holds out her hand, and her hand starts glowing, and I thought she was going to use her magic healing like she did with Lance in 6x01 “Omega Shield.” Then she says, “I feel something.” Why is she only feeling it now? The entity has been in him the whole time.

She apparently magically pulls a rift creature, last seen in 3x07 “The Legend Begins,” out of Tova. I really wish this show had not brought the rift creatures back into the story since the story doesn’t really do much with it beyond this episode. The creature flails around the room. Monitoring outside is Sam and Matt’s robot? cyborg? person in a mask? girlfriend. Why is she even part of this scene? Why is Sam even in this scene really? He’s not a doctor, he’s not a diplomat, he’s not the ship’s captain, he’s not Romelle or Coran, so he doesn’t have a cultural investment in this conversation. Sam is the ship’s engineer. There is not reason for him to be here except that they wanted someone to speak technobabble. Why couldn’t that have been Coran? He knows a lot about technology and could have thus spoken technobabble, and he would have had a reason to be watching because he’s Altean, Allura’s there, and they’re trying to get the Colony Alteans to cooperate. Having Coran here would have made so much more sense than having Sam, and Coran has the added benefit of being one of the show’s main characters. So, once again, the show has shoved a main character to the side in order to give time to a side character.

Allura, Tova, and the medical personnel exit through the door, and conveniently, the rift creature does not attempt to follow them as they do so. Sam hits a button, metal in the room clumps together in the center of the room, and then cut to their having somehow gotten the creature out of the room and into a small container. Allura tells Sam that the creature was trying to communicate with her. I use this stated attempt to communicate as being the foundation for my attempts to interpret Allura’s hallucinations and dream.

Curtis and Shiro directly talk to one another! About a picking up “an abnormal signal.” So, you know, clearly, they’re in love.

It’s the guy from that planet in 4x04 “The Voltron Show!” where the weather is only clear one day out of the year. Like in that episode, this episode seems to think saying Coran’s inability to know what day it is on that planet is the result of “time dilation.” It didn’t work as a joke in “The Voltron Show!” and works even less as a joke now because the way it’s used this time doesn’t even seem to come from understanding what time dilation is. The “abnormal signal” that Curtis picked up was solely that there are a bunch of inhabitants on the planet who are currently on the surface. That is not a signal!

The alien guy rants at Shiro when Shiro suggests it’s too dangerous because of some miscellaneous threat. The Galra have completely ceased to be a thing in this show. We’re to somehow think that a universe-spanning military dictatorship culture that has lasted for 10,000 years has stopped being a problem because Honerva killed a handful of people in 8x02 “Shadows.” Honerva hasn’t been spotted in a while and is leaving no wormhole trail, according to Allura last episode. So, what’s the danger that Shiro is so worried about that he thinks a planetary cultural event should be cancelled?

The alien guy tells Shiro if he’s so worried about their safety, then they can come provide security free of charge. Shiro tells Veronica to make a shipwide announcement, “We’re going to Clear Day.” Cut to them seemingly having already arrived because Lance is asking Allura if she’s sure she doesn’t want “to go down to the carnival.” Allura says that she wants to rest after what happened to Tavo. Lance offers to stay with her, but she tells him to go, to “win [her] a prize […] something sparkly.” One cliché guy-winning-a-girl-a-prize-at-a-carnival reference, check. Even with it being totally cliché, I do actually like that Lance seems genuine about wanting to get something in order to try to lift Allura’s spirit when he arrives on the planet. The fact that he’s having to lift her spirit though, continues supporting my argument that Allura was depressed this whole season.

Once again on this show, a planet is populated only by a small number of people in a single, small location. Why is the show like this? Every alien civilization (other than the Galra) only has a planetary population the size of one town. It’s so off.

Pidge and Hunk offer to help Lance look for something for Allura. Keith overdoes it with the professionalism (which is slightly endearing) by being too focused on their providing security for the event. Shiro, who had been the one who initially was so worried about whether the people of this planet should be having this event due to miscellaneous threat, now doesn’t seem to remember he was worried earlier. Now, he tells Keith, “Relax. Go have fun.” Keith asks, “If we’re not here for protection, then what are we even doing here?” So, yeah, about two-and-a-half minutes after having said, “Are you sure hosting a celebration is safe? This sector has seen a lot of hostile activity lately,” Shiro has now been written to have a totally different motivation, telling Keith now, “Morale on the Atlas is low after what happened on Oriande. Who knows, a few hours at the carnival might just give us the boost we need to get back on track.” This show can’t be consistently written for even three minutes. This latter motivation of Shiro wanting to boost the crew’s morale makes a lot more sense than his earlier concern about a miscellaneous threat. Although, they’re only going to be here for a few hours? I thought the celebration was supposed to last an entire day.

Back on the Atlas, Allura wakes up and hallucinates Lance. He talks about the Altean flower that Colleen was growing last episode and has since given Allura. “I had assumed they had gone extinct,” she says thereby marking the flower as a symbol of the Altean people. She hears Lotor’s voice saying, “You should know better than anyone nothing ever truly goes extinct.” Lance is gone, and then Lotor is there. He says, “It’s good to see you again, Princess. You know, the ancients believed that all of life began with a single juniberry flower.” Allura summons her bayard and tries to cut through Lotor, but she only damages the wall and floor, not him.

He tells her, “You and I desire the same thing. We both seek to destroy Haggar.” Allura counters, “Haggar? Haggar is no longer. She is Honerva now.” I know the show desperately thinks it has told a story about someone who has differentiated personalities caused by quintessence poisoning, but it really hasn’t. Haggar, Honerva, it doesn’t matter what name she uses or what appearance she’s taken on, she’s still the same person. Lotor agrees with me, “Though I could rename this a highland poppy, you and I would still know what it truly is. The witch may change her name, but she will always be a witch.”

It’s really baffling in a way. It’s like this show doesn’t even know what position it wants to take about the fundamental truth about Honerva. The show very much expects the audience to consider Honerva absolved of her behavior post-quintessence poisoning, but here it has someone arguing that Haggar and Honerva are just two names for the same person, so following through with that, Honerva most absolutely shouldn’t be forgiven for her abusive and genocidal behavior.

And since this isn’t really Lotor talking but the rift entity, what are we supposed to think about Lotor here telling Allura this. What Lotor is saying is totally right, but are we supposed to interpret this as the rift entity manipulating and deceiving Allura? The show did expect us to think everything Lotor said in seasons five and six that was totally truthful and accurate were actually manipulative lies. It’s so weird. The way this show does this by having him say things that are so clearly true, but then to try to say those clear truths are deceptions, it makes it feel like the executive producers and writers of the show are trying to gaslight the audience.

I’m curious if the rift entity is projecting Lotor saying this because it actually does recognize Honerva for what she is. The last time we saw a rift creature was in 3x07 “The Legend Begins.” Honerva had one in a forcefield bottle. Because it becomes aggressive and attacks and more of its kind come through the rift, combine, and attack, I went right along with the idea that it was a malicious creature. But thinking about it now, it could have been really interesting if we eventually found out it wasn’t malicious whatsoever. The first time we ever see it, it’s been captured and imprisoned by Honerva.

Allura says that “there’s nothing [she] can do to counter [Honerva’s] abilities.” Lotor says she’s wrong. “Everything you need is here,” he says. He causes her to have a vision of the rift entity. He says, “It is an ancient form of energy that predates time itself.” So, is it energy or is it a creature? “Entities like this gave Haggar the ability to conquer worlds and control the universe for 10,000 years.” Uh, how? This is the first time since “The Legend Begins” that this show has brought the rift entities into the story. The show has not shown Haggar doing anything with them for 10,000 years, so this just feels like it’s coming out of nowhere.

Again, I just don’t think this show knows what it actually wants the facts of the story to be. It’s too interested in having unresolved ambiguity, but without resolving the questions it raises for the audience, the show ends up just seeming like it’s being manipulative. Lotor puts his mouth to Allura’s ear, clearly meant to be creepy and evoke viewer distrust, as he says, “If you can become one with the entity, the powers you gain can defeat the witch.” Allura is shown reaching out toward the entity.

There’s a bright flash and suddenly Allura is standing in a field of flowers talking to her mother. This is the first and only time (that I can remember) we ever see her talking with her mom (of course, it’s not actually her mom). Her mom says, “You’ve arrived just in time […] to save us.” Above is a fleet of Galra cruisers who start firing on the nearby Altean city. Her mother says, “Only you can protect us.” Allura then is in the armor of one of the Colonly Alteans who pilot the Robeasts. She’s in a Robeast. She slams the Robeast weapon into the ground, draws out quintessence, and uses the chest cannon to destroy the Galra. Then she realizes she’s destroyed the planet. Her mother, as she turns to dust, says, “I am so proud of you.”

This is such an interesting dream sequence. But what does it mean? Or rather, what did the writers intend it to mean? I don’t remember this ever being explained. Is her mother supposed to be the voice of the rift entity, asking Allura to save them? If the rift entities now are like the one back in “The Legend Begins,” then has Honerva imprisoned them and is using them against their will? Are they being violated by Honerva, and this one is asking Allura for help? If the rift entity is just trying to offer Allura power to trick her into letting it into her so it can do something bad to her – consume her? the show never seems clear to me about what the threat of the entity is to Allura – then the dream doesn’t narratively work for that because it ceases to be enticing because it causes her to see her kill her own mother. That’s not how you write deceitful promises of power because Allura doesn’t have reason to trust the entity now.

I just don’t understand what the message the show is trying to convey with this dream sequence. Allura dons the Robeast pilot armor and uses the Robeast. She drains the planet of quintessence, killing everyone including her mother, but she’s doing it to provide defense, destroying the Galra who are attacking. It seems like it’s justifying horrible action – draining the planet of quintessence and killing everyone – in order to do something else – stop the Galra. It can be read as a statement about doing horrible things in order to achieve a bigger goal. I know I read a long while back some suggestion that this dream sequence can work as an explanation to Allura about why Lotor should be forgiven, that his second Colony that drained quintessence from Alteans was a horrible thing done in order to achieve a bigger goal.

It’s just so weird. Her mother says Allura’s there “to save us,” but then Allura doesn’t save them, she kills them to kill the Galra. Is it supposed to be explaining the threat of what negative things would happen if Allura takes the rift entity into herself? That she would be doing it out of a motivation to protect people but that it would turn around and end up killing those she wants to protect? That isn’t what happens when Allura takes the entity into her though. And if this dream is coming from the entity itself, why would it have Lotor suggest to her that she take it, but then have Allura see a vision that’s trying to say that if she does take it then she’ll be responsible for killing everyone.

And then, Allura’s mother says, “I’m so proud of you,” after Allura has killed her. Why would her mother say that if the vision intends for Allura draining the planet to be interpreted as an ultimately negative thing?

The show, of course, doesn’t follow up with any of this, so I ultimately have no idea. I just wonder if the writers even knew what they were writing when they wrote it. The sad thing is that I can easily imagine that the writers of the show think I’m wrong for wanting this dream explained. I think that they failed as writers in not explaining it. I think it’s a mark of an amateur, and there are a lot of well-paid, acclaimed writers who are technically professional that I am still criticizing as being amateur, to write cryptic scenes into a story with no intention of providing an explanation for the audience. I’m not saying don’t write cryptic scenes, I’m not saying you can’t let a cryptic scene sit for a while, but you have to absolutely explain your cryptic scenes eventually or else you betray the trust of the audience.

Whatever happened with the dream, it had a real-word manifestation. The flower on the nearby shelf is dead. (Though the mice on the bed are still alive. How’d they survive?) It suggests Allura actually drew the quintessence out of the flower during her dream. She has used her space magic to revitalize people before, so I guess this supposed to just be her able to do the opposite? Where did this flower come from? It wasn’t in the scene when Allura and Lance were laying on her bed before he left for Clear Day. Instead of this flower, a holographic projection of her father and mother was what sat in this spot on her shelf. Is this discrepancy supposed to mean something? This show has too many inconsistencies for me to say it must mean something.

Honestly, this show’s executive producers and writers seem to be the type of people who’d put weird stuff in the story for no other reason than to be weird. I can totally see them not thinking any of this needs to make sense.

Back at Clear Day, Pidge plays Whack-a-Coran. The people of Clear Day have manufactured games with Coran’s face on it? Well then, that’s some spite for Coran’s inability to track time in “The Voltron Show!”

Shiro walks into the arm-wrestling tent. The alien guy complains about the Blue Lion not being there. The alien tells Shiro that the arm-wrestling contest isn’t “for people like you.” Shiro says, “Why’s that, because of my arm?” The alien says no. I say yes. Shiro’s arm does not have an elbow. It doesn’t have a way to create leverage, which is what is needed to arm wrestle. It’s like this show actively picked something that Shiro would not logically be able to do. It’s like the show and the creative team behind it are actively mocking people for having a problem with how illogical Shiro’s arm is.

The alien says that “arm-wrestling is for the young and strong. You’re old, like me.” I guess maybe he’s just supposed to be taunting Shiro or something. It has felt like the executive producers and writers have thought of Shiro as older than he is throughout this show’s production, and I have no idea why.

Coran participates in a yelmore calling competition. I genuinely laugh. His yelmore call is funny.

Hunk eats food, but it’s a carnival, so it makes sense.

Keith asking some people if they’ve seen anything suspicious and their mocking him about how there’s a guy going around asking people if they’ve seen anything suspicious is annoying. I’m over this episode disparaging Keith for being professional. Somehow, Keith and Hunk are spontaneously, and unknowingly in line for a ride. This is such a weird transition. I think the transition itself is supposed to be a joke, but it just feels off. So, were the people Keith was questioning in front of him in this line? They others in the line behind Keith didn’t complain about Hunk cutting in front of them by joining Keith. The moment lacks logic.

So, they get on the ride. The ride seems like it’s based on the clichéd mockery of the It’s a Small World ride at Disney theme parks. It’s not funny.

Still looking for something for Allura, Lance is at a game booth and complains, “Voltron doesn’t have a purple lion.” It’s really hard to see how the writers would have put this in and not mean it to be a reference to Lotor. Precisely what they mean by it, I don’t know. Lance asks the game attendant if he’s “got any blue lions? I used to be the Blue Lion’s Paladin and now my girlfriend is.” The attendant has a blue lion, but he’s clearly a scammer since he takes all ten of Lance’s tokens for one play of the game and swaps the rings for smaller ones. Lance still gets two of the three. The attendant offers to make Lance some kind of a deal.

Meanwhile, Pidge has won a bunch of tickets and is trying to redeem them, specifically for a prize fit for a princess. It feels like her doing this has to be connected to the same giving spirit that came from her in 8x01 “Launch Date” when she gave up her video game for Allura’s outfit. But, like too many things, this show doesn’t actually explain what the bigger meaning is. Pidge wants a sparky hardhat but needs more tickets.

Shiro competes in the arm-wrestling. Curtis watches him. It could have been used to actually have them talk to each other and set up getting them together in the end, but since they weren’t planning on having them become a couple, the writers didn’t think to actually do anything to set-up the relationship.

Pidge asks her dad for more tokens. He accuses her of wasting her previous tokens. She gives him a face and he goes to give her more, but Colleen snatches them and says she wants a family picture in exchange. It’s supposed to be funny, but I don’t find it funny at all.

Back on the Atlas, Allura is looking at the entity. Lotor is still talking to her, creepily telling her to free the entity. She says, “I can’t. I won’t.” And then her hallucination changes to Lance, who says, “It won’t do any harm. The entity will help you. It will save all of us.” Lotor aggressively says, “Take it.” Then Allura sees and hears her mother again, who says, “Only you can save us all. Release the entity. Come home to Altea.” Her mother turns into Honerva, who says, “Join us.” And then she turns into the entity.

I still don’t have a clue what this dream sequence is supposed to be telling us. All of this is the entity talking to Allura, right? I think the biggest problem with this is that the creative team, in the same way that they never really settled on an explanation for what quintessence was and how it worked, they never settled on an idea about what this entity is. We’re supposed to have a sense of foreboding. We’re supposed to consider it threatening, but for no reason other than that’s the emotion the show wants us to have. There is no foundation to what makes this threatening. We’re supposed to go, oh no, don’t trust it, something bad is going to happen now. But nothing bad actually happens because of this. It feels like all the hallucinations and the dream are setting up something specific, but I don’t think it is. I think the whole point of this is just that the creative team is messing with the audience, toying with us.

Allura releases the entity. Why she would respond to Honerva saying “Join us” by releasing the entity, I don’t know. It seemingly enters her. A mecha’s eyes and horn? light up. There’s a shot of Lotor laughing. The sound of his voice sounds like he’s having fun. It doesn’t sound like a maniacal laugh. His face looks wild though. The visual of his face and the sound of his voice do not match in tonality. He says, “Follow me!” I know this moment has been the subject of a lot of debate and discussion. I don’t really know what to add to it. I assume this is supposed to be the entity still talking to Allura? Is Lotor supposed to be the entity and the mecha he’s piloting supposed to be Allura, as a statement that Allura is now possessed and controlled by the entity? But then who’s the statement “Follow me” being addressed to if it’s not being addressed to Allura. Is the entity through this vision of Lotor making this statement as a declaration of partnership with Allura?

Again, I think I’m putting way more thought into these scenes and this dialog than anyone who worked on the show did. I think they most likely just threw some words into a script and didn’t care if any of it made sense.

There’s a shot of space and some planets and Voltron, and the whole image smears sideways and whites out. Why? What does it mean? I doubt it actually has any meaning.

Keith and Hunk are still stuck in the ride. It’s not funny. The ride breaks down again. It’s still not funny. Keith breaks out of the ride. Coran still is in the yelmore calling competition. I genuinely laugh at the calls. Coran wins. The deal the game attendant made with Lance was Lance autographing all the Blue Lion plushies. Lance was totally cool with that, and he’s got his Blue Lion plushy in return to give Allura. Pidge got the sparkly miner’s hardhat for Allura. They all converge on the arm-wrestling final.

Shiro’s final competitor is the warden from 2x10 “Escape from Beta Traz.” It’s set up to suggest a personal stake to the competition. Shiro calls the warden out on having imprisoned an innocent person. The warden then apologizes, saying, “Look, I know I did some bad things. The truth is, I thought you guys ruined my life, but really, you saved me.” I can’t help but read this as a parallel to Allura’s dream. Like with her dream, the warden talks about interpreting something initially as bad (“I thought you guys ruined my life”) but then seeing it as good (“but really, you saved me”). It has a parallel quality to Allura’s dream where she does something that seems bad (drains the planet of quintessence and kills her mother) but it happens with the language of it being a good thing (“You’ve arrived just in time […] to save us” and “I am so proud of you”).

Part of me feels like there has to be an explanation here. There has to be a meaning we can figure out. But the other part of me feels like I’m just desperately grasping for something to try to create a meaning because the show failed to actually give us one.

Shiro and the warden arm-wrestle. I think Shiro arm-wrestling is still ridiculous because of his arm lacking an elbow, but I think the animation of the arm-wrestling looks really good. Shiro wins.

The Paladins and Altas crew return to the ship.

Sam runs in to find Allura on the floor, unconscious. (Again, why is this Sam instead of Coran?)

The episode ends.

Yeah, this episode frustrates me so much. It all feels like a giant suggestion of meaning, but the show never provides that meaning. This episode just ends up feeling absolutely disrespectful of the audience, like it’s all just a giant manipulation.

#voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #voltron criticism #vld criticism #voltron critical #vld critical #vld season 8 #vld 8x08 #commentary

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thefaithletters · 5 years

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Confronting Our Values: To a Troubled Muslim Community

Dearest whose trust in the Muslim community has been lost after an immensity of love,

On this day, nearly fifteen hundred lunar years ago, our Prophet Muhammed ﷺ was born. His birth changed history. His legacy, and our religion, was built on the foundation of our Prophet's character before he received revelation: honesty and trustworthiness.

Yet, our ummah is plagued by corruption, deceit, manipulation, and hypocrisy. These qualities are in every human society, to some extent. It's normal that some Muslims will have these qualities (after all, most Muslims don't choose their religion but rather treat it like cultural inheritance). But to find these qualities in the ones who have put themselves in positions of being entrusted to revive the message in the hearts, of people, who are elevated for that role, and who are privy to the spiritual hunger and thirst of vulnerable people --that is among the greatest fitnahs.

I am concerned about how desensitized we are becoming to news of this nature. I notice it in myself, and I see it in friends: a spiritual fatigue that doesn't want to be spoken about.

And it breaks my heart.

When there's a lack of consistency or agreement between two beliefs (or values) or a belief and behavior, the mind enters a state of cognitive dissonance. This state of unrest feels heavy and unsettling, and people are naturally motivated to alleviate this discomfort by changing their behaviors, adopting a new belief or idea, seeking new information that offers an alternative paradigm, or deciding to reduce the importance of one of the beliefs or values that are in disharmony. This seems like the state of the majority of young American Muslims today.

The more dangerous trend I see emerging is what I consider spiritual fission. In this state, people can no longer identify or point to the countless directions in which their faith has been shattered. It's a chaotic state, and it's too uncomfortable to confront directly so it naturally leads to numbness and apathy regarding anything religious or an inability to engage with such topics deeply.

Our religious institutions and spiritual leaders are largely responsible for the young generation's disconnection from their mosques and communities (parents play a significant role, too, but that's a topic for another time). It's stories like the ones that came out recently that have caused many people deep despair in spiritual communities.

We are all flawed people. The issue isn't that a Muslim committed a major sin or was fallible to his desires. The real issue is the lack of truthfulness in how it's handled by many involved. Deceit is what erodes trust, and trust is the foundation of faith and community. When it is revealed to a spiritual leader and the community members who closely work with him in a leadership capacity that he is no longer able to uphold his responsibility, the right thing to do is proactively step down and acknowledge a struggle and need for improvement.

Of course, none of us have heard of this type of honorable handling of such situations happening in our communities (I really hope I'm wrong here). Why? Money and ego.

Sadly, many of our spiritual leaders are financially reliant upon their image and reputation as people of God among the community. This means that a religious leader who becomes exposed for a betrayal of his position may suddenly lose all his income and face an overwhelming fear of instability and anxiety about the future. So the survival instinct kicks in (especially if family is involved) and the man no longer sees the moral and ethical layers of the situation.

Money and religion should never mix. Easy to say, complex to implement. I know. Yet, necessary and true, nonetheless.

Another primary reason so-called spiritual leaders don't step down or come forward truthfully when they've betrayed their positions of trust is probably that they don't want to lose their status in the community. Being a celebrity imam can become so ingrained into someone's identity that it becomes almost like an addiction to attention or power. This is also connected to a larger societal shift in values (studies show an upward trend of youth who say they want to become famous). It's even more connected to the shift in values hierarchy we have as a larger Muslim community. Authenticity, truthfulness, integrity...those are all secondary to knowledgeability, charm, and "success."

Until we become a people who hold honesty and trustworthiness among our highest values, our leaders will continue to reflect us.

As we continue to remain obsessed with image and reputation in the community independent of actual virtue or character, we continue to cultivate a culture of hypocrisy and double-lives. People only hide the sins that aren't yet accepted by the community. It's only a matter of time before the scope widens.

I have nothing juicy to say about the recent news regarding Usama Canon. Like many of you who had only love and admiration for Usama Canon and the community he founded, this week's news have been tough for me. I participated in Ta'leef's Refining the Core program earlier this year and met Usama Canon in 2016 when he came to Maryland to give a talk. He was one of the few people who took the time to answer a question I had with careful consideration and respect. I left that talk feeling a sense of hope. And then when I started learning about Ta'leef and participated in their community, I continued to carry with me the hope for our community to be healthy, respectful of all people, and authentically striving for goodness. For the good that he's done, and if this in fact his way of acknowledging the harm he's made and making amends, I pray for his wellbeing. And if this is Ta'leef's uplifting of accountability and honoring their positions of trust, I pray for their success and healing.

Like many, I wish I were surprised by this. Sadly, I know this kind of stuff happens. I’ve witnessed misconduct and heard about it from friends. I’ve tried to speak up about the betrayal of authority and unhealthy behaviors, but the disappointing reactions I got were discouraging. I talked to the spiritual leader who I had witnessed inappropriateness from, and his response was gaslighting. It was a complex and spiritually fatiguing experience. In the end, I just removed myself from the community. Though I didn’t experience abuse, my faith was deeply tested and my heart hurt. I almost lost my religion. I was lucky to be able to notice and protect myself from anyone taking advantage of me. I can’t imagine the pain actual victims endure, and it saddens me that the community cares more about the celebrity abusers than the “nobodies” who are abused (often the most vulnerable members of our communities who don’t have powerful families, financial resources, or impressive professional titles).

I've had my faith and hope in this community shattered a few times, and every time God somehow found a way to remind me that there are still beautiful people out there who are true seekers. They aren't the ones with the followers and fans and financial ties to their religion or spirituality. More often than not, the modern-day companions of the Prophet (the ones he referred to as his brothers and sisters he hadn't yet met) are those who keep their good deeds concealed and remain patient in the face of oppression. Their words aren't tweet-worthy and there are no fun perks to being their friends. They treat their family members and parents better than anyone else. They are known for their honesty and trustworthiness. On the day our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was born, I pray we are all able to take a moment to be truthful with ourselves about the state of our hearts. Where are we not truthful? What steps must we take to embody more honesty and trustworthiness? Where is our faith hurting? How are we in community? What are our own hierarchies of values? How can we be better believers?

Salam.

P.S. I share these thoughts selfishly because they continue to occupy my mind. I release them here so that I no longer carry the burden of their release. I’m not spiritually superior for writing this. Most know my deep struggles with my faith.

#islam #muslims #muslim community #taleef #usama canon

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armstrong48-blog · 5 years

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Wrestling: No Longer a Mystery

There's a feeling that in the event the truth does eventually emerge, it may upend everything we know. Becoming learning-focused means putting the procedure ahead of the item. Sometimes, you've got to do things that aren't that fun to achieve your objectives. Well, you have to drill repeatedly if you would like moves to develop into second nature. You've got a particular possibility to play such a video game all by yourself and also have a considerable quantity of fun in this approach. It's about disciplinebeing disciplined enough to plow through the procedure and make it take place. What You Need to Do About Wrestling Before You Miss Your Chance You don't need to be worried about it because this completely damage is not going to bring it any result. Your dog is not going to understand that they're managing a little child who doesn't wish to hurt him. Simple, there's no magic pill to earn the concussion go away. 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a-robin-among-thorns · 7 years

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Too Old For Your Age

Part 1: Colors

Contains minor spoilers from the manga.

This is the first of the drabbles (although it ended up much longer than I would have thought) I have planned based on this post I made a while back. The tone and content ended up slightly different from that of the original post but I believe I’m mostly happy with how it came out. I can’t really make any promises on when the next one will come but I will try my best.

Word Count: 2,871

“Did you have any fun at Ethan’s party?” Chise asked hopefully as she and Elias entered in the front door.

She was somewhat afraid of what his answer might be. Although they had obviously been present for the party, Ethan’s 11th birthday had provided a prime education opportunity for the human teacher and her oblivious pupil. Elias had in time and practice grown more aware of his own feelings of jealousy and how to act appropriately when they sprung, but he was still no master. He shrugged off his robe and glanced down at his party favor bag sporting a picture of a man in a blue and red costume. “I suppose so, although I can’t say I understood much of it.”

“That’s fine, there’s still a lot I didn’t understand either.” Chise said with a small shrug and a relieved smile.

She made her way to the living room and was about to rest on the couch when she found Elias’ gaze was lingering on her with the clear indication of curiosity etched across his features. She cocked her head in questioning, “What is it?”

“Did you have a good time?” he asked bluntly. Chise frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“You seemed…stiff during most of the party.” Chise was almost surprised he had noticed, but quickly thought better of it. Elias deserved a little more credit than she was giving him. He was growing more perceptive by the day, steadily coming into an ability to read her at the very least and other humans on infrequent occasion.

She thought for a moment. “I think had a good time…” it was true…mostly. When her attention wasn’t focused on the glamoured mage awkwardly meandering around the Barklem Home Chise had enjoyed talking to Stella and meeting a few of Ethan’s younger friends. However, she still had felt…distant. She initially had chocked the feeling up to the difference in age, although that had never before caused any rift between her and the Barklem siblings. Yet when she saw the children engaged in games and stories of colorful characters and playful frivolities, she was almost frustrated at her inability to join along. “I guess…I still don’t really know how friends or children are supposed to enjoy themselves.”

Elias took his turn to cock his head. “Why do you suppose that is?”

That…was a good question. Why indeed?

“I’m not sure…I guess I just I never got a chance to do anything children normally do. Even before…even when I was with my family I couldn’t go to school or play outside.” Her early life in Japan had slowly begun to bleed into her memory over the years. As she remembered more and more she realized that strangely enough her happy memories had been buried alongside the dark ones. Perhaps that was because those few bright moments were only bright in comparison. Anyone in a normal situation would call her earliest days of hiding indoors alongside her mother until her father could ward off hungry assailants terrifying rather than comforting. Not to say there were no truly bright moments. Brief minutes between hiding and running had yielded tumbling over park toys with her father or cooking with her mother. But even so, those few lights were hardly an equal for the seemingly endless night up until a fateful trip across the hemisphere.

Her grip tightened on her own party favor. “I didn’t have much of a childhood when I really think about it.” Why did this cause her heart to sink so much now?

Large gentle fingertips cupped her jaw tenderly urging her gaze upwards. “Did I upset you, Chise? I didn’t mean to pry into something you’d rather not think about.” He said with a hint of worry in his voice as he brushed his thumb across her cheek.

A wave of guilt washed over her. This outing was supposed to help Elias deal with his feelings of envy and here she was getting tangled up in her own. She placed her hand atop of his and made efforts to swallow the knot growing uncomfortably in her throat. It wouldn’t do for a teacher to lose composure in front of her student.

“You didn’t upset me, I just got a bit lost in thought.” Elias hummed in response clearly not convinced by her answer but respecting her desire not to divulge all at once.

The humming continued as he released her jaw placing his hand on his chin in contemplation. “Thinking about it, I don’t suppose I had much of one either.” He said in a somewhat uncertain tone.

“Really? Even when you were traveling with Lindel?” Mention of Echoes brought a grumble out Elias.

“Although that time was formative, I wouldn’t call it a proper childhood. It was mostly spent navigating a very harsh land with more than a few unpleasant encounters.” The hand on his chin slowly dropped to his chest as his eyes fixed on a pattern on the wall. “I wonder…maybe that has something to do with why neither of us could understand much of the party. I believe we may have missed something important in those years.” Although his tone remained neutral a slight wistfulness played on the edge of Elias’ eyes making something in Chise’s chest ache.

Something important…what was it that the other children had that she didn’t that made her so envious? Or maybe it was something they didn’t have? They didn’t have to worry about ravenous other-creatures eagerly waiting to find out if they tasted sweet or bitter. And because of that, they could roam play yards free of invisible assailants.

“If I had to guess I’d say you missed the chance to have fun free of worry. That’s the nice thing about being a kid really. Responsibilities and expectations don’t exist or at least not as great as they do in adulthood. They get to do things for the sake of enjoying them no matter how insignificant they may seem.”

Elias glanced upward in thought, cogs turning in his skull. “Let’s do that then.”

Chise raised an eyebrow “Do what?” “Those ‘insignificant fun things’ children do, let’s do some of them.” “Really? Why?”

“You can teach me what a ‘childhood’ should feel like and you can get to experience some of the things you couldn’t in Japan.” He stated plainly making Chise feel a little sheepish.

“Are you sure? Some of it is definitely pretty silly and don’t we have orders due?”

“If it doesn’t bother you then I don’t mind silly and Silver Lady can take care of anything minor.” He hesitated briefly before adding. “Of course if you would rather not than we do not have to do anything.” Chise didn’t like the idea of dumping work onto Silver although certainly wouldn’t mind…However, Elias was rarely so insistent and eager.

She cracked a cautious smile. “Well, I guess I don’t see why not.” His head bobbed in a happy nod “Now then, how should we begin?”

“Oh! um…” Right…what did children do these days? What had she done, or wanted to do, as a child that Elias would enjoy?

She fidgeted slightly causing the bag in her hands to crinkle. The party favors…She began to rummage lightly through its contents, a few plastic toys, a paper book and- Oh! This was an easy place to start. She pulled out a small yellow cardboard box eyeing it slightly, “Why don’t we start with these? Could you grab some blank paper and meet me at the dining table?”

In a few moments, they were sitting in their respective seats at the dining table, a small stack of cream white stationary and two small boxes of crayons sat in front of them. Chise reached for a box hesitating slightly. Would it be better to leave them in their box or to lay them all out on the table? Probably the table. Elias watched Chise’s motions patiently as she took one of the thin boxes and propped it open. He took the other box and followed her example.

“Have you seen crayons before?” She asked curiously. “Once maybe, although I don’t know what they’re for. They are a writing instrument, yes?” “They’re more of an instrument for drawing…”

She poured the crayons of her box into her hand and placed them on the table, Elias did the same. A faint waxy smell permeated the air. There were ten crayons in all, the boxes had both yielded the same colors; red, green, blue, yellow and black.

“So…there’s really not much to this,” she grabbed a black crayon and a piece of stationery, “you just take one and draw a picture.”

Elias stared at the crayons with a critical eye. “I can only take one?” His hand wavered over the red but retracted, frightened by the commitment of the decision. Chise giggled.

“You can use as many as you’d like, but it’s like a quill, it’s hard to use more than one at a time.”

Elias seemed to relax and picked up the red. “What should I draw?”

“Whatever you’d like, there aren’t any rules. Although you should probably take off your gloves, the crayon could leave a stain, maybe roll up your sleeves too.” Elias nodded and complied placing his gloves on the corner of the table. He picked up the red once again and ran his fingers over it pressing lightly to gauge its strength before positioning it like he would a quill pen. It was almost comically small in his enormous lavender hands. He tentatively placed his crayon against the stationary and slowly dragged it across the surface. “It’s…rougher than a quill.”

Chise smiled, with a creature as old as Elias there were very few new experiences. Watching him work through the kinks of a rare first try was oddly endearing. Until the crayon snapped.

He lifted the fractured halves to his face and sighed. “I’m sorry Chise…”

“It’s ok!” she reassured quickly leaning forward and grabbing his hand that lay on the table, “there’s another red you can use. Besides!” She grabbed the half still bearing a point and scribbled a circle on Elias’ paper. “It still can be used, it’s just a bit smaller.” She smiled at him before releasing his hand and handing him the spare red crayon. He took it cautiously before trying again, making sure to press lighter this time. After a few strokes, he started moving more confidently and eventually switched to the green crayon.

An odd sense of pride welled up in Chise as she watched him grow faster and more assured. She rested her elbow on the table propping her chin against her hand in thought trying to come up with something to draw herself. She glanced out the kitchen window where the early summer wooly bugs drifted through the air, baaing lazily. That seemed easy enough.

She dragged the black crayon lightly in curves creating a puffy cloud body followed by six black legs. The gentle action was calming. She couldn’t recall the last time she had drawn like this aside from little doodles in the margins of her notes.

Hmm, what did their faces look like again? She peered up for the window but caught Elias staring at her intently. He didn’t meet her eyes but held his gaze for a moment before returning to his drawing.

That was…odd.

Deciding that if he didn’t want to explain she shouldn’t pry, she returned to her own drawing.

A comfortable silence settled over them occasionally accompanied by a shift of paper or changing colors. It wasn’t until she had finished coloring in the bug’s face and legs that the silence was broken by a groan from Elias.

“Is there a method for undoing mistakes?” She thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, at least not for crayons and paper.” “Hmm,” he held up his paper eyeing it with scrutiny, “I see.”

Flames bloomed from his fingers swallowing up the stationery in an instant with not a trace of ash left to prove it had ever existed. He took a new slip of paper and nonchalantly resumed drawing.

Chise huffed. “You know these don’t have to be perfect or anything.” “I would still rather start over.” Elias replied with a shrug. She sighed without exasperation and continued onto the bugs wings.

The silence returned as Chise finished her wooly bug. She placed it aside grabbing a new paper and briefly caught Elias staring at her again. She elected to ignore it since he seemed content enough and started drawing a salamander. After finishing rather quickly, during which Elias burned another sheet, Chise excused herself to the washroom briefly which Elias only distractedly acknowledged. When she returned Silver Lady was at the kitchen sink washing vegetables.

“Ack! Silver I’m sorry are we in-” the brownie raised a finger to her lips and smiled brightly before returning to her washing. A half smile found its way to Chise’s lips as she went to sit down before realizing her chair had been moved. It now sat on the side normally reserved for Elias alone who still sat quietly scribbling away.

She could have sworn she heard Silver chuckle.

Very aware of the fluttering in her chest, Chise grabbed a new sheet and sat next to her mage. Elias paused briefly to curl an arm around her shoulders leaning her to his side without a word. Well used to his heedless affections, Chise leaned her cheek against his side. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of his paper. Apparently, he had started over again as it currently only bore two empty black ovals. He gave her a quick side hug before releasing her and returning to the paper once more.

Her eyes lingered on his skull, quietly observing the shadows and contours from the dips and grooves in the bone.

Finally breaking away her gaze, she picked up a black crayon and set to work.

——

Peals of Silver’s bell finally brought the magi out of their concentration after the sun had sunk just below the horizon.

“Dinner time already?” Chise said as she stretched her back and arms.

“It seems to be.” Elias responded, “We should probably wash up before helping set the table.”

Nodding Chise made her way to the washroom. She returned shortly finding Ruth positioned at his seat and the table already clear of their little project.

“Uh, where are-?” Silver with plates in both hands gestured toward the fridge with a small hum.

Held in place by small magnets were their drawings; three by Chise and one by Elias. She Stepped closer to get a better look at the picture Elias had been so finicky about getting correct. Chise felt her cheeks burn.

It was only her head and shoulders but with red hair and green eyes, the drawing was unmistakably her. The drawing had her hair down on her shoulders, a thin line for a smile and wore her red sweater. He had even put in a little blue in the background for a sketchy sky. It wasn’t perfect; the eyes were slightly different sizes, the nose was off center and there were several places where the colors ran together. But either Elias was finally satisfied with the outcome or Silver Lady had seized it before flames could lick it up. Regardless, Chise was…touched it had been spared.

Warmth settled on her shoulder and side.

“I see we had the same idea.” He pointed to her final picture causing Chise’s blush to flare hotter. His skull had proven not as difficult as she would have previously thought, at least from the side, but she had run out of room for all but a little of his horns causing it to look a little funny. She wasn’t sure if proud was the right word for her feelings toward the drawing, there had to be at least three mistakes on her paper for every one on Elias’, but she certainly felt glad she had made it.

She grasped the hand placed on her shoulder giving it a small squeeze. “Your drawing looks very nice.”

He made a satisfied sound. “Thank you, yours does as well.”

“So what do you think of our first childhood activity?”

Elias shifted his head as he methodically analyzed his feelings over the past few hours. “I would say it was enjoyable in its simplicity. Although I did find myself wishing I had more colors to use.”

Chise smiled, “We can pick up a bigger pack next time we’re in town…if you’d ever like to do this again that is.”

He hummed softly as his thumb circled her shoulder blade. “I think I’d like that very much.”

#the ancient magus bride #mahou tsukai no yome #mahoutsukai no yome #elias ainsworth #chise hatori #elias x chise #chise x elias #robinthorn #fan fiction #fan fic #stormy writes #too old for your age #I’m not sure if this classifies as fluff or not #but I had a lot of fun writing it #posting at 3 am cause I’m impatient and an irresponsible student lol #edit: whoops forgot the chapter title #edit 2: fixed the link at the top to not be a horrendous eyesore

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elliotbathory · 6 years

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The End of the War

Part I: Introduction (An essay relating song lyrics to my mental health issues and addiction, written late 2017) Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab) Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

Part I: A Bigger Paper Bag

From Father John Misty’s album Pure Comedy. The album has had a deep impact on my life and I have an emotional connection with each individual song. Some view the artist as a contrived, self-absorbed, false prophet. I think he knows exactly who is and what he is trying to do. Pure Comedy touches me in a way that no other album since The Who’s Quadrophenia has. I identified with the protagonist, Jimmy, for many years. His depression, his recklessness, his desperate desire to ‘get out [his] head’. Father John Misty has created a sonic place in which I can rest with my deep despair about the state of the world. Dark, clever, occasionally very witty, and of course, real. What follows is an exploration into the many ways in which I, including my inner Jimmy, relate to 'A Bigger Paper Bag’.

“Dance like a butterfly and drink like a fish

If you’re bent on taking demons down with only your fist

And I’ve never known anyone who could lose himself in a bigger paper bag”

I am an Aries. I have a fighting spirit. Demons have plagued me for almost my whole life. The first, that of isolation and inability to communicate. The blockage in my head between thought and expression. The second, the very real and intolerably cruel voice of my mother, which informed the third: the person I became after I left the suffocating suburban reality that Jimmy and I both tried so hard to escape.

He said “My mother got drunk on stout, my dad couldn’t stand on two feet.” And yet when they found out he was using uppers, they kicked him out of the house. Desperate to escape himself, he turned to drugs and wild partying. At the age of fifteen I was so desperate to take speed I used to take 8 pseudoephedrine pills at a time and lay in bed for hours shaking with my forehead pressed to the wall. I was nowhere near cool enough to know anyone who could get drugs.

My mother also drank too much. But then, that was not the trigger for the abuse. It only amplified it. So, to “taking demons down with only your fists.” I’ve used almost every other drug over the years, some quite a lot. But my main crutch has always been alcohol, because as I discovered when I was sixteen, it made me feel normal. It taught me to communicate verbally rather than through writing. I am still not convinced that I can socialise without it.

Naturally, it does not end there. Demons have no courtesy. I’ve been drunk for a very large portion of the last four years. It makes things better, until it makes things worse. It in and of itself becomes a demon. You go from longnecks in the park, to two cheap bottles of red, to finding yourself inside a paper bag, the enormity of which you cannot know. There is endless supply in there.

And as for dancing, well, after a (a lot more than), a few gin and tonics, blue under the light, I used to be quite enchanting on stage.

“The weaker the signal, the sweeter the noise

Hunching over an instrument that you now employ

Like the Starvation Army needs a marching piano in the band”

You can tune those demons out, to an extent. The riot of blood rushing through your head after you huff amyl, their complete, albeit temporary erasure when I used to get lost inside 77 on pills, drunkenness and dancing and revelry and other sounds. Britpop, for example. I no longer know if I identify as a hedonist. What I truly was was an escapist. Not an escape artist, however. My attempts to scale the barbed wire fence of my mind and never look back were always cut short.

You come down. Then you wait until you know you can go back up again. Then you do. My partner gets cranky when I try to go out these days and can’t get into it. I am no longer starving for the things I have in life now, like love, understanding, and happiness. Those situations usually now just remind me of how I tried and failed to find happiness in shallow overcompensations. I always wanted to be fun and cool. I’m not.

“Are you feeling used?

I do”

Yes but let’s not get into that. I used myself and I am ashamed.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?”

For a few years the diagnoisis that suited me best was bipolar II. Soaring highs, or more commonly, crushing lows. There were times when I was on acid or mushrooms in huge crowds and genuinely felt that the entire situation had been constructed specifically for my friends’ and my enjoyment. Eventually, of course, I fell from that specific hallucinogenic throne in a spectacularly violent fashion and developed actue psychosis.

“What a fraud

What a con”

My specific breed of psychosis was as narcissistic as it was unbearable. I was convinced that everyone in the world knew who I was, and everyone hated me. Because how dare I pretend so long to be happy, to be fun, to be a legitimate person worthy of enjoying life. Jimmy also felt as though he was not truly cool enough to be a mod, and was eventually rejected and ridiculed, confirming his self belief. The film adaptation ends with a long shot of him riding his vespa along the sea cliffs.

I believed there was a global conspiracy against me and its end goal was my suicide. I heard passers by spitting insults at me for months on end. I wonder where I got the idea that anyone would do that?

“You’re the only

One I love”

I didn’t used to believe it was enough to love one person romantically. Or rather, I didn’t feel validated enough by the love of one person. I was suffering a massive defecit of love. I don’t hate myself so much anymore. So now self love has been added, it’s notso much a matter of begging others to throw endless amounts of love into the chasm of my starving soul, but rather being able to participate in the life long work of love.

“It’s easy to assume that you’ve built some rapport

With a someone who only likes you for what you like yourself for

Okay, you be my mirror but remember that there are only a few angles I tend to prefer

I’m only here to serve”

Those first two lines fucking floored me when I first really listened to what they are saying. I learned from quite an early age that all I was good for was my looks. And then sex. So I combined the two to forge an identity that I hoped people would like. An A grade slut, both in my personal life, and professionally. Sexy, easy, available, yours if you want me (please take me I cannot stand myself). Took me a long fucking time to grow out of that. I have never fought as hard against anything and I have come a long way.

“Oh, I was pissing on the flame

Like a child with cash or a king on cocaine

I’ve got the world by the balls

Am I supposed to behave?

Oh, I was dancing 'round the flame

Like a high-wire act with a "who, me?” face

I was living on nothing but water and cake"

Perilously close to oblivion at all times and dangerously self destructive but gosh, wasn’t I good at it? Wasn’t I cute? Didn’t you used to wank to me? I have no idea what kept me together, let alone alive. Natural talent, I suppose. That Aries fight. Against the bored, lonely, suffering person I used to be. Against death, to the death. And death hasn’t won me over yet, seductive bastard that he is.

“What a fraud

What a con

You’re the only

One I love

One I love”

This isn’t about you, baby. It’s about me, Jimmy, and Father John Misty. But then, we are kindred souls. So I suppose it is. A bit.

Part II: Confrontation (A journal entry, written upon entering rehab)

17.4.18

I haven’t been remembering my dreams. They’ve been fading so fast. I got 10 hours of sleep after deciding not to attend the NA meeting and having to walk past it anyway to get to the smoking area. I didn’t want to encroach on an experience I don’t share but what’s the difference? Why would I care for legality? It’s strange being here in a ‘good’ patch. No withdrawals, only craving nicotine. Am I here not to get ‘better’, but ‘even better’? I’m not sure how I feel. A little alien. Just letting myself think and waiting for anything significant. Being here is symbolically significant. I’m here to learn coping skills and relapse prevention, that’s it. It doesn’t have to provide anything deeper or provoke feelings of profundity. It’s basic shit. I’m an alcoholic and I don’t want to go back to problem drinking.

Where is the fear and pain I felt yesterday? What was the purpose of it? Knock out a rehab stay while I don’t have work/uni commitments and hope I fucking learn for when I do. The best I can do is be present. I am scared that I still don’t know exactly what I’m studying towards. I’m probably not as smart as I presume. What is my lot in life going to be? A job I like and a husband I adore? God, spare me. I’m having a crisis of personality. Intensity and extremity are not useful defining characteristics. Yet being a good, switched on, and fairly interesting person doesn’t feel like enough. How can I relate person to person when I see my own character as lacking? If we are all fundamentally valid and complex as individuals this negative self-assessment automatically carries across to others. I am ashamed not by how boring I feel I am, but why this baseless critical judgement feels so important. My amorphous, superficially high standard insults everyone.

Why is suffering interesting? Why is ‘different’ interesting? Why can’t I conceive of the mid-ranges of reality as interesting, am I that lacking in curiosity and imagination? I’m used to being overstimulated. Or pissed. I am not attuned to subtlety. It is harder work to find wonder in the mundane. Such a vain conquest, so incredibly shallow to attempt to make my life interesting using self hatred as a form of performance art. No one is interested in the creative flair with which you can wield that. Being alive and burning despite things is not impressive if you’re purposefully making life hard for yourself. I don’t really know where I sit with that, though. My mental torment created the life I had. It’s not that I didn’t want to get better. I just took too much pride in how much I could relish in how fucked up I was.

The hereness and newness of myself is queer because it is complete but also completely lacking in drama. I don’t know what foot to start on if not shock value. I’m a recovering alcoholic, a reformed self loathing attention seeker. What am I inviting people to see if not a hot mess? A tepid, anxious 27 year old boy. My social stance is defensive. Find my projected self interesting but do not attempt to actually know me. I am too fragile, too sad, too boring. I don’t want these human frailties to be levelled with so I cast them up high, make an overexaggerated display of them. I’m not doing that anymore. Take me as I am, whatever that is, but also don’t because I don’t know what that is and I won’t make any efforts to help you find out either. So it seems like I want to be left alone but I have been alone on my plinth celebrating my vain, personal self loathing for so long I am starved for human connection. I was lying the whole time. I am one of you. It is still embarrassing to admit.

Part III: Resolution (A short story about ego death, written in rehab)

30.4.18

So you arrive on your own doorstep one day, right? You would never come to yourself at a time like this, the you that suffers knows he’s not exactly wanted, but he is desperate. There is nowhere else to go, every safe haven is closed or gone. You’re tired, cold, and soaking wet. It’s pouring because of course it is. A few hours pass and your ego, comfortable inside, decides to take a chance and let you in. You’ve been screaming and pleading for hours. “Let me in, LET ME IN!” You collapse fully clothed in a hot shower while your various self conceptions tut and fuss, bitching about the decision. “Family,” some of them say uncertainly, “That’s what we’re for, right? People say that kind of stuff when they love irredeemable fuckstains, yeah?” They don’t actually know this, and the other parts of your ego are by turns confused and furious. “What the fuck, guys? He’ll be fine, he’s always fine, get him out of here!” “You fucking IDIOTS! WEAK! This is NOT what’s supposed to happen, this is not what we do!”

They’re all running around swearing, aggressively and resentfully caring. Like the first time you ever got drunk by yourself to make yourself feel better before your year 10 half-yearlies. How you remember sitting naked in the shower with your head lolling, parents freaking out. Meanwhile, you are there again. Bewildered. Overwhelmed, barely responsive. But you’re wide awake. Layers and layers of clothes, costumes, identities weighing your body down as the warm water soaks through. Something clicks and you realise it makes no sense to be fully dressed in the shower. As a token act to bring normalcy to the situation, you start to take the layers off. The process of removing them all takes a while, but once it is done you feel as though it happened in the blink of an eye.

“Huh.” You say, looking down at your own body. “Is this what I look like?” It’s a significant action in the symbolic world, taking off your clothes. It never felt like it was before. You didn’t understand the meaning of exposing yourself, of vulnerability. You just did it cos you had a malformed concept of fear. Scary things are good for you, they make you stronger. A seemingly contradictory belief that laying your flaws out on the table prevents people from abusing you for them. Nothing can hurt you when you are made of hurt. It is different completely, however, to reveal yourself to yourself. You’re there naked in the bathroom, looking at yourself as though you’ve never seen yourself before.

Your ego, anxieties, notions of your self that you’ve constructed are all pacing around frantically, fighting with each other about who’s right and what’s the best course of action. None of them ever had a contingency plan for acknowledging the hurt. Confronting the core of who you are. Their very existences are reliant upon dividing the self into these fragments. The elephant in the room of your life is in the fucking bathroom doing god knows what. He’s been in there for hours.

Back to you there. With all the layers removed, you turn on the light. It’s a lot like tripping. What you see in the mirror you know to be yourself, but the image feels so foreign. Stranger still is how separate the amalgamated pile of faces you used to wear looks there in the corner, apart from you. Not, as you believed so deeply, parts of you. They grow irrelevant as you trace your finger over your reflection. “Fuck. Is this who I am?” After a little while you start to think your time in there might be worrying all of the other selves, and they really didn’t want to let you in, so it would only be right to go and let them know you’re okay. You’re not going to cause any trouble. You’re grateful. None of the clothes on the floor are suitable to wear, so “Fuck it,” You think, and walk out. The exhibitionist, the slut, and the hippie were all naked anyway.

The place is empty, dead quiet. For some reason it feels like it has been for a while. You’re confused, are they playing a trick? After wandering around for a while you decide to make a cup of tea and have a cigarette. Make yourself at home, as it were. It’s nice to be out of the storm, relaxing and enjoying your own company. You don’t need the assistance of your ego selves to do that anyway. You are allowing yourself residency in your own mind, this overexposed, brutally hurt self. The hurt doesn’t feel very present though, strangely. You thought yourself to be the suffering person. That’s why they didn’t want you here. The situation leaves you bizarrely unphased. Things that should be scary tend not to be, right? You’re just rolling with it, acting like the place is all yours while the selves are elsewhere.

You can’t quite believe it, both that they actually relented when you were banging the door down, and that you got into a situation so fucked you needed to seek the help of the conscious collective. You usually just communicate via proxies. “I’m here, how weird.” You think. Perfume Genius is playing and the sound quality is fantastic. Walking back into the bathroom to pee, you notice the pile of clothes has vanished. The trippy feeling you had before settles on you again and you look to the mirror. Your eyes widen as you see all your selves, the shades of ego and anxiety, floating behind you, faint as ghosts. You see the Party Girl, the Masochistic Martyr, the Stubborn Whore. Their faces are passive and kind. Something you’d attribute to the relief of death.

You lived through them, they lived as you so you could survive. They panicked when you got here, begging to be let in. Because your arrival signified their exit. With your presence, in your self and reality, false constructs fall away. You are the spirit that persisted, the soul that endured. Their service was for one end, and that was getting you here. Everything they protected you through, all of the lessons they helped you learn are intact, part of you as a whole. You’re left staring at the naked truth of who you are. None of the people you’ve been fought in vain. The end game was always unity.

From the other room you hear the piano player playing “This Must Be The Place” and you think: it’s a miracle to be alive. You exit the bathroom into the rest of your life, hearing someone say “Pleasure to meet you!” It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. You are the resurrection, and you are the light you needed to let in. You could only bring yourself to hate yourself for so long. A spark, a flame, a bang, a phoenix. You see yourself rising in the vast and limitless universe. Within and without, at peace, as one.

#essay #journal #short story #alcoholism #ego death #survival #mental illness #self actualisation #sobriety

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datingdummies-blog · 8 years

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Phil the Fixer and Sally the Saboteur

This is the all too classic story of Phil the Fixer and Sally the Saboteur. This couple also has a pretty similar story to the classic Disney movie “Cinderella” without the fairy tale ending of course. (Like we need to be reminded that life isn’t a fairy tale right?) I decided to pair these two because they often times find each other in the game of love as they are one in the same person with different reactions to similar experiences in life. Prince Charming and Phil are similar in the sense that they are both fixers. He hunted, fought and bribed his way to find Cinderella and even when he found her and saw her for who she really was (a peasant) he still wanted to “save” her from not only herself but also save her from the endless amounts of self pity and the inability to get herself out of her situational hell she was living in. Cinderella and Sally are similar in the sense that Cinderella is a runner. Yes Cinderella has the deadline of midnight, but why never tell him her name? Why make it near impossible for him to find her? Why run? Why does she have to make her perfect man work so hard for her. The biggest difference between these two stories is at the end of this fairy tale, she runs him into the ground, crushes his spirit and leaves him feeling empty and alone.

First I think we should identify if you, yourself happen to fall into one of these categories.

Lets start with the Fixer. I feel like you boys know if you’re the typical fixer as you normally end up in relationships where the woman is a massive train wreck and you stay far too fucking long. She seems normal but once comfortable you are introduced to the exorcist like, spinning head and soon you will meet her alternate personality. For fun you might call her Bridgett, however I recommend not telling her that you have come up with a name for this fun second personality as you have just now had the pleasure of meeting and lucky for you, it’s been just long enough for you to become completely emotionally attached.

Knowing where the typical fixer started is key to knowing if you have landed yourself this dime piece of a man, because his childhood has a lot to do with his fixing tendencies. Most fixers learned to fix early on in life. They usually carried the huge responsibility within their family such as taking care of the younger siblings and sometimes taking care of their parents. Really anytime a child is forced to almost switch spots with a parent and do things kids don’t normally do, they are at risk for becoming the typical fixer. When becoming an adult after taking on such responsibility as a child they are left feeling a bit empty when being faced with the reality that there is no one left to be fixed. The younger siblings have left home to take care of themselves and become adults, and at this point hopefully the parents have realized the error of their ways as well or the fixer has left home and is not forced to watch their destructive ways any longer on a daily basis as they use to. They are left only responsible for themselves. They make it a mission subconsciously to find someone in need. Let me make this clear, I don’t think they intend to find crazy train wreck type women I think they are drawn to these women and then feel like they can help and are turned on by the challenge this girl presents. The one thing this type definitely won’t do is be turned off by your issues and abandon you. They are born fighters, and will undoubtedly work hard for your love. We will get to where the fixer goes wrong later. Now lets move onto identifying the Sally the Saboteur.

You can tell who Sally is almost immediately because while easy and almost eager to commit to all the wrong guys, when faced with someone who might actually be good for her and nurture her the way she needs, she becomes engulfed with the fear of reality that suggests if she were really truly happy in a relationship she could have that snatched away just as fast as it was given to her. So instead she goes for men she knows it could never possibly work long term with because she is already prepared for the heart break that is patiently waiting behind that stop sign up ahead. Men are drawn to Sally because she is extraverted, and can make friends with just about everyone. She straddles lines, finds the boundaries and makes sure she touches just about every button she can with a man.

Typically just like the fixer she has a child hood that is probably to thank for these ways. She was most likely abandoned by one parent or both. She might have daddy issues or just plain issues with men she developed after a bad relationship or ten. Sally might also possess a parent who seems disappointed with her no matter how much she accomplishes. Again it all results back to feeling alone, and abandoned by someone who was put on this earth to love and care for you no matter what you did or accomplished in life. This type is famous for being one of the most caring individuals you will ever have the fine pleasure of meeting if you were the wrong man for her and if you were the right man you probably witnessed her running as fast as she could from you almost cursing the fact she decided to wear heels that day because running shoes would have been ten times faster and less painful. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t care for you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. She cares for you so much that she worries that she will hurt you, or vice versa you will hurt her. So instead she takes the cowards way out and runs away.

I haven’t quite divulged into why or how I gained knowledge or insight into these two particular types. I have had moments in my life that I am not proud of. Moments that taught me what not to do, and what living and being a good person doesn’t look like. One particular moment that I replay most in my mind when thinking of these type of mistakes I have made is the moment I became Sally the Saboteur and Phil the Fixer was a man I called my best friend and someone I massively cared for. I am not too proud to say I messed up, and big. Not only did I lose a potential good, caring, nurturing and most certainly loving boyfriend. But I lost a friend. We as humans have to always keep in mind that to every thing we do in life has consequences. This was mine, and only mine to pay.

I was just coming down from the Angler, hurt and confused. I had shut out my friends during the duration of the relationship and had barely any of my identity left. I had crazy hours doing 911 dispatch that a life outside of working and being a single mom was nearly impossible. I have no excuses for my actions, I am only explaining the situation and the mindset I was coming off of. I felt alone, and like a mind numbing worker bee. During this painful transition into the single world I reconnected with an acquaintance who was also going through a similar situation. He trusted me with his secrets, made himself vulnerable and was an unwavering friend. He was that lending ear I needed, and the person I texted when having a good or bad night, really just the person I texted every night. We talked about everything, even other guys I was actively dating and he gave me sound advice on each. He didn’t judge me, he only loved me for who I was. I could for once just be me and he not only mirrored my humor perfectly, and never even cringed at my vulgar and less than lady like jokes. He just added to the hilarity, and that was us. Just a simple Phil and Sally situation about to go extremely wrong, or for the sake of this story about to go exactly as planned, playing into these two types and fitting into their roles perfectly.

So just as our roles would suggest, he actively pursued me and I rejected him, and continued to wallow in my self pity and be broken, except this time I was back to being alone. When realizing the error in my ways, I apologized, I expected anger. But was shell shocked when greeted with forgiveness, kindness and acceptance he also even went on to tell me that I was a good person and that everyone makes mistakes.

However my price to pay is that Phil and I will never be the same, he will never trust me with his secrets and being vulnerable with me is a thing in the past. I don’t blame him, and if the roles were reversed I might have even chosen the low road. Like writing a comedy dating blog using only nicknames utilizing examples from my private relationships to my advantage? Maybe, I might have even told him to kick rocks, or say nothing at all.

At the end of the day the typical fixer is an amazing man. He is husband, father and best friend material. He fights for you. To lose this man is truly only your loss at the end of the day, because sadly for you and I, he will undoubtedly go on to find another. He is the long term relationship type of man. He will find a woman who not only appreciates and sees his value and the amazing qualities he brings to the table but she will cherish him and make him feel full and loved. She will do everything you failed to do and more. He deserves this for his life, and you will only be invited to the viewing party that is social media. Please don’t try and hurt this man again. Wish him well, and let him move on with his life. He deserves the best, and even though he so badly wanted it to be you, you were incapable of holding the heart he wanted to put in your hands. If any woman finds one of these men, please capture him and replicate him. We need more fixers and less Anglers and Three-Petes in this world. It’s time we appreciate these men for the non game playing, amazing men they are.

I leave you with this for the Phil’s reading this. If you are in love with a Sally currently, you should cancel the subscription to her issues and move on. You deserve better. If you’re a Sally reading this, do what Cinderella and I did with our lives. Change your shoes (metaphorically of course) it can change your whole life and your outlook on how you should be treated and maybe even open up your eyes to really see who your real Prince Charming is. Sally you deserve happiness in your life too. But you have got to peel yourself from your situation and get your shit together. You’re not ready for this man right now. Let him go.

XOXO JESS

#cinderella comedyblogging dating datingdummies bereal SallyTheSaboteur PhilTheFixer

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