#traumatized on a day that should have been joyful and at the time that this happened I was headed home and saw tons of police cars zooming

[madigoround]

💜

[queerprayers]

any tips/advice for someone who is not catholic who wants to participate in lent? like how to choose what to give up etc?

Cheers to not letting Catholics have a monopoly on Lent, beloved! Last year I answered a similar ask that might be helpful. Here are the thoughts I have right now!

[CW: discussion of eating/fasting in italics] My most important note/disclaimer: Fasting is not for everyone. It is a beautiful tradition (for Catholics and non-Catholics) that can change people's lives, but if it's going to be a part of your practice, do it on purpose, knowing yourself. It inherently changes your relationship with food--and for people who have always had enough to eat, who have never struggled with disordered eating, who have never been seriously ill, there can be a solidarity and new perspective in fasting, in realizing how sensory experiences and comfort and mortality go together, how privileged you are to have the choice to go hungry. But for those who have struggled with food insecurity, or have lived through/live with eating disorders/disability/illness, or any other experience/relationship with food/the body that changes your perspective, fasting will often be a re-traumatizing or triggering practice that doesn't change your perspective so much as reinforce unhealthy ones. Something I think about: why fast if you cannot feast? Lenten fasting brings us to Easter feasting--if that's not accessible to you, if that wouldn't be joyful or affordable or healthy, fasting probably isn't either. Okay, all that said:

There is so much diversity in what a Lenten practice can look like, and I can't tell you what will be most meaningful for you, but I'll give you some ideas and some questions that have been helpful for me to ask myself! Lent existed way before the Catholic/Protestant divide, and exists among so many diverse communities, and there is a path here for you if you want one.

"Giving up something" is the most common language used for Lent--fasting technically refers to anything abstained from--and generally that's really useful! Jesus's forty days in the wilderness was time that he had nothing but God, and during Lent we can get closer to that experience. I give things up not as punishment or a test of self-control (those ideas trigger unhealthy behavior patterns for me), but as a letting go of something that is in my life but doesn't need to be, and may deserve reconsidering. Sometimes it's a bad habit, but sometimes it's just a conscious allowing of my life to grow simultaneously smaller and bigger. There is space for grief during Lent, but we're not just making ourselves feel bad--I've never found forced emotions to be spiritually helpful. Emotions come and go--we're doing this on purpose, and whatever we feel about it, we make space for that.

Ideas of things to give up:

eating out/getting coffee/buying drinks/little treats

impulse buying/nonessentials (you could pick a category, like clothes, or go all out)

alcohol/drugs/smoking (if this would be starting a recovery journey, I am not the person to ask for advice on that but please do seek help)

social media (you could choose one app to give up, or set time limits--it doesn't have to be all or nothing)

scrolling-on-your-phone time before bed/another time when you get sucked in

another form of casual entertainment (like TV/video games--again, you can limit this rather than cutting it out)

sexual activity (I talked about this here)

makeup/other appearance-related thing (I must confess I have considered doing this and always chickened out. I know that's because it would force me to rethink too many things, which is a probably a sign I should do it one of these years.)

a social habit, like gossiping or getting into arguments online

overscheduling/not having rest days (this is often unavoidable, but rest is necessary and holy, and perhaps this is the season for sacrifice in honor of rest)

single-use plastics/another environmental choice

Note: I don't think any of these things are inherently bad things. This is a list of things we can change/investigate our relationship with or have a season without them as a distraction, not things I think we shouldn't be doing or we should feel bad about.

One of the most important things I've realized is that so often I have given something up and not done anything about it. Like I didn't watch TV for forty days and was mad about it and then Lent was over and I watched TV again. Perhaps this strengthened my self-discipline, or made my life better in a way known only to God, but ultimately nothing happened. I didn't consciously do anything else, I didn't learn anything.

Now, when I give up something, I purposely do something with whatever space it leaves. If I'm not watching TV, what am I going to do when I would usually watch TV? Am I gonna pray? go to bed earlier? call my grandmother? Am I gonna cancel my Netflix subscription for a couple months and donate that saved money? Or maybe I'm gonna give up watching mindless TV, and find stories that resonate and make me think. Don't give things up to check a box, but to reexamine your relationship with them, make everyday things sacred, fill the space/time/money/energy you now have with God, and ultimately to set this time apart.

The other way of looking at Lent practices is things you can add. Often, as I mentioned, they go together--you can pair up something you're no longer buying with somewhere to donate to, or give up an activity and replace it with a new one. I always caution against Lent-as-self-improvement--obviously I can support improving our habits, but I've seen too many people use Lent to restart their new year's workout plans, and while exercise can be a way to care for ourselves, if new year's and Lent are treated the exact same way, what's different about this season? What makes this Lent?

One of the questions I've been asking myself recently is: What are you gonna do about it? When I'm investigating a belief, or learning something new, or reframing an old thought process, I ask myself: What am I gonna do about it? Lent is a path to Holy Week--something I and many others commemorate as the week when God was put on trial and literally killed. I genuinely believe God died and was resurrected--how does this affect my life? Believing something like that and not letting it change you is, to me, inauthentic. When I'm considering a belief, I think, if this were true, how would it change me? Would it lead me to Love? Lent (and Christianity itself) over and over asks us to do something about what we say we believe. Faith without works is dead--and faith is a work, something I do.

It's almost Lent, which is preparation for the Resurrection, which fundamentally changes our understanding of what it means to be alive--so what are you gonna do about it? Not because doing something will make God love you more or make you a "better person," or even because you'll succeed or change your life, but because how can we not? We are of course welcome at Easter having done nothing, but I can't imagine knowing what's coming and not letting it change me.

Ideas of things to add to our lives:

start a prayer/Bible routine--I can now wholeheartedly recommend (as a Protestant who connects with ancient traditions but not always Catholicism) Phyllis Tickle's Divine Hours books! For Bible study, I like The Bible Project's videos.

read a book--it can be anything that connects you with God! (I had a lovely experience with Lenten Lord of the Rings last year, and this year I'm properly going through the Quran)

pick a subject to research (theological or anything else)

start to attend worship services or commit to attending more--this could include going to several different places if you don't currently belong to a church

research places to volunteer for or donate to

do something politically active, like calling your representatives, researching the next local election, or attending a protest

donate to the next [insert number here] posts you see online requesting mutual aid

start a physical practice like taking a walk or stretching

write a letter or call someone regularly, especially with people you've been wanting to connect with more or have unresolved conflict with

start/commit to more regular therapy/other health treatment

ask for help--maybe you're the one who needs mutual aid, or reaching out to, or support cleaning your house or with your kids. there is no shame in this.

These are all obviously things we can be doing year round, and certainly we can use Lent as a season to start something we want to keep with us! I'd also encourage us to have something that's only present during Lent, or something that we do more or in a different way.

You asked how to choose, and I don't have a one sentence answer to that (...obviously), but perhaps in these days before Lent you can look at your routine/habits, the places where God is present, the things you do to distract yourself from life (not a crime--just something to be mindful of), and you can see where Lent might be able to come in and change you. The thing that's nagging at you that you know might be helpful, the thing you're not in control of and just do, the time you take up or the money you spend that might not be bad but also doesn't lead you anywhere. We can't expect every aspect of our lives to be purposeful and present, or to be continuously improving ourselves (in fact, that sounds terribly stressful and unsustainable)--but we can look around us. We can have a season that looks different because everyone I've ever known has a brain that craves ritual in some way--and either we do it on purpose, or we fall into it. Do something (or don't do something) a little more on purpose this season.

Another think to think about is what Sundays will look like for you--the "forty days" don't count them. There's no fasting on Sundays--my mom says every Sunday is a little Easter. "Sundays in Lent" is such an interesting concept because it's very much Lent, but the rhythm of our weeks breaks through. When I give up soda, I'll have one as a celebration on Sundays, but a prayer/reading practice I'll continue through. It's up to you and depends on what your rhythm/habits ask of you.

Ultimately, let God interrupt you. Let Them seep in the cracks of everything you do and let go of. To be loved is to be changed. Even the smallest thing--like wearing a cross necklace every day--can cause our lives to be filled with noticing God's presence. I keep saying to do this on purpose, but know that I find Them much more often by accident.

And an obligatory note: starting Lent late, stopping your practice halfway through, not meeting a goal, whatever comes up--Easter still comes for you. Lent is for paying attention, for making space, not for perfection.

I also want to add that while a lot of Lenten practices (including most I've mentioned here) tend to be personal, ultimately what is asked of us is interpersonal. We make space in our life and be more present in the name of Love--which we cannot do alone. If a practice is not specifically about other people (like volunteering/donating), ask yourself how it will serve the ways you love others? This isn't a trick question, just something to think about. Personally, my study of the Quran this season will connect me with my Muslim siblings through time and enable me to more fully love the Muslims around me, and my rhythm of the divine hours will connect me with the wider Christian community and center me as I go about my day, allowing me to be more present in my relationships.

Easter comes whether we're ready or not--and I don't think we can be ready. But we can look at the small parts of ourselves, set this time apart, see what we can change our relationship with, and perhaps when Easter comes, we will every year have come that much closer to understanding what it means to live out the resurrection by honoring the death that came first.

Wishing you a blessed almost-Lent, and praying for you and your practice (as well as all those reading this)!

<3 Johanna

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober Day 6 - Family: Memories

The painting captured a moment so unburdened, so joyful, and free of the darkness that would soon erase the light and leave a deep, bleeding crack never to be fully closed again. Silaena’s golden hair shined in the sun, as warm as her loving smile. She could almost hear her gentle voice, encouraging her boy, telling him stories, laughing with him. By Iomedae, he had been so young. So innocent. His tiny hands gripped the seesaw in fearless glee. Time was a troublesome concept that tended to slip her mind in the center of this ongoing war, this ongoing battle. Years, decades of tragedy, and she herself the chosen idol of it all. Timeless. Unchanging. While the world around her moved forward and forward without any stopping. It never had been her decision. But it had been her duty. She wore the loneliness with the same determined pride as her crown. And still, in some secret moments, she wondered if, at any point, it would have been possible not to carry it all alone. It was a naïve, unreasonable thought and she should not be ungrateful, for Iomedae was always at her side. Family had become a foreign, faraway memory. She remembered her pain over the tragedy at Heaven’s Edge like a still throbbing scar when she allowed it, while, simultaneously, she felt removed from it all with her focus forced to stay on the big picture, not a single detail of it. Would she have been able to do more for the little traumatized boy, the one single survivor of the massacre, her only living relative? She remembered a time when he had looked at her with excitement and admiration in those green, glowing eyes, behind his charming, mischievous smiles. But eventually, in becoming older, he had grown more distant, more disdainful, and outright crude in his jokes, his diversions, and every area of his life. If there was good left in him, he didn’t show it, didn't allow it. Was it – at least partly – her failure too? Would they have been able to give each other some solace in their loneliness? If she had been there for him a little more … But there was no room for distractions of this very kind. In her ever-lasting role as the queen, the leader of the crusades, her attention had been needed elsewhere, and he – born into a place that demanded to take responsibility too, if only he wouldn't ignore it – should have been able to understand, should have been strong enough to carry it. Queen Galfrey sighed and straightened her posture when she turned away from the painting. Enough of the mournful musings. Her duties awaited her.

[whentherewerebicycles]

read outside for a while yesterday wrapped up in a blanket and it was so nice 😭 it’s slowly staying light until later and we are just three weeks away from 7pm sunsets. I slept pretty well last night—I can’t sleep on my back for long anymore without getting uncomfortable but the nice part about sleeping curled up on my side is that I can feel him kicking very gently through the night. I woke up from a dream at 3am and just lay there for a long time with my hand on my stomach feeling him shifting around. I love him I love him I love him! my little guy! I wasn’t expecting to like being pregnant this much. first trimester was uh lightly traumatic what will all the uhh light trauma around ultrasounds/waiting, but the second trimester has been pretty joyful especially since I started feeling him move. I think I am also very lucky to have had virtually no unpleasant pregnancy symptoms thus far apart from rapid weight gain… crossing my fingers that I get to ride this wave of feeling pretty normal in my body for a while longer!!

today can be another wonderfully relaxed day… god I love a long weekend. I am reading fic in bed now but I think I’ll try to make myself go for an early dog walk to get it over with lol. or maybe split it into two 30 min walks so it doesn’t feel so long. I might go to a coffee shop to write for a couple hours too we’ll see… then hockey at 3 + delicious Indian takeout with liz and alex tonight. ooh and I should cook this Thai basil chicken for lunch because if I don’t I know I’ll end up letting the chicken go bad again oops.

[pielordcollin]

Intro Post + Blog Links!!

Figure I should make a proper pinned post !?

Hi there! I'm Collin PieLord, I'm a 2D animator and director who loves making many many things..

Here's my animation reel featuring some personal works (listed below) and some of my work for Eddsworld and more!

Here is where I post all of my personal art. Mostly just fan-art and these OCs but anything is possible..!

Here's more links for you..

Linktree | Projects I've Worked on

Here's some of my personal works and links to their respective Tumblr blogs..

OddBall Adventures is a comedy-drama fantasy adventure cartoon about three delinquents finding themselves in mischief, just trying to survive their crazy world.

I started this in 2014 on LittleBigPlanet with my two friends Dave and Caleb, and was ultimately got me into animating and writing in the first place- and since then I've made over 2 hours of animation with our incredible team and I'm just so joyful. Check it out!!

@oddballstudios | More Links | Latest Episode!!

Work in Progress is a teen comedy-drama, coming of age, animated series. Set in Washington State during the late 2000’s and early 2010’s, Work in Progress follows four friends dealing with the pressure of adulthood looming just over the horizon.

These are characters I've had for over 10 years and a story I've been tinkering with for a long time. The more I grew with the characters, I realized I just really wanted to tell a story about the different ways teenagers develop and the melancholy of maturity. We're all a Work in Progress of tomorrow selves! I took influence from various coming of age and slice of life comedies, most notably Freaks and Geeks and Lucky Star (weird combo but roll with it). I'm currently working on the first episode in my free-time! You can follow the production and making of it on it's Tumblr. I also post art of the characters all the time on here soo...

@wiptoon | Carrd

Operation Lost Cause is a drama thriller web-comic created by myself and @commanderrcat. Looking to find direction in his life, 22-year-old Louie Martin makes the decision to enlist in the military. Despite his lack of athletic prowess, his technological skills quickly catch the attention of the infamous General Arthur McCoy, who takes the young private under his wing.

Like all my projects this is a story that's become deeply personal to me to tell about struggling to find your place in the world and acceptance. Commander and I are both 50/50 on everything and it's just been a blast to work on. If you like comics about traumatized people and cute birds this is the comic for you!

@oplostcause | Official Website

Okay that's all for now! Thank you! Have a nice day!! <3

[fe-fictions]

Got any old lon'qu fics you can upload, please? ;_;

(Of course! I have the morning after you and Lon'qu reunite from defeating Grima... we love ourselves a traumatized husband :'3 thanks again to @zankavogue ! )

You woke up first.

You were still adjusting to being in the real world, again.

Having returned to Lon’qu was an adventure in itself- you were reminded of all the hardships that came with being back on solid ground.

Namely, how freezing cold Ferox was, especially in the later months.

You were groggy, but felt nice and warm, which immediately registered in your mind as incorrect. Ferox wasn’t warm.

Then you realized you were in your old bed. In the home you had shared with Lon’qu, for two blissful years before the sacrifice. It had been three years longer until you were able to wake up in it again...which had happened only last night.

Still, you were far warmer than the heat from the many fires inside would provide.

There was a slow shift behind you, a heavy, relaxed exhale into your shoulder, and a lazy squeeze of arms around your body.

Ah.

Lon’qu.

You tilted your head back, finding a mop of spiky dark hair sticking up from where his face was nuzzled against you.

He had latched onto you for hours yesterday, since you had suddenly just popped up in the middle of the day with Chrom and Lissa. 

He hadn’t been expecting visitors...let alone his long lost love.

You could hear muffled sobs and scoldings when he engulfed you in his arms, unable to even acknowledge the royals laughing with you.

You were so overjoyed to be with Lon’qu again, and he was at a complete loss for words. Well, besides the garbled, joyful slur of mangled syllables when he tried to express how he was feeling with you in his arms again.

When things calmed down enough for him to thank Chrom and Lissa properly, they made a quick exit, insisting that you spend time with Lon’qu for a proper reunion.

The moment the door closed behind you, Lon’qu couldn’t bear to let you from his arms for a shadow of a second.

Oh, how sweetly he held you.

He made you swear over and over that you weren’t going anywhere, anymore. No more sacrifices. 

And you promised over and over that you were here. And you were going to work tirelessly to win back his trust. 

You knew how traumatic it had been to watch his beloved disappear before his eyes...for the second time. It should never have happened once. For him to relive that nightmare twice...it filled you with insurmountable guilt. He said he understood why you did it, and he had accepted the loss and come to terms with it.

But deep down, you knew he was very hurt, and raw. 

He had every right to be.

You would never complain about him holding onto you with every fiber of his being. You would let him cling to you ‘til the end of time, if it meant you could ease the pain he felt.

You snuggled back into him, encouraging your dearest to hug you closer. It was so cute- even in his sleep, his instinct was to hold you.

His grip tightened as you expected, making you grin to yourself. 

“My love…” You whispered, resting a hand on his forearm, which was crossed over your chest, giving him the soothing rhythm of your heartbeat.

You stroked his arm with an absentminded yawn. This was true bliss. 

“Hmngh.” Lon’qu’s morning growl. You felt it against your skin, and you giggled. “Mmr...Robin…?”

“Good morning, dear.” You gave his arm a little squeeze, “How are you?”

“You’re here.” He spoke for the first time that morning, voice as groggy and hoarse as ever. Ah, the memories it brought back. 

“I’m here.”

You turned in his arms, pressing your hands flat to his chest. Lon’qu’s voice remained sleepy, but his eyes were wide open. 

As if surprised you really were there with him. It was a lot to take in, after all. This was your first morning back together.

Your first real morning at home.

“You’re here.” He repeated, an unrecognizable emotion washing over his face. Like he was having trouble deciding what he was feeling more strongly; was it grief? Relief? Joy? Anxiety?

So many things, and for someone like Lon’qu, who could hardly express himself...it was quite clear that he was struggling to find where to land.

Your smile was sad, but you shifted to hold his face in your hands. “I’m here.”

“I…” He closed his mouth, swallowing thickly when he felt your touch. 

You were here.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, wiping away the silent tears. Lon’qu blinked rapidly, determined not to lose sight of you for even a moment.

“I was...s-scared you…” He looked away, hugging you tighter. “Scared it was a dre-eam.”

“It’s not a dream, Lon’qu.” You promised him, “Hey, sweetheart...hey.” 

You drew his gaze back with a gentle turn of his face, stroking his cheek tenderly.

“I’m home.”

Lon’qu bowed his head, sniffing loudly as his shoulders began to shake.

“Oh, darling…” Your laugh was quiet but filled with warmth. Your arms snaked around his neck, holding onto him as comfortingly as you could. Your poor Lon’qu needed all the TLC you could possibly give.

Your own exhaustion could wait. Right now, you had a precious, fragile husband you needed to take care of.

“I’m not going anywhere, Lon’qu. I’m here.”

“I’m…s-so glad.”

[evilwickedme]

I’ve been seeing a lot of posts lately about how fanon treats Tim compared to Damian and Jason, which is fine, but they’re looking at it through the lens of “good victims” vs “bad victims” in response to trauma and I don’t think that’s the right way to do it. I don’t think we should be looking at it like that because 1. All three of those characters have trauma and comparing trauma is gross and 2. applying real life psychology to inconsistently written fictional characters feels pointless lol. Damian and Jason are written super inconsistently and trying to tie their characters into one specific framework is borderline impossible lol. Sometimes Jason is written as a good person who has inner demons but other times he’s written as a psychopath who tries to murder his family and gleefully tries to shoot children so I don’t think it’s super productive to label him as one or the other. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Ok I'll be real with you I'm not 100% sure what you're getting at! I think you're saying that Tim is positioned as the good victim and Damian and Jason are positioned as the bad victims, although correct me if I'm wrong.

I definitely have a lot of thoughts when it comes to victimhood and the batfam, especially Jason. I saw a TikTok recently that put something I've thought for a while now into words, which is that Jason - Red Hood - is a victim's power fantasy. Like, Bruce is very much a male power fantasy, and Spider-Man and Captain America are Jewish power fantasies, and Jason is over here with his anger and trauma and it just feels so familiar. I don't relate to Jason the most out of the batfam - I feel like Tim's experiences as a whole are much more relatable to me - but I for sure see myself in that aspect of Jason's character.

I think the dynamic of "bad victim" vs "good victim" is flawed in the first place, and dare I say it - yet another aspect of cultural xtianity that has made it into fandom and our culture at large. Purity culture is based in Christianity, and a natural result of it is the idea that victims must be flawless and well behaved, or they must be at fault.

Honestly we see this in DC's constant rewriting of Jason's Robin days - post UTRH comics, esp post n52 comics, are constantly retconning him into being the angry Robin, a boy who was angry and damaged and no good from the beginning, which of course is not true at all - he was a fucking nerd, for real. He loved school and doing homework and going to museums and he only had two notable cases of violence, one extremely close to his death, and the other is in the first issue of A Death in the Family - you know, the story in which he was killed off. Afai can remember RHatO n52 and rebirth and urban legends: cheer all try to present this - almost as if to make Jason's death less tragic, make it seem inevitable. When Bruce calls Jason "broken" in a hologram in battle for the cowl it's this claim that he was mentally unstable and shouldn't have ever been Robin, something that was only brought up in ADitF.

All of this is DC's attempt to make Jason a "bad victim". Red Hood!Jason is angry not bc of his death traumatizing him, but bc he was always broken. The reality is, the reason Jason's death affected Bruce so much and the reason UTRH was so impactful WAS Jason being such a joyful, trusting child. He wanted so much to belong, to be good, to be magic, and instead he was betrayed by his own mother, brutalized, and then left to die. If there was such a thing as a good victim or a bad victim - which there isn't, because being a victim is a neutral act, and nobody deserves to be traumatized, even if they're the worst person on earth - Jason was absolutely a "good victim". That's the whole fucking point.

I don't know as much about Damian as I do about Jason, but I feel like Damian needs less retconning to be presented as a "bad victim". He's introduced as a violent boy who attacks Tim and doesn't trust anyone and having taken in so many of the LoA's teachings. I think it's insane how much the fandom tends to stick to this early characterization; unlike the situation with Jason, where DC is actively trying to pretend that he's always been rotten, for the most part the actual comics have really let him grow as a person and I'm really looking forward to reading Robin (2021) (I already have vol 1 I just need to like. Get around to it).

The truth is Damian was a deeply traumatized and brainwashed child who needed a supportive environment and Dick really tried to give him that, which was so instrumental in his development. I feel for him so much and it's really saddening to see the way many people treat him in the fandom. At least Jason made the choice to become a villain as an adult. Damian's just a kid, even now, and he'd never been shown another option.

As for Tim - God, I've said this before, but I fucking hate how woobified he's become in fan spaces. Guy's intelligent, sarcastic, independent, and yeah, honestly? Not always been treated the best. His biodad wasn't exactly great. Bruce gaslit him on his birthday and Alfred just went along with it. Dick and him were so close, and then after Bruce "died" everything just fell apart between them. But also like. Idk I feel like people often take his agency and character away from him. Originally Tim was supposed to be the normal kid. Robin was basically a nine to five - he was there to do a job, and he wasn't ever supposed to be part of the family, esp considering how recent Jason's death was when he became Robin. That just sort of... Happened. Dick treated him like a brother from the first, yes, but Bruce didn't treat him like a son, and Tim wasn't looking for a father. I don't remember where I saw this, but somebody pointed out that Tim basically never lived in the manor. I think he feels very deeply for the people he loves, and that's why he was so distant at first from the batfam - he didn't want to create a connection that would be severed eventually anyway when he stopped being Robin (again, was initially supposed to be a temporary gig!). We see this most obviously because he did get attached, and then Kon, Bart, Steph, his dad, and Bruce all died - or "died" - and he low-key lost it. And like...

Okay I've sort of lost the plot, but I guess basically what I'm saying here is that I'm not saying that Tim isn't deeply traumatized himself, but I don't really see the things that traumatized him the most as victimizing. Like... He and his dad were working on rebuilding their relationship, for better or for worse. Before Bruce died, he was doing pretty well as part of the family. He's, unfortunately, back to being Bruce's Robin. So like - what is he a victim of that he's being treated as a good victim? But then you read the most popular Tim centered fics and you're like, oh, okay. So we're just projecting here.

Like, were Jack and Janet drake amazing parents? Again, no, and he expresses extreme frustration with the constant moving and boarding schools and at a certain point jack confiscates his tv and jack forces him to stop being Robin because it's dangerous. But none of this is anywhere close to the abuse that's portrayed in woobified!Tim fics. Like my God, some of that shit is AWFUL. Many of them are extraordinarily well written and deal with the abuse they inflict on Tim extremely well. But it's, at least as far as I can tell, made up. Positioning Tim as a "good victim" is so fucking easy when you're making up the abuse in the first place.

Idk I guess the main problem here is that the idea of good victim and bad victim are ridiculously harmful in the first place, but then there's also just the fact that none of this characterization is based in canon - whether bc of DC's attempts to erase history with Jason, bc character development is routinely ignored with Damian (not to say that it's low-key because of racism, but... It's low-key because of racism), or bc it's straight up made up.

But, again. Y'all. Just do not moralize victimhood. Nobody deserves to be abused or mistreated or fucking murdered (except the joker, bc as I've said before, he has such a high fictional kill count it's like the equivalent of killing a Nazi and I stand by that).

Anyway thanks for asking, sorry for taking a few days I just had to think about it and also apparently write a full scroll of text. I tried to break it up into readable chunks instead of the wall of text I originally wrote it as but it's still just. So long. Anyway much love

[letters-to-teaching]

Teaching in FL with standards while bi and liberal

Letters to Teaching

I hope very much that you will read all of this before commenting. I am a human being and have made my own mistakes, to which I have consistently owned up. That being said, 

CW for general shittiness of US, Florida, gun violence, mental illness, poor treatment of teachers and kids. 

Anyone have time/spoons for a frank and open conversation about teaching in the US, Florida in particular?

Still into it? Please consider whether you’re ready to consume this information. It may end up being surprisingly un-traumatic for you, but for me it’s both rambling and just ~a lot~.  Buckle up, star children. 

So yeah here we go. Diary entry or whatever. March 29 2023, in which I say a few of the many wretched things that have sucked in the last four years. This will take a while but I promise it’s all important. 

What follows is a brief summary of my personal experience and the desperate hope that I can fall in love with teaching again. The classroom used to be my most joyful place, but with each year, particularly after leaving my former position at a wonderful school, the profession that once gave me passion and purpose has increasingly become nothing but a cesspool of dread and broken promises. 

Frankly, my students and my program deserve someone like my 23-yr-old self: willing to do and give every particle of my being to teaching,. Realistically, those teachers shouldn’t be willing to do that. We are not able to do that. We all deserve better pay, more respect, and better training, both social and emotional. Our worth should not be determined by our productivity. 

I’m tired now. I’m so fucking tired and so incredibly devastated to see how much teaching, this school in particular (my alma mater), has warped me. Especially with the comparison between my former school’s response to COVID vs that of my current employer. Mine truly used to be an exceptional school, and I’m devastated to see how far it’s fallen. I thought I could be part of the solution, but here’s what has happened in my time here:

Year 1: accepted a job making the same salary ($46k) as my previous job bc I wanted to be close to my mom and I naively believed that this school shared my pursuit of excellence and inclusivity. Taught 7 classes with no planning period for no extra money. Helped colleagues navigate online challenges during COVID, hosted lunches and socials to help students connect in isolation, and designed entirely new curricula to best support online learning. 

Year 2: Forced (on threat of firing) to teach two periods of English with two week’s notice and neither training nor a textbook. Parents and students were vocal, toxic, and furious that I was drowning and couldn’t keep up with lesson plans and grades. Their concerns were valid, but the administration left me entirely without help. 

Year 3: Began with zero support /confidence and increased scrutiny due to my challenges from the previous year. Admittedly, this lack of respect and support did cause me to be behind often on grading and communication. Written up for (legally) discussing pay when I learned a coworker was making $10 less per hour than I was. Took on all of the classes in my program when my co-teacher (justifiably) bailed due to discrimination and poor treatment with literally a week’s warning, which led to me teaching a lunch class and another period with two classes at the same time for a total of nine preps. From day one, a group of students actively tried to get me fired and intentionally bullied kids away from my program. Admin refused to do anything and blamed me, taking away my entry level classes and functionally killing my program. I expressed that this decision ensured that there was no possibility for growth, but was again ignored without consideration. 

Year 4: intense criticism over the fact that I haven’t been particularly successful in my position. I fully admitted my own part in this. Constant terror that my contract means nothing in an at will state. Two new situations in which I am teaching multiple classes in the same period. This year alone I am generating curricula for 10 unique classes during 6 class periods. 

No matter what happens, I will always be honest. In this hostile environment, my grades ~were~ often  late in my second and third years. Parents complained, students actively worked against me, and I have been paralyzed with fear and largely unable to dig myself out. I am not blameless here, nor have I ever pretended to be. My frustration is the choice of my administrators to place every ounce of the blame upon me. My department chair was told that the classes which could save my program were taken away due to scheduling conflicts, while I was told that they were a punishment for my low recruitment numbers. Whatever improvements I make are ignored, while every mistake is a point of discussion. 

My own dean suggested that I get out as soon as I can. He sees the writing on the wall. 

The one breath of fresh air is the possibility of returning to the only school that treated me reasonably well. The school that I loved, the school I left to be nearer my mother. The school that, despite its own problems, I never forgot. 

The education system is broken. In ten years and three schools, my salary has gone up by $8k (now $46k) while my living expenses have skyrocketed exponentially. I am unable to purchase Expo markers or even notebook paper and pens for my students. 

Teachers and students risk our lives every day we set foot on campus. Our livelihoods are threatened when we speak out. 

I generally try to end posts on a message of hope, but at this point I am sincerely asking for help. America’s teachers are HUNGRY; we are TERRIFIED; we are THREATENED; we face DEATH each day. Help me. Help us. Be a voice for the voiceless. I beg you. I love you. I honor you. 

[loverzs]

Letter

I loved you for the person you were. Since 2019, until now, I’ve loved you, I loved you so much. So much that I believe I’ll never be in love again. and I loved you for the simple reason that you were you, and you were the kindest guy I had ever met. It might sound weird, but I could literally feel your kind heart radiating off of you the first time we met. You made me feel special from the earliest moments we had together and it made me so happy. I have so many memories of you and I, that I hold so close to my heart.

You were nowhere near as successful as you are now. While being proud of you, as time goes by, I can feel myself losing you with every day. We’ve both changed so much, but I’ve seen you start caring more and more about fame, attention, material things. And the more you care about those things, the less I can feel you care about me. I know it’s only a matter of time before you realise that I’m not good enough for you, that someone of your status should be with someone on the same level, someone prettier, someone cooler, someone much more well known and popular.

I just know that if you had to choose between your career and to be with me, you would choose your career without a second thought. I can feel and sense so strongly that I’ve become so much less important to you. I cry my eyes out as I write this, because realising I’m no longer the most important thing to you is like I’m experiencing september 2022 all over again. I’m just not that important to you anymore, and I don’t believe that you love me anymore.

I watched a couple on the train home from work today, and I asked myself why couldn’t that be you and me? My heart shattered as I watched them hold hands, share headphones, laugh together, kiss. I cant even see my phone right now from how much i am crying. I don’t know why you did this to me. You made me believe that that could be us one day. I know it can’t. I was believing in nothing. It wont happen. If you couldn’t be with me back in 2022, as the time passes, you gain more to lose. I become even more of a risk to your precious career. I’ll never be someone you bring into your real life. I know you won’t. Please don’t lie to me anymore, please don’t entertain me any longer. I know you don’t really want me, I know our future together is a lie. I know it’s not going to happen. Please don’t delude me anymore. Please remove the heart from your name and just stop tricking me anymore.

The last few weeks have been terrible again between you and i. This situation of no direct communication has brought out the absolute worst in me, it always has, and it’ll continue to. I don’t think it’s fair to expect any better from me, given anyone else in the situation would have suffered emotionally the same as I have. But please know that I’m sorry, for all the negativity I caused in your life I am so sorry and I hate that I did that.

Let’s not fight anymore. Let’s not make each other mad, annoyed or sad anymore. Let’s not ruin each other’s moments that are meant to be joyful and happy anymore. I didn’t mean to do that to you, and Im sure you didn’t mean to do it to me. I’m tired, and my heart is hurting from everything we went through. I can feel you losing the desire to fight for me, you don’t want to have to prove you love me anymore. And it’s okay. We can end it before it gets worse, before it becomes more painful than it already is. I’m just not meant to be with you. You and I are an impossible couple that just can’t happen in this life. I know because if we were possible, last year in September 2022 instead of experiencing traumatic heartbreak, we would’ve been holding each other and telling each other how long we waited. The moment I dream of, of holding your hand and looking in your eyes is never going to happen and I know you were too kind to let me know that. I know it now. Don’t worry anymore.

I loved you and I loved being yours for a while.

[deviant-nomad]

We don't "move on" from grief. We move forward with it 

[0:30] Usually, when I talk about this period of my life, the reaction I get is essentially: "I can't -- I can't imagine." But I do think you can. I think you can. And I think that you should because, someday, it's going to happen to you. Maybe not these specific losses in this specific order or at this speed, but like I said, I'm very fun and the research that I have seen will stun you: everyone you love has a 100 percent chance of dying.

[8:10] Just like when you fall in love, finally - like really fall in love with someone who gets you, and sees you - and you even see “oh my god I’ve been wrong this entire time, love is not a contest or a reality show. It’s so quiet it’s this invisible thread of calm that connects the two of us even when everything is chaos, when things are falling apart, even when he’s gone. That stays with you.”

[11:40] I’m not special. I know that. I’m fully aware - all day, every day, all around the world, terrible things are happening, all the time - like I said, I’m a fun person. But like, terrible things are happening. People are experiencing deeply formative and traumatic losses every day.

[The people that I interview as part of my job...] they haven’t closed themselves around this loss and made it the center of their lives. They’ve lived. Their worlds have kept spinning. [But these experiences of grief and loss] are the experiences that mark us and make us just as much as the joyful ones. And just as permanently. Long after you get your last sympathy card, or your last hot dish. Like, we don’t look at the people around us experiencing life’s joys and wonders and tell them to move on, do we?

[13:15] Grief is one of those things - like falling in love, or having a baby, or watching The Wire on HBO - where you don’t get it until you get it! Until you do it. And once you do it, once it’s your love or your baby, once it’s your grief and your front row at the funeral - you get it. You understand what you’re experiencing is not a moment in time, it’s not a bone that will reset. But you’ve been touched by something chronic. Something incurable. It’s not fatal, but sometimes grief feels like it could be. And if we can’t prevent it in one another, what can we do? What can we do other than try to remind one another that some things can’t be fixed, and not all wounds are meant to heal?

We need each other to remember - to help each other remember - that grief is this multi-taking emotion. That you can and will be sad, and happy. You’ll be grieving, and able to love. In the same year, or week, or the same breath. We need to remember that a grieving person is going to laugh again and smile again. If we’re lucky they’ll even find love again.

But yes, absolutely, they’re going to move forward.

But that doesn’t mean that they’ve moved on.

[c-is-for-circinate]

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

[karin-gespenst]

something I enjoy very much about Call the midwife is that the show portrays women of all ages. We see them in many different life situations. Our main cast is a wonderful example for a broad range of age groups and temperaments working together in the same field.

There are several young women who we see starting their work as nurses and midwifes and learning together. Chummy, Jenny, Trixie and Cynthia (my love!) are the quartett we will always cherish. Thank you Jenny for starting the journey!

Jane is older than them, but also new in the community, and has to face her fears a lot. Seeing her make friends and become more confident was lovely.

With Barbara and Sister Winifred we have two more young midwives who are finding their feet in a workplace that is not like any other. In their own respective ways they grow and expand their skills. Barbara has so often gone above and beyond for her patients and made friendships that should have lasted a long lifetime.

For Sister Winifred it is not her first workplace, and Lucille has also worked in a different field before. They are not as young as the other five and this helps them in some regards. Sister Winifred moves on to stay at the Mother House where she does remarkable work and making a stand for that really does her good.

Valerie is also not new to working as a nurse when she joins the Nonnatus House staff. I’d say being an army nurse gives you plenty of opportunity to become traumatized, and then the CtM writes came and packed three seasons full of shocks, nightmares and guilt onto Valerie instead of the glorious and joyful times Val deserves. No wonder she left.

Patsy has experience in hospital work when she arrives at Nonnatus House, and adjusts to district work quite well. Tragic backstory in tow, she and Delia find a way to live their love and they still inspire us to this day. Delia! What a fighter! Whereever they live and  work now, we’re proud of them.

When we meet Shelagh, back then Sister Bernadette, she is in her early thirties. Ten years of experience make her a senior midwife, and it is her advantage that her training is more recent than that of her older colleagues. I love it when she gets to teach! She learns to do everything else under the sun as well after leaving the order, and now she is approaching 20 years in the medical field, chapeau!

Trixie is a match for Shelagh in clinical matters, nobody ever doubt that. Our champion for women and children has seen so many people in desperate situations and won’t stop fighting to make things better, both in medical care and on the larger scale. Her standing up in front of a court or council, or whatever accumulation of suits and ties it may be, and demanding justice and better care, she makes us proud every time. Helen George has outshined everyone else on the show in these moments and I’m so very glad she is still staying on.

Sister Frances is skilled when she starts, but a tiny bit insecure, until she gathers tons of experience in a very short time. Cynthia started out like this as well. With a faith like hers, Sister Frances is well equipped to help people and never shys away from an opportunity to learn. Ella Bruccoleri is so, so lovely in this role and I hope she can go on being amazing for a few more seasons. Only a couple of years later Sister Frances has already moved on be the peer-mentor for Nancy.

Nancy, who is so vibrant, so young and already has the experiences of an older woman, being a mother, and not allowed to live with her child for so long.

Midwifes who are mothers is another topic, so far we have seen three of them juggling children and work, and with Lucille’s recent experience with her miscarriage we gain a new point of view that has not been there before. 

Lucille! All the hugs for Lucille! Moving thousands of miles away from her family and taking her career seriously, her start in Poplar is not so much about being new to the job, but in a place where she is viewed as other. She has more in common with most East End people than they realise: loyal, trusting in God’s love, enjoying singing together, working hard and contributing to the community in any way she can.

Chummy and Shelagh both returned to work with their child very young. Chummy had some of her most thrilling deliveries after becoming am mom herself. We see her efforts to provide a future for her family and spend time with said family as well. Changing her workplace made it possible for Chummy to take better care of Freddie, which emphasizes that the kind of work schedule that the Nonnatus staff keep was not envisioned to go along with raising children.

Shelagh and her growing family are a different example. My grandma was the same generation, living in a very rural area with four children, a small farm, my grandpa working 10 to 12 hours out of the house. I guess it has something to do with getting strength from your faith.

Sister Hilda is a bit younger than Phyllis, presumably, and has taken the veil in her late twenties or early thirties? So she has seen a lot in her life and even if she is sometimes not getting it right with a person on the first try, she is warmhearted, pragmatic and fierce and I love her.

Phyllis, treasure, icon of midwifery, proud spinster and advanced motorist, has helped women become mothers nigh on thirty years. That is a long time. There is nothing she cannot do and she knows it. Can we please heave a round of applause for Linda Bassett? or twenty?

Similarly, Sister Evangelina did not take any prisoners. Most of you know that her character is based on a real person and Pam Ferris did a splendid job of making sure that she’s honored. Working from a young age, surviving through two wars, making sure she improved her circumstances from a life in poverty as a child to learning a profession that was considered not for the likes of her, taking holy orders as if nursing work was not demanding enough, and spending her days and years in service of other people. If anyone gets to roast both patients and colleagues when they need to do better, she does.

Sister Julienne and Mother Mildred are about the same age, I guess. We see a little bit of Sister Julienne’s life before she joined the order and so often we see her being the wise one, the angelic figure who can make everything right. That one episode being the exception when she was scolded by Grace for not knowing what most women her age have to bear. But she knows, if not from her own experience, then from having helped women of all ages for decades. They go through different kinds of hardship that both need to be recognized.

Mother Mildred is something else. We don’t see her doing much midwifery, but she does other work of care and successfully so. She uses her position of power to shelter vulnerable people and that is something I hope to achieve in my life as well.

Sister Monica Joan. Cake enthusiast, retired midwife and nurse, searching for continued purpose and finding it in her community. If we do not get a spin-off about the time she was starting her work in Poplar, then the BBC don’t know what they are doing.

[likealittleheartbeat]

I deeply appreciate how ATLA depicts all the main characters responses to trauma. Aang’s, for me, however, stands out for its rareness in media. And we are not hammered over the head with the idea that Aang (or any other characters) repeatedly act certain ways because of a single traumatic event. Sure, there are key moments in our lives when a certain event comes to the forefront, but no one experiences the world as constant flashbacks. Rather, we see only in retrospect the way our sarcastic sense of humor or our heightened friendliness were protective responses to a deep emotional injury. Being able to understand Aang’s approach to loss is essential for the show. The structure of the series is founded on his arc (despite an incredible foil provided by Zuko). Our little air nomad initially confronts the loss of his people with a full-on meltdown in the episode “The Southern Air Temple,” where Katara’s offering of familial belonging soothes him. But this kind of outburst is not Aang’s primary response (and actually the literally out-of-character apocalyptic tantrums align with Aang’s overall process of grieving). Instead of constantly brooding (hey Zuko!), Aang leans heavily toward the monk’s pacifist teachings and toward his assumed destiny “to save the world.” He becomes overtly accommodating and joyful, constantly trying to see “the good” in everything with a perfectionist’s zeal. This is not to ascribe his bubbliness only to his trauma. Rather, he comes to emphasize this part of his personality for reasons related to the negative emotions he struggles to face.  Book 1: Water

In the first season, Aang is simply rediscovering his place in the world. “Water is the element of change. The people of the water tribe are capable of adapting to many things. They have a sense of community and love that holds them together.” This is vital to Aang as he initially faces his experience. He won’t get through this if he is not prepared for his life to change. Even if he hadn’t been frozen for 100 years, his world would never be the same. This fact involves eventually finding new people that he feels safe with. After such a massive loss, he’s learning who to trust, and also often making mistakes; not only does he find Sokka and Katara (and I’d argue he’s actually slow to truly open up to them), this is the season where he helps save a fire nation citizen who betrays him to soldiers, befriends the rebel extremist Jet, and attempts to befriend an actively belligerent Zuko (his moral complexity had only JUST! been revealed to the kid!). He’s constantly offering trust to others and seeking their approval in opposition to the deep well of shame and guilt he carries as a survivor of violence. This is also the season where Aang swears off firebending after burning Katara in an overeager attempt to master the element (one will note how fire throughout the series is aligned with, above all else, assertiveness and yang). Aang is so eager to be seen as morally good to others that he refuses to risk any possible harm to them.  And asserting himself carries a danger, in one sense, that he might make a mistake and lose someone’s positive regard, and, in another sense, that he is replicating the anger and violence he’s witnessed. He has no relationship to his anger at this stage of his grief, so it comes out uncontrollably, both in firebending and the Avatar State. It’s through the patience of his new family that he can begin to feel unashamed about his past and about the ways his shame is finding (sometimes violent) expression in the present. Book 2: Earth In the second season he begins to trust himself and stand his ground. Earth, after all, is the element of substance, persistence, and endurance. The “Bitter Work” episode encapsulates how Aang must come to a more sturdy sense of his values. First, there is the transition of pedagogical style. While Katara emphasized support and kindness, Toph insists on blunt and threatening instruction, not for a lack of care towards Aang. Instead, it’s so Aang learns how to stop placing the desires of others above his own--to stop accommodating everyone else above his own needs. Toph taunts Aang by stealing one of the few keepsakes from the monastery that he holds onto. This attachment to the lost airbending culture is echoed in the larger arc with Appa. And, by the end of this episode, it is Aang’s attachment to Sokka that allows him to stand firm. This foreshadows the capital T Tragic downfall in the “Crossroads of Destiny.” Aang gives up his attachment to the other member of his new found family, Katara, despite his moral qualms. Although he has access to all the power of the Avatar state, his sacrifice is not rewarded. Season 2 illustrates Aang coming to terms with his values. He is learning about what he stands for, what holds meaning to him. Understanding himself also includes integrating his grief, and there’s a lonely and dangerous aspect to that exploration. We see Aang’s anger and hopelessness over longer stretches rather than outbursts in this season. It’s hard to watch and hard to root for him. That depressive state leads to actions that counter his previous sense of morality, as he decisively kills an animal, treats his friends unkindly, and blames others for his loss. Letting these harsher feelings emerge is an experiment, and most people discover their boundaries by crossing them. Finding ways to hold compassion for himself, even the harm he causes others, is the other side of this process. Our past and our challenging emotions are a part of us, but they are only a part. Since Aang now has a strong sense of community and is learning to be himself rather than simply seeking validation, we also see him having more healthy boundaries with new people. He’s no longer befriending villains in the second season! He’s respectful and trusting enough, but he’s not putting himself in vulnerable situations nor blindly trusting everyone. Instead, he’s more likely to listen to his friends’ opinions or think about how the monks might’ve been critical towards something (they’re complaints about Ba Sing Se, for example). By knowing what he cares for, he can know himself, the powerful, loving, grief-struck monk. And he can trust that, though he might not be everyone’s favorite person, he does not need to feel ashamed or guilty for who he is or what he’s been through. Book 3: Fire However, despite a sense of self and a sense of belonging, Aang and the group still find themselves constantly asking for permission throughout their time in Ba Sing Se. It’s in the third season, Fire, that initiative and assertiveness become the focus. And who better to provide guidance in this than the official prince of “you never think these things through,” Zuko. It’s no longer a time for avoidance or sturdy defensiveness. It is the season of action. Fire is the element of power, desire, and will, all of which require us to impact others.  We see the motif of initiative throughout the season: the rebels attempt to storm the Firelord on the Day of the Black Sun; Aang attempts to share his feelings and kiss Katara; Katara bends Hama and a couple of fire nation soldiers to her will. In each of these examples, the initiators face disgrace. Positive intent does not bring forth success, by any means, only more consequences to be dealt with. This is perhaps Aang’s biggest challenge. He is afraid that his actions will fail, or worse, they will succeed but he will be wrong in what he has chosen. The sequencing in the series, here, is important. We have already seen how Aang has worked to care for (and appreciate) the well-being of others and how he has learned to care for his own needs. With this in mind, he should be able to trust that his actions will derive from these wells of compassion. But easier said than done. Compassion can also trap him into indecision, hearkening back to his avoidant mistake in the storm, in which the whole mess began. Aang’s internal conflict, here, becomes more pronounced as the finale draws nearer. I think it’s especially significant that we witness Aang disagreeing with his mentors and friends. He must act in a way that will contradict and even threaten his sources of support if he is to trust his own desires. Even the fandom disagrees about the choice Aang makes, which further highlights the fact that making a decisive choice is contentious. There is no point in believing it will grant you love or admiration or success. For someone who began (and spent much of) the series regularly sacrificing himself just to bring others peace, Aang’s decision to prioritize his own interests despite the very explicit possibility of failure is the ultimate growth his character can have and the ultimate representation of him processing his trauma. (This arc was echoed and made even more explicit in many ways with Adora in the She-ra finale.) The last significant time Aang followed his desire, in his mind, was when he escaped the Air Temple in the storm. To want something, to trust his desire and act on it, is an act of incredible courage for him, and whether it succeeded or failed, whether anyone agrees or disagrees with it, it offered Aang a sense of peace and resolution. Now I appreciate and love Zuko’s iconic redemption arc, but Aang’s subtler arc, which subverts the “chosen one” narrative and broke ground to represent a prevalent emotional experience, stands out to me as the foundation for the show I love so much.

[ticklytums]

It Begins With A Smile

(Luz runs into an unwanted visitor on a potion scavenging attempt, but things take an interesting, childish turn when a weakness is accidentally exposed and Golden Guard learns of a new way to mess with the human.

Warning: Contains fluff and the adorableness of two traumatized children getting to act like children and slowly giggle their way into friendship! Not intended to be GoldenLuz but can be if you want it to be)

“Crammity…”

Sure. It figured. Every time Luz was on her own she seemed to fall into some sort of terrible situation. And this one seemed to include warping mushrooms that she never seemed to be able to grasp before they vanished at her fingertips. Why did all these witch potions include the most unconventional, hard to get ingredients?

“Would you get over here!” Luz hissed as she clawed at one of the flighty mushrooms, before watching the thing vanish and appear once more inches from her. This wasn’t…technically legal, that the young witchling knew. Then again, being under Eda’s mentorship basically screamed ‘I do illegal things all the time!’ Warping mushrooms weren’t meant to be picked until they ripened some more, but…this potion called for ‘young shrooms.’

It’s fine. It could be worse.

“Ah, up to more mischief I see! Who knew a little human could be such trouble…”

And it just got worse.

Luz’s eyes slid shut in absolute dread. She refused to turn her head towards the source of the voice that was just radiating smug teenager energy. Nope, she wasn’t dealing with that jerk’s antics today. Forget the mushrooms. Eda could wait for her ingredients.

Picking up Eda’s staff, the witchling immediately turned around and started her path home—only to yelp as she nearly slammed face first into the Golden Guard.

“It seems you just can’t help being on the wrong end of the law, can you?” the smug prodigy sing-songed. “You know it isn’t legal to pick those mushrooms yet, right?”

“I’m NOT picking them!” Luz growled as she tried to step past the guard. “Now get out of my way.”

The older boy didn’t seem intent to do such, instead merely blocking the girl with his staff as she attempted to advance. He prodded her pointedly with his mechanical staff. “So what are you doing here then?”

As the staff made the blunt and yet gentle connection with her belly, Luz almost felt a squeak slip out. It took a moment to compose herself. “I don’t have to answer you.”

“Yeeees. You. Do!” the guard chirped and he punctuated each word with a light prod against her. Every time he did Luz seemed to suck in her breath and twitch. The prodigy blinked at the response, watching the human as she tensed from the jab of his staff, and looked like she was gritting her teeth quite a bit.

“Oh, what? Am I hurting you?” he scoffed disdainfully at the thought. Humans were pathetic, but Titan, he at least assumed the girl that stood up against Emperor Belos and took a couple good blows from both of them wasn’t so frail. He jabbed her lightly a few more times. “I know your kind is weak, but-“

He was cut off by the small giggling snort that burst from the teen before she could stop it, and she clasped a hand hurriedly over her mouth, before shoving the staff away with her other hand. “Would you knock it off!” Luz snapped, reining in control of her giggles.

The older boy tilted an eyebrow, perplexed. That wasn’t the reaction he expected to provoke… Curious, Golden Guard jabbed at her again, only this time he made the poke deliberately softer, and wiggled the end of the staff a bit. The ticklish jolt made Luz let off a laugh. And he did it again, smirking in delight when she kept trying to get away from it.

Well, that was…an interesting reaction. Living the life he had, Golden Guard hadn’t exactly been granted the luxury to engage in juvenile play, and he had little experience with tickling.

But that was about to change.

“Well, well, well…” the prodigy taunted the other indignant and increasingly nervous teenager. “What an interesting and may I say rather adorable development. You humans are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Luz finally snapped to attention and the guard had only a millisecond to react as balls of flames were tossed towards his face, crackling passed him. The boy effortlessly dodged them and his staff deflected a few icicles with a chuckle. His amusement was just fueling Luz’s annoyance.

“Oh now now,” the guard admonished teasingly as he simply avoided her little tantrum by holding her back with his staff. “No need to throw such a fuss, I’m just playing around!”

Luz gave a growl and shot a murderous glare as much as she could to the older kid. “And what after that? Going to cart me off to Emperor Belos, are you?”

“Hmm, well I suppose I should!” the boy said with a sigh as his maroon eyes sparkled mischievously under the golden mask. “But where would the fun be in that already, hm?” After all, he wasn’t done experimenting.

Luz growled and positioned an ice glyph on the ground, stepping upwards so she could launch up into the sky. The prodigy was impressed and barrel rolled out of target range as several fireballs singed the red grass. With a crimson flash he disappeared, and Luz let off a squeal as she felt a poke against her side.

“Would you-!” Furiously, the girl spun around—only to see the flickers of magic disappearing as he vanished again. And the moment she turned, he was back as his fingers ghosted over both sides.

A laugh tumbled out of the teenaged girl as her knees bent slightly in instinct and she furiously took a swipe—only to smack uselessly at empty air. “-fihihight me normally, you-you jerk!”

The Golden Guard appeared back in his original spot and gave an amused laugh. “Oh, I could…but it’s much more fun to mess with ya!” He watched the human sift through her pockets frantically.

“Well I’m not in the mood to be messed with!” the girl snapped. She rose Eda’s staff but before it could connect with the jerk’s head, he disappeared in a flickering streak of red light. “Huh? Wh-ah!” And then reappeared with an arm having hoisted her up off the ground.

“I’ve noticed,” Golden Guard responded smugly. “I suppose I have to enact my duty and punish someone who would dare to harm an official of the royal court.” His smirk grew when he felt the girl tense, before the frantic kicking resumed.

“Let go of me, you creep! I’ll-I’ll burn that ugly Halloween mask off your face!”

“You don’t think I’ve noticed you’ve run out of glyphs?” the older teen responded mischievously, and he laughed as the color drained from her face. “Yeeeah, I don’t think you’ll be doing much, human! Ah, except maybe laughing yourself to insanity.”

Luz’s eyes widened but before she could snap anything back she felt the gentle wiggle of fingers trace along her side. “N-no!” The witchling let off a string of Spanish curses as she struggled not to burst into laughter. That attempt failed when the boy’s fingers switched the target area to her belly and grinned when laughter began to bubble from her.

“Well your kind is just full of sensitivity! And wiggles!” he practically crooned at the poor girl, who at this point was just a laughing ball. He watched in amusement as she attempted to curl her legs up and limit the access to her tummy, but he easily maneuvered back to it.

“S-stohahap!” Luz squealed frantically as she was reduced to embarrassing snorts and hearty peals of laughter as his fingers skittered everywhere. She kicked against the ground and tried to fumble out her threats, but it was useless and tears pricked at her eyes.

This was such an unexpected and entertaining turn of events from the dreary day the guard was expecting, he’d have to thank the human later. Despite her earlier attack on him, the prodigy felt no inclination to harm her. To do so would ruin the fun! And he rather liked this little game, toying with the younger kid as a cat might with a mouse.

“Never really got to experience this growing up. What’s it like, human?”

Luz’s hiccups and wriggles had finally granted her some leeway as she managed to pry an arm free. Fine! So that’s the way he wanted to play? “Well why don’t you see for your-SELF!” And suddenly her spare hand plunged towards the older kid’s ribs.

The effect was absolutely instant.

“Wh-ahahahat!?” The teenager let off a giggling yelp as he stumbled, and it gave Luz the perfect opportunity to twist around and lunge furiously at the boy. She didn’t really think about running at the moment, too intent on delivering back what was just served to her. However, even she didn’t expect the squeaky laughter that burst from the guard as she dug into his ribs.

The older boy’s genuine laugh was so…bubbly and boyish, sounding ten years younger than he was. It was riddled with snorts already and despite herself Luz couldn’t help the way her lips tilted up a bit.

“Wow dude, your laugh is ridiculous. You sound like a pig.”

“I-I do not!” the boy attempted to snap, his laughter reaching a new octave as she drilled into his sides. “I’m totally dignified!” When her hands plunged towards his tummy he squeaked and curled up. This time Luz actually laughed.

“Oh yeah, totally dignified. So, who can’t take it now, bird face?” She switched the scribbles to softly ghosting his sides, and that seemed to drive him even more wild. The poor kid attempted a spell, and Luz watched in great amusement as the magic barely made a spark before he lost his concentration. In his struggles his mask had actually slipped off his face, giving Luz a full view for the first time of this kid.

She knew he was a ‘genius teen prodigy’ but for the first time she actually got to see the kid like her, with his boyish and slightly chubby cheeks and a face of youth just as much as it was one of trauma. Watching his face crinkle up in an almost joyful fashion made Luz nearly forget who it was she was dealing with.

“H-human unhahahand mehehe! I demand you to or you’ll saHAHAFFER THE-!” But he couldn't finish that threat as the laughter cut him off. Luz’s hands were clawing at his stomach and had found a rhythm that was driving him up the wall.

“The great teen prodigy, taken down by a little tickling! From a human!” Luz teased the boy. “Wait until I tell Eda! Oh no, better yet! Wait until I tell Lilith!”

“N-not if I have anything to say a-about it!” Golden Guard growled as he finally managed to reach out and tweak at Luz’s side.

“Ah!” Luz let off a giggling yelp as her body faltered trying to keep the older kid pinned down. She tried to jerk towards the side to avoid his grab, but it was making her wobble, and threaten to tumble off of him. “Y-you’re just a sore loser that can’t handle thahat he’s being beaten by a human!”

Both of their staffs were in easy reach and both witchlings easily could have grabbed for their actual weapons, but neither seemed inclined to do so. If anything, they seemed to have forgotten their hostility only moments prior in the wake of this bizarre game of trying to out tickle the other.

“Beaten?” the guard scoffed through his giggles as his hands suddenly locked around the girl’s wrists in an attempt to overpower her. “Y-you’re giving yourself a generous compliment, human!” He shoved against Luz, who was also pushing against his arms now.

“I am, and I’m also gonna give you a dose of THIS!” Luz smirked, her hands darting up under the older teen’s arms. Her eyes widened in shock at the explosive reaction that invoked, and she watched him desperately dig his elbows into his sides to try and protect the sensitive spot. His kicking was just wild now.

“N-NAHAHAHA! S-STAHAHAP!”

Luz couldn’t help it. Despite the fact not a finger was touching her, she laughed genuinely. “Wooow, okay I didn’t expect you to go that nuts.” Found his worst spot it seemed. “I guess it has to be pretty bad if someone as proud as yourself is actually willing to beg for mercy!” That evil grin widened, like a mischievous younger sister. “And I’m not gonna give it.”

The sixteen year old was laughing helplessly now as he twisted about to try and get away from Luz’s mischievous and playful little pokes. She was evilly prodding and jabbing anywhere she could reach, from his tummy to his sides, and back up under his arms. “Do you give up yet?”

“I’m goHONNA FEED YOU TO A DE-DEMON!”  the guard squealed, tears of mirth in his eyes. A flailing hand waved around until it found her tummy to poke, invoking a squeak from Luz.

“Ah! Ahaha, hey!” Luz grappled with the hands, and by now the two were just…a giggling mess. Both were just laughing, ticklish kids that seemed to have forgotten this was even a battle to begin with and were treating it as way more of a game now.

“You’re not gonna win this fight with me, dude! I’ve been having tickle fights with my Mami since I was little!” And had decimated everyone at the owl house at least once by now.

The teenager laughed as he kept trying to pin the younger kid. “Yeah? Well I’m the Golden Guard, so I’m stronger than you!”

“You sure about that??”

Their bizarre and adorable tickle battle went on for another good couple minutes, the two putting aside their animosity as they just let themselves indulge in being children for once, without thinking about the opposing sides they were on, or the trauma they’d been through. Both kids were breathless by the end of it. Luz barely even remembered she was supposed to be out here collecting mushrooms, or that she was essentially playing with her enemy.

“I…totally won that, human,” the boy panted out smugly, and he yelped a bit as Luz shoved him back down to the ground. He was still so caught off guard he hadn’t even seen it coming.

“You didn’t win anything. You jerk.” She rolled her eyes but after a moment offered a hand to help him up. “…Wait, what were we even trying to win?”

He seemed just as perplexed, eyes looking around slowly as if he was trying to find some explanation. A flustered look came to his face and his maroon eyes narrowed at Luz as she gave a small snort.

“Well regardless!” he went on haughtily, as if he hadn’t just been a giggling mess a moment ago. “I hope you’ve learned not to mess with a royal guard. Unfortunately it didn’t appear as if the younger teenager looked the least bit intimidated. In fact she merely smirked.

“Oh you mean the royal guard that was just giggling and squealing like a five year old girl?” Luz laughed as the teenager scowled in fury and his blush deepened. “Yeah, I definitely won’t ‘mess’ with you again,” the kid teased.

Golden Guard grunted a bit as his fingers twitched. A look of turmoil crossed his face as he kept staring at the human. It was no use. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Technically she hadn’t been before but he at least knew she was wary of his presence. …That wasn’t the case now.

“Well…” The prodigy hopped up onto his staff and began to rise up into the air. “This was a warning, you know.” The staff flew closer to her and the butt of it bopped her in the stomach. “Next time I won’t be so nice, human.”

“Luz.”

The boy frowned. “Huh?”

“My name, it’s Luz.” Luz crossed her arms and lifted a brow. “You could at least dignify me with my real name, you know.” She watched him blink. “So what can I call you then?”

The older teen turned away at her imploring eyes as he once again attempted to harden the proverbial walls of his armor that this stupid human had begun to chip at today. “Golden Guard,” he muttered, and didn’t miss the way Luz’s shoulders seemed to slightly sag in disappointment. After a moment of consideration, his staff lit up.

Before Luz realized it, she had a small handful of warping mushrooms and she looked to the boy.

“Consider it a small gesture of goodwill,” he told her simply and he ignored the tiny smile she was giving him. “The mushrooms are over populated this year anyway. …Don’t lean too much into this. My mercy was a one time thing.”

Luz laughed softly and gave her strange adversary a wayward smile. “Right. …Uh…thanks.”

“Try to keep yourself out of trouble for once…Luz.”

The kid stuck her tongue out at him, and it earned a small look of amusement from the other. “Yeah, whatever. See you later then, I guess.” And then he was gone. Luz’s grip on the small mushrooms tightened. “…Golden Guard.”

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi! Do you have any Cherik Army AUs? I've managed to find just 3.

Hi Anon, thanks for the ask. I found some good Army AUs, though some might not quite fall into the category of 'Army AU'. There are, surprisingly, few Army AUs that I have found, whereas there are several military and war AUs, but those don't necessarily involve an army. I did include a variety that involve an army in one way or another, though some fit the bill better than others. I hope you find some that you enjoy!!

Cherik Army AU

I Want to Guard Your Dreams And Visions – luninosity

Summary: I was reading Barbara Hambly’s Abigail Adams mystery novels, and then Erik/Charles American Revolutionary War AU happened. Little snippet in which they share a tent, drink coffee, and provide support to each other.

The Eggnog Riot – Sophia_Bee

Summary: 1826. The American Military Academy in West Point. The day after Christmas. Cadet Erik Lehnsherr wakes up naked with a certain cadet Xavier sprawled across his chest. He can only blame the eggnog.

No Man’s Land – ikeracity

Summary: It's 1914 in Ypres, Belgium. British soldier Charles Xavier has been in the trenches for four months of endless artillery fire, bone-deep cold, and constant fear of the enemy. But on Christmas Eve, the gunfire falls silent, and they climb out of their trenches for a Christmas truce. Charles, of course, meets Erik, the German soldier across the way.

My Land’s Only Borders Lie Around My Heart – pseudoneems

Summary: WW1 Christmas truce of 1914. Opposing soldiers Erik and Charles meet.

Le soldat – Iggyassou

Summary: Erik is in the trenches, trying to survive the war so that he can go back to Charles, his young lover waiting for him back at home.

Names – Squeegee

Summary: In the summer of 1917, British soldier Charles Xavier finds himself taking cover in a shell crater.

Not sure if the 'graphic' tag applies or not, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Quell a storm with pen and ink – patroclux

Summary: Charles had spared his life. That was not something he could easily repay.

They wrote letters to each other for two years, until Charles was pulled out of the war from a sudden illness and Erik remained to fight for a cause he didn't believe in. One that ultimately had no effect; one that stole away four years of his life.

Traumatized and persecuted, Erik applied for a post at Janus, a lighthouse in the middle of the Irish Sea. He thought being alone would do him good.

Despite the letters and despite the love, Erik didn't expect Charles to find him.

Hier steh ich an den Marken meiner Tage – MonstrousRegiment

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a spy in the SS, and his British liaison is strategist Charles Xavier. Their relationship from the moment they meet to a year after the end of the war.

Theme and Variations: War – ninemoons42

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a musical prodigy and a man destined for great things and great stages. But his life is shattered by a terrible accident that leaves him blind and trying to find his way back to his life, his music, and his place in the world.

Then he meets Charles Xavier, an agent of Section 8 of the Military Intelligence Directorate of Providence, and he finds himself listening in to clandestine radio transmissions and clicking Morse code, and these sounds are part and parcel of a war that can only take place in the shadows and the hidden places of history.

Strib nicht von Mir – ravenoftheninerealms

Summary: A squad of Allied Forces, led by Charles Xavier, liberates the Nazi concentration camp where Erik was being held prisoner.

Cold foxholes, warm hearts – oddegg

Summary: Basically, this is Band of Mutants. A little slice of life in Bastogne.

Photographs and Memories – tirsynni

Summary: When war-battered Erik Lehnsherr met Charles Xavier, the man kneeling in the dirt and whispering to a lost refugee child, Erik feared his days of running from his deviance was done.

Marching Home – Quietbang

Summary: For a prompt on the meme asking for fic dealing with the fact that, in comics canon, Charles served in the Korean war.

War meant something different to this generation, Charles knew.

Crash on the Levy (Down in the Flood) – Quietbang

Summary: “This is much bigger than you think. You're in the middle of a war, and you don't even realize, do you?”

He pauses, and answers his own question.“No, of course you don't. How silly of me."

The Knight and the Dagger – Dow

Summary: A Lieutenant in the Soviet Army, Erik Lensherr had no other goals than to find the man that killed his parents. But when a discovery yields a little boy with wings like an angel, Erik is shocked to realize that he isn’t alone. There are other people like him, both dangerous and alluring.

Lifelong Service – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik thinks he should be the one to teach their recruits hand-to-hand combat; Charles makes a persuasive argument to the contrary.

Footsteps of uprooted lovers – ninemoons42

Summary: Against a turbulent backdrop of artistic, social, and political upheaval, the playwright Charles Xavier and the photographer Erik Lehnsherr find themselves meeting under less-than-polite circumstances, but part rather more amicably than they'd met.

When they find each other again in a Barcelona that is falling inexorably toward war, they find themselves taking up arms, each in his own way, and together they join a struggle for freedom, for love, and for their very lives.

Dear Soldier – Lindstrom, ToriTC198

Summary: "Dear Soldier,

I pray that this package finds you well. The organization gave us a list of odds and ends that you might need, but I thought that a person so far from home might appreciate something more than soap and tube socks."

When Charles' school decides to send care packages to the soldiers fighting in Vietnam, he chooses to also include a letter and a few personal touches. When Staff Sergeant Erik is the recipient of that particular care package it will spur a relationship that will change them both.

Fortunate Son – blueink13

Summary: he days leading up to and during Alex's deployment in Vietnam. Everyone handles it in their own way. Some handle better than others.

You’re Here – Deshonana

Summary: Everyone decides its a good idea not to tell Erik when his boyfriend comes home from the military.

Welcome Home –  loveydoveyecstasy

Summary: It's been two years since Charles was deployed to Afghanistan, and Erik can't wait to pick him up at the airport.

When Secrets have Secrets – ximeria

Summary: The arguments that take place in General Xavier's office when General Lehnsherr has a bad day are legendary. Quite frankly, no one really knows what's going on and if the two men have it their way, no one ever will.

Quiet Company – Sophia_Bee

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is always on the move. He's spent the last many years going from war torn country to war torn country telling the stories of the people there through photographs. Then one of his pictures is selected as a winner for the Pulitzer Prize and Erik finds himself stuck in London for longer than he wants. He ends up with an assignment to photograph Charles Xavier, a wealthy philanthropist who is intrigued to find himself working with a Pulitzer-winning war photographer. Erik is far less intrigued by someone he considers privileged and out of touch. Both of their lives are about to change in ways they couldn't imagine.

The City is Ours – RedStockings

Summary: Erik felt his heart racing with excitement, lightened, and for once felt joyful. Charles had looked at him, really looked at him, and there had been something there, a knowing of a kind. As the soldiers laughed amongst each other, and joked each other about who would succeed in marrying the boy, Erik made himself a silent vow. Charles was going to be his, and nothing would keep him from having him. He’d marry him, and he’d save him, and Charles would love him for it.

Not even the war could keep them apart... right?

Sign of the Times – dsrobertson

Summary: Casablanca-ish AU.

Charles Xavier meets Erik Lehnsherr in Paris, 1937. They spend the next two years with one another, stupid in-love, until war comes heavy in September 1939. Erik leaves for Poland and the Resistance movement there, promising to return. Charles is left in Paris, where Nazi jackboots march in, Summer of 1940. He becomes a member of the underground French Resistance, publishing illegal newsletters, leaflets, until news comes through in February 1942: Erik is dead. Charles throws himself into more dangerous work, meeting with Communists, helping derail a German train, and he does too much, goes too far. His friends find him safe passage out of France, out across the Mediterranean, to Morocco, Casablanca. It is here he finds Erik, alive.

The Waste Land – nekosmuse

Summary: The White Queen and her Shadow King sit on their throne, safe behind the psionic shields of the Walled City. The armies of Genosha batter uselessly at the gates, a war locked in stalemate. Magneto, camped in the frozen mud, receives word the Citadel intends to send a telepath to the front lines. The same telepath he met two years ago, who sat across a carved wooden chess set and offered Magneto the first friendly smile in a lifetime. The same telepath who still haunts his dreams.

Winter Comes With a Knife – RedStockings

Summary: It apparently came to no one’s surprise that the war-mage Erik Lehnsherr took up residence in the Dark Keep. I knew he was going to choose my sister, Raven, to be his apprentice so why wouldn’t he let me go? What did he want from me?

My name is Charles Xavier, I can read minds and use magic. I’ve met Kings and Queens, mages and magic users. I’ve travelled through lay-lines and jumped through the Dark Void… but none of that really matters.

I am leading an army into war, I am scared and I never wanted this. I’ve come to realise that what I want, rode into my life when I was still a child. Now he’s out there, ready to charge into battle. Ready to die for me.

Polaris – LastAmericanMermaid

Summary: Charles Xavier is 19 years old, doe-eyed and soft; Erik Lehnsherr is 24 years old, steely-hard and bitter. One is a soldier, the other a refugee. Both are mutants. There will be pain, oh yes.

(An AU in which Charles is a wounded British soldier, Erik is the German hiding in France who nurses him back to health, and the contents of this fic are best read to the soundtrack of Atonement.)

Note: Unfinished

MEDIC! – paladin_danse

Summary: A British airborne medic finds himself alone and afraid behind enemy lines. When he decides to save the life of an S.S. German officer he finds wounded in the snow, he has no idea the choice he has made will alter the course of the war—and their lives—forever.

Note: Sadly unfinished

Suicide is Painlesss – weethreequarter 

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr did not become a doctor to pick bullets out of children. Unfortunately the US Army had other ideas.

Stuck in the middle of the Korean War, Erik and his fellow civilian surgeons have to battle not only the war, but also weather, mud, and boredom. And that's without mentioning Major Sebastian Shaw who thinks war is the best thing that's ever happened to him and never should've been allowed to pick up a scalpel, or Colonel William Stryker who may or may not work for the CIA and probably doesn't even know himself.

Throw in new arrival Captain Charles Xavier, and Erik is in for a very interesting war.

Note: Unfinished

A Light That Never Goes Out – R_Cookie

Summary: It was meant to be the war to end all wars; these two men were never supposed to meet. One a German Jew, the other a British surgeon. The odds that their paths should cross were next to none - but War defies the expected. It always has, and always will.

From the beaches of Dunkirk to the treacherous slopes of Monte Cassino - this is their story.

WWII AU.

Note: Unfinished

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I’ll Make the World Safe and Sound for You

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Dick tilts his head, looks at Bruce until his eyes narrow under his mask. “You’re hurt.” he stands up on his tiptoes to point at a spot on Bruce’s chin. “Right there.”

Bruce reaches up and touches his chin, finds a small cut there. It stings now that he’s aware of it, but not overwhelmingly so. A stitch or two and he’ll be right as rain. That robber had one hell of a right hook, his ring slicing right through Bruce’s skin. “I’m fine. Agent A will fix me up when we get back to base.”

“But you told me that you should always be careful with open wounds in the field. You could get an infection.” Bruce knew that first-aid seminar he gave Dick last weekend was a mistake.

Six months ago, Bruce would have seen a drugstore robbery as atrociously boring, barely worthy of his time. A dud. Nowadays, however, Bruce would take on whatever dull chore he can find if it means he gets to see his Robin flipping about, utterly joyful as he delivers quips at a criminal’s expense. “You know there’s a bank across the street, right?” Dick says, throwing a batarang at the floor in front of the final robber’s foot. He trips, falling headfirst into a stack of foot baths on clearance. “The only stuff you guys’ll get here is rash ointment and baby powder.” Bruce zip-ties the man’s hands behind him and drops him with the others. The police have already been called, and the store was empty but for the young cashier cowering at the front counter and a few late-night stragglers who have long since fled the scene. Their work here is done. Seemingly on command, Robin cartwheels back to Bruce with a grin. “How’d I do, boss?” “You were a little slow on that roundhouse kick.” “I was perfectly adequate and you know it.” Bruce ruffles his hair, making Dick squawk and shove his hand away. “Need I remind you of who is the teacher here?” Dick grumbles, fixing his hair. “Should be me. You could stand to learn how to have fun like a normal person.”

If there weren’t a civilian present, Bruce would chuckle. “Ready to head home, chum?” Dick tilts his head, looks at Bruce until his eyes narrow under his mask. “You’re hurt.” he stands up on his tiptoes to point at a spot on Bruce’s chin. “Right there.” Bruce reaches up and touches his chin, finds a small cut there. It stings now that he’s aware of it, but not overwhelmingly so. A stitch or two and he’ll be right as rain. That robber had one hell of a right hook, his ring slicing right through Bruce’s skin. “I’m fine. Agent A will fix me up when we get back to base.” “But you told me that you should always be careful with open wounds in the field. You could get an infection.” Bruce knew that first-aid seminar he gave Dick last weekend was a mistake. “Then what do you propose we do about this?” Dick cranes his neck until he spots the aisle labeled “First-Aid” and heads over. Bruce shadows him as the kid peruses the aisle, gathering supplies and shoving them into Bruce’s arms. Peroxide, gauze pads, antiseptic cream, and plenty of other products which they will definitely not be needing, but Bruce doesn’t stop him. Dick stops in front of the band-aids. He puts a finger to his chin as he scans the options. “They don’t have any Batman ones.” “I’m sure the regular bandages will accomplish the same thing.” “Nope, you need a cool one. You’re a superhero. You should have a superhero on your band-aid.” He’s quiet for a moment before he spots a box and seizes it with a grin. “Perfect.” Bruce takes one look at the package. “No.” “Come on, everyone loves Superman.” “Pick something else.” “Need I remind you of who is the doctor here?” Bruce sighs and gives in. “Fine. Are you finished here?” “Yep!” Dick leads the way back to the front, where the cashier stares at the tied-up robbers as if they are live explosives. Her fearful expression doesn’t change as the two vigilantes approach her counter. “I’d like to buy these, please,” Dick says politely. The girl blinks. “Uh, sure. Do you have a rewards card?” Dick looks at Bruce. “No,” Bruce says. He dumps their supplies on the counter to be scanned. Then he grabs a few bills from his utility belt, kept in there for emergencies like this one. “Can I pay for it?” Dick asks. Bruce hands over the cash. Dick gives it to the girl, who finishes the transaction and bags their supplies. “Sorry about trashing your store,” Dick tells her. “The cops are coming soon, though, so they’ll take care of it.” “Can we go now?” Bruce asks. “But I have to bandage your wound! It would be irresponsible to leave it exposed to the elements.” Dick climbs up onto the counter so he’s at eye-level with Bruce. “Here, get closer.” Bruce rolls his eyes but obeys. He waits patiently while Dick fiddles with the child lock on the peroxide bottle. He hands it silently to Bruce, who cracks it open and hands it back. Dick takes the utmost care as he cleans the tiny cut, patting it dry with a square of gauze. “You should do something about all this stubble.” “Yeah? Why’s that?” “It’s scratchy, like you’ve got sandpaper on your face. Catwoman’s going to get sick of all those prickly kisses.” The cashier squeaks, smothering a laugh. Dick smooths a bright blue Superman band-aid over the cut, as gently as if he were handling a fragile kitten. “There. All done.” He hops down from the counter. “You’re lucky I was here to help, or your whole face might have fallen off.” Has Bruce mentioned that he would die for this kid? Because he really would. “Thank goodness I have you to protect me.” “You’re darn right.” Then Dick spots the candy aisle behind Bruce and his eyes widen. He tugs on Bruce’s arm. “Hey, B, can I get some candy?” “We have candy at home.” “No, we have dinner mints and those gross old man hard candies. They don’t count.” Bruce checks the clock on the far wall. They have a few minutes before the authorities arrive, and if Gordon asks why Batman and his partner hung around the scene for so long, he can say they were simply keeping an eye on the traumatized cashier. (Oh, who is he kidding? Jim is going to tease him anyway as soon as he gets a look at the Superman bandage.) “Fine,” Bruce says, “you can get one thing. One.” He might as well have just promised the kid a million dollars with the enthusiasm bursting from every pore as Dick runs off to pick out his candy. “I don’t know how you do it, Batman.” Bruce turns and finds the cashier leaning on the counter now, looking at him with no trace of the fear she wore before. “Do what?” “Take that kid out every night and let him fight criminals twice his size. I have a ten-year-old niece back home and just the thought of her getting hurt shakes me up. I’ll never understand how you can let such a sweet kid put himself in danger like that.” Bruce can’t blame her for being concerned. Nearly every publication in Gotham has its own opinion on Batman and his young partner, speculating about what kind of a monster would endanger a child like that. Bruce tries not to let it get to him. After all, it’s not like Batman can give an exclusive interview and clear his good name. That’s not how this thing works. “You aren’t the first person to say that to me, and I understand your concern. I do. You would have to be a psychopath to willingly put a child in harm’s way.” He looks back at Dick, who is trying to decide between a package of gummy bears and a chocolate bar, oblivious of their conversation. “Would you like to know a secret?” The girl nods. Bruce smiles. “I haven’t let anyone with a weapon more dangerous than a butter knife within ten feet of that kid since the day he started as Robin.” Her eyebrows crease. “But tonight, when he took down that guy by himself—” “That man had sensory exotropia in his right eye. I disarmed him and sent him Robin’s way because I knew that he wouldn’t be able to see Robin coming from his blind spot on that side. I would never put my partner in harm’s way like that. Not when he’s still so young.” “So you’re lying to the kid?” “Not lying. Robin wants to help me protect Gotham, and he does. What he doesn’t know about me taking extra measures to keep him safe won’t hurt him.” “Why not just tell him he can’t be Robin in the first place?” Bruce snorts. “Have you met that kid? I couldn’t stop him from becoming Robin if I tried. And trust me, I’ve tried.” The cashier smiles knowingly, like she’s gotten a glimpse into his soul. “Who knew the Batman was such a softie on the inside?” “Only for Robin, I assure you. But don’t tell anyone I said that. It’ll ruin my reputation.”