#-or else i get anxiety. so instead of having a neutral experience updating it i had to shove it upstairs and out of sight because i was-

[cherrycreamsicle]

Call me a technophobe but I fucking hate when shit updates when I tell it not to. If I'm hitting "remind me later" on the update that doesn't mean I want the update to happen at that moment in time so to just. Take away the choice after x amount of times I've hit remind me later is so annoying and frustrating

[lillupon]

thoughts on kmg situation

Hi everyone, your friendly neighbourhood minwon writer here! I apologise to those of you who were hoping for an update this weekend. In light of recent events, I found it very difficult to get excited about Achieving Escape Velocity. Before I can resume posting, I feel it is necessary for me to work through my own thoughts. 

I am not trying to persuade people into believing a particular side. I share this with the hope that it will help others who are struggling to reconcile feelings similar to my own. I also see this as an opportunity to—with your guidance—become more passionate, and to learn how to be a decent human being, if that’s what I need to do. I recognise that I come barreling in here with my own cultural and environmental biases. Thus, anyone who understands the nuances of this situation better should feel free to educate me on the matter. If this is of no interest to you, kindly scroll on; I hope to see you when I next update. Otherwise, please join me for a few minutes. 

TL;DR

I support both Mingyu and the victim/OP

I believe that people change as they grow older and become more educated and informed

I am conflicted and have my misgivings about the additional allegations (group chat screenshots + bullying a student with special needs—which has now been resolved, yay!)

I will not unstan Mingyu

I will continue to write and update Achieving Escape Velocity

I want to start by saying that I am an older fan in my twenties, and that I have been a fan of Seventeen since 2015. I have found great joy and comfort in them for many years. As much as I have tried to remain impartial, I have likely fallen short of that ideal. The truth is, I adore this boy! I admire his talents as an artist. I am charmed by the persona of him that we get to see in the media; I see parts of myself reflected in this curated persona. That being said, I tried to remain critical of the stance I am taking. I asked myself, “If this situation was not about Mingyu, and was about my local weatherman instead, would I still feel the same way?” And the answer to that was: hell fucking yeah! Don’t worry, Local Weatherman, I got your back… 

Lastly, I want to say that I am approaching this from a Western point of view. I grew up in Canada, albeit with the traditions and beliefs inherited from fairly strict and conservative Asian parents. As an international fan, there will inevitably be some cultural disconnects in this thought piece. 

There are three main parts to my admittedly rough and disjointed thoughts. The first part addresses the original accusations. The second part addresses additional accusations that were made against Mingyu. The final part is about the future of my minwon stories.

You may agree with all of this, part of this, or none of this. These are simply the thoughts I am trying to work through. 

Thoughts on original allegations (therapy records OP)

How do I describe opening up Twitter on Thursday morning? One moment, I was reading about Mingyu drawing pubes on the classroom whiteboard. The next moment, I was reading about how serious allegations against Mingyu were. People were unstanning him and Seventeen, calling Mingyu a rapist, sending him death threats, etc. I truly did not understand how the situation escalated so quickly, and I nearly gave myself whiplash trying to follow jumps in logic. 

One side of Twitter was convinced that the Original Poster (OP) was lying and doing all of this for attention; they said victims could not be believed 100%. The other side of Twitter declared that Mingyu should be cancelled, and bashed anyone who supported Mingyu or remained neutral. People were sending Mingyu death threats despite the history of k-pop artists committing suicide. All of this reminded me why I avoided Twitter for so many years: Purity and cancel culture run rampant; the mobs want blood penance for every wrongdoing without first considering the nuances of the situation. People blindly defend their ults and set aside their morals to do so.

Here is what I got out of my initial reading of the translated (version 1, version 2) accusations:

OP was shy, timid, and isolated from her classmates. When she tried to speak up in class, Mingyu would tell her to shut up. This happened enough times that, eventually, OP stopped talking in class at all.

Mingyu and his friends told sexual jokes while OP was in the vicinity. These comments made OP uncomfortable and triggered her. However, they were not directed at OP.

The sexual jokes and comments did not escalate to sexual assault or violence. OP explicitly states there was no violence or physical contact.

Mingyu and his friends drew and laughed at inappropriate pictures of body parts/hair on the board. OP is not actually sure if it was Mingyu who drew the pictures, only that he was up there laughing with the others.

OP struggles with anxiety and depression; Mingyu was not the sole reason why she attended therapy. OP mentioned that she brought Mingyu up only briefly with her therapist.

Could I believe all of this being true? Yes, because I personally adhere to two Me Too philosophies: 

The first is that women almost never lie about sexual harassment, abuse, or assault. I absolutely believe that Mingyu is capable of making sexual jokes and comments. Teenage boys and girls alike are notoriously emotional and hormonal between the ages of 12 and 14. I can also imagine Mingyu drawing penises on whiteboards, complete with elaborate pubic hair. These are the antics of a typical middle school boy. For some reason, teenage boys—at least in North America—are very fascinated by their own genitalia and like to announce they have one by drawing pictures of dicks on any available surface. 

The second philosophy I abide by is that men and boys in power are likely to abuse it. All men—even k-pop idols—benefit from patriarchy. They are in a position to abuse, degrade, and humiliate women (obviously, I hope none of these things happen, but I also have to acknowledge the possibility that they do). This is especially true in patriarchal Asian societies. Someone as popular and attractive as Mingyu holds great influence and power in his peer groups. Can I see a young Mingyu being a dick to a girl who is quiet and timid and isolated from her peers? Yes.

But also… Who wasn’t a dick in middle school? I feel like my classmates and I were colossal idiots back then. Was it just my school where classmates told each other to shut up all the time? Was it just my school where kids put their thumb and forefinger in an “L” shape to their foreheads and called each other losers? Everyone has a different threshold for what they consider bullying, but for me, these gestures and comments were so commonplace that I merely accepted them as part of the elementary and middle school experience. These things are mean and insensitive, yes, but it’s possible to grow out of these antics.

It is difficult for me to form an opinion about these sexual jokes Mingyu made for two reasons: (1) cultural differences, and thus my own internal biases, and (2) we don’t know about the nature of these jokes. It’s hard to determine whether these comments constitute as sexual harassment without this context. Even then, people have different thresholds of what they are comfortable with, and what they are not comfortable with.

We don’t know whether these comments were along the lines of “That’s what she said” or “You know what else is big?” or “I grow hair down there...on my toes!” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Or if they were jokes about sexual experience/performance, speculation about what someone looks like naked, the colour of their underwear, or raping a person (I’ve often seen these “jokes” directed at female streamers and influencers). In my opinion, there’s a big difference between the two. 

The former, while crude and immature, is not generally said with ill-intent, nor is it generally directed at a specific person. These are jokes that teens, both male and female, commonly make in North America. (Perhaps this is part of the problem: the fact that I consider this to be standard teenage behaviour...) I would hesitate to call it harassment unless the victim made it known that she was uncomfortable, and the boys continued anyway. I also understand that the victim may not have felt able to speak out against Mingyu and his friends. In this case, the boys might not have been aware of her discomfort. Teenage boys are not particularly well-known for being sensitive. 

The latter, however, objectifies and diminishes a person, and is disgusting and reprehensible. The latter is, without contest, sexual harassment. Absolutely no one should have to tolerate comments of this nature. Anyone who makes such jokes should be educated on why these so-called jokes are damaging, and how they perpetuate rape culture, as well as the sexualisation and dehumanisation of women, as well as men. Anyone who makes comments of this nature should be called out (and here I emphasise called out as opposed to cancelled) for their behaviour. It is imperative that they are educated, given the opportunity to reflect, apologise, and make amends. This is with the hope they know better in the future and do not make the same mistake again. 

Now, based on what OP said, the jokes Mingyu made seem more like the first case: he made a pun about body hair. I am pretty sure if Mingyu made “jokes” of the second nature, OP would have chosen to highlight that instead of a pun. However, this is something that needs to be clarified. The content of these jokes drastically changes the severity of the allegations.

Currently, I interpret this through the lens of my uncouth Western sensibilities: what OP described sounds like typical Western teen behaviour. There are many actions, events, and experiences that take place during our formative and adolescent years that come to define who we are as adults. Personally, I don’t think that drawing hairy penises on the whiteboard—inappropriate as it is—or being an asshole in middle school are these things.

But who am I to say, “Yeah, what OP went through was not that bad”? I can’t be the judge of that, and that’s absolutely not what I’m trying to do here. I don’t know the whole story, and even then, it doesn’t matter. I am an outsider in all of this. I’m not trying to diminish the years of suffering and torment the victim went through, and I apologise if that’s how I came off. Nothing I said previously changes the fact that these jokes negatively affected the victim. Nothing I said changes the fact that this girl’s voice was silenced because of some thoughtless middle school boy’s comments. These are wounds that people carry from childhood through to adulthood.

Impact matters just as much as intent. I might argue that in cases such as these, impact matters even more than intent. Mingyu might have done all these things without ill-intent, but OP’s trauma is very much real. (As a side note: This is one of the reasons why I am very happy with Pledis’ official statement. Their focus on healing and reparation—without absolving Mingyu or throwing him under the bus (yet)—is the right move.)

I’ve just been seeing so many death threats and demands for Mingyu to leave the group that I cannot help but wish people would extend him the empathy that they themselves would appreciate.

People are condemning a 12-14 year old Mingyu for making sexual puns and being an asshole. People are measuring a middle school aged-Mingyu against the ethical and moral standards they hold as adults, and they are finding that this young Mingyu fell short. This should not be surprising. I know if I judged younger-me by the standards I have today, I would be left wanting. 

I remember the kind of person I was as a teenager. I was hormonal. I made “That’s what she said” jokes, among others. While I never intentionally set out to hurt anyone, I know I have said crude and unkind things. As a teenager, I didn’t possess the tact I do now; I didn’t know how to self-regulate. I could be a mean and horny kid (not necessarily at the same time, haha!), but I also had parts of me that were deeply sensitive and caring and thoughtful of others. Teenagers and adults are multi-faceted. I would not want anyone to dig up these past receipts and use it as the basis to judge the person I am now. I would not want people to pick out the worst of my past actions and words, and use it to invalidate my success today. 

It varies case by case, but for the most part, I don’t think people should be punished for what they did or said as children; I would have been cancelled long ago if this were the case, as would many others. People change as they grow older and become more educated and informed. It is different if these behaviours and actions persist into adulthood. Then, yes: there should absolutely be consequences. I am not saying we can just sweep all our childhood wrongdoings under the rug. It is still important for us to acknowledge and reflect upon the wrongs of past words and actions, and to offer apologies and reparations where they are due.  

Should these allegations prove true, can I support both OP and Mingyu, or is that cheating? I do believe OP and my heart goes out to her. I understand why she chose to speak out. I know it must have been difficult to do so against someone who is a man, famous, well-loved, wealthy, and successful. I know it must hurt to see the whole world adore a man who has caused you pain. South Korea has a culture of enduring silently; this results in great mental strain and suffering. In speaking out, she relived past and present power imbalances. This is not easy for a victim to do, especially when you are a woman in a patriarchal society and your bully is a male celebrity.

I hope I am not invalidating her feelings when I reiterate that Mingyu was a young teenager, and teenagers can be mean and crude—intentionally or not. Mingyu is a public figure, so naturally, he is held to higher moral standards. But he is also human. He can and will make mistakes. He can and will continue to grow. I feel a lot of empathy for Mingyu, both now as he is forced to confront his past immaturities, and as he moves forward in his career. 

Thoughts on additional allegations (KakaoTalk group chat + ableism)

I will not be addressing allegations of Mingyu bullying a classmate with autism now that the issue has been resolved. (Again, I commend Pledis for their response, and for recognising that the ableism needed to be addressed first. Of the three l accusations, this was the one that Mingyu would not be able to recover from. Even now, he will not emerge from this unscathed). I will only be sharing my initial misgivings about these additional allegations.

First off, this is a very nuanced and precarious topic. I don’t want to diminish a potential victim’s experience, yet I hope people understand why I am so skeptical about accepting screenshots of chat rooms as hard proof. Here are a few reasons why:

(1) Bullying scandals have been erupting left and right, especially as of late. Some of these accusations have been proved true. Others have been proved false. Regardless, there seems to be a trend of digging up past receipts—fabricated or not—of celebrities with the aim of cancelling them or undermining their success. 

(2) Screenshots and chat rooms are easily manipulated and fabricated. This is different from a victim with a face speaking out against past incidents of bullying. They could be someone with malicious intent, or they could be a genuine victim. We just don’t know. And in the case of the chat rooms, it wasn’t even the victims who were speaking out.

(3) I wondered if these were antis who jumped on the coattails of the initial OP to stir the pot. These allegations (particularly the case of ableism, which has thankfully been cleared up now) are far more serious than original claims—why wait until now to bring them up?

(4) I find it difficult to trust even yearbook proof because people can and will sell yearbooks if they went to school with idols. In addition, yearbooks cannot prove interaction, and therefore, cannot prove bullying. At the same time, how do you prove bullying incidents from ten years ago? How do you disprove it? Cases of bullying aren’t often well-documented. It essentially becomes a game of my-word-against-yours. 

(5) There is a pretty well-known article from 2016 where Mingyu defended a classmate with a disability. It doesn’t necessarily disprove the current claim, but the timing is important here. The classmate shared their account back in 2016; it did not just surface after recent allegations. However, if I want to believe that the KKT screenshots are false, then I must also be willing to believe that this 2016 article may have been fabricated as well.

(6) As someone in their 20s, the thought of being in a group chat with a bunch of my middle school classmates is baffling to me. Personally, I don’t want anything to do with my middle school classmates.

There is not much more to say on this; I will patiently wait for Pledis’ statement on the remaining allegations.

Achieving Escape Velocity and other MinWon stories

In a previous blog post, I stated that when I write and talk about AEV-Mingyu and Wonwoo—or other variations of Mingyu and Wonwoo—they are strictly characters that I have made up in my head, and they are separate from the real Mingyu and Wonwoo. At the same time, I do absolutely draw inspiration from the real Mingyu and Wonwoo in the creation of these story characters. It is their faces, bodies, and voices that I imagine. Thus, my current anxieties surrounding this situation make it difficult for me to write and enjoy AEV.

However, I still love this story a lot, and I love sharing it with everyone! There’s so much more to this fic that I want to show. As I mentioned in the initial author’s note, this is the first time I’m posting something of this length and I worked really hard on it. For these reasons, I have every intention of continuing to write and update Achieving Escape Velocity. Regular weekly updates will resume this coming weekend.

[stonefreeak]

Wheee! Another update is here! I hope y’all will continue to enjoy this fic as we move forward!

When the news breaks that the case against Mas Amedda and Former-Chancellor Palpatine for corruption charges will go to court breaks, it explodes across the holonet like a supernova.

The recent arrests and trials of Senators from all over the Republic, the arrests-in-absence of Senators formerly of the Republic and currently of the Separatists have been making headlines for weeks, but before now there has been nothing about Mas Amedda or Palpatine themselves.

If there had been nothing to substantiate the claims, the investigation would have ended now with no charges being brought forward against them. The investigation would only have caught these other people, and so far only sent other people to trial. So for this too to come a trial... Well, clearly that means that there is a case against them. There is evidence to be found.

The people start to wonder how far the corruption goes, how big a web it has woven, and how many of the already arrested and sentenced Senators have testimonies against Amedda and Palpatine.

News anchors argue and debate each other into exhaustion regarding what this means not just for Amedda and Palpatine themselves, but for the Republic and Senate at large. If the two who were the most powerful beings in the Republic are found guilty on corruption charges... Does that mean that the Separatist worlds who chose to try and leave the Republic in protest are right?

Or does it mean that someone, Count Dooku perhaps, saw an opportunity to gain power by playing on the corruption they saw in the Senate rather than work towards eliminating those issues from the inside?

~~~~

Obi-Wan doesn't have much time to spend watching the holonet, but what little he sees is enough to exhaust him. He's unsurprised, but he's also worried. He doesn't know what the investigation has found—as he shouldn't, per due process—but he knows the possible ramifications of a guilty verdict.

Yes, the Republic is under new leadership, certainly, but many, if not most, senators remain unchanged. How many of them were in Palpatine or Amedda's pockets? How will this affect the peace discussions and reintegration of returning separatist worlds?

How, exactly will the neutral systems—if there truly can be such a thing in a conflict like this—react? Will some of them finally take a stance beyond "we will not fight"?

He shakes his head and moves out of his chair, to sit down on the floor instead.

He moves into his most favoured meditation position, and tries to clear his mind. He'll need to work through his emotions and thoughts one by one, lest he gets overwhelmed.

He's needed more meditation than he's needed since childhood after his near-death experience. His connection to the force has been shaken, and he's been shaken. It takes him far more effort than usual to calm down.

Perhaps he'll speak to one of the Temple's mind healers when he gets the chance. It is usually a good thing to do after you've faced your death in such a stark way, he knows that.

Still. He's so busy. It feels almost wrong to take any sort of time off between all of his responsibilities.

Hah, no doubt Master Yoda would hit him in the shin if he heard that, and then give him a long-winded lecture on the impossibility of helping others if you do not care for yourself.

"There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force," he mutters the mantra over and over as he sinks deeper into meditation. Blast and the others will keep watch, and Obi-Wan has it on good authority that Waxer and Boil's treatments are over and they're back on duty as well. He has good men at his back.

There is no need to worry.

~~~~

Anakin stares at the newsreel, uncomprehending.

Mister Palpatine has been arrested, awaiting trial.

It's as if all of his thoughts need to force their way through stone to make sense. He's... blank.

This can't be!

This can't be!

There's no way Palpatine is guilty! The investigation is probably just arresting him and Amedda and setting a trial date due to outside pressure. That's it. Of course.

The trial will just prove Palpatine innocent. They just have to do it. Perhaps there's some doubt in his position due to corruption among his aides. That has to be it.

Palpatine wouldn't do something like this. Anakin knows he wouldn't.

He paces back and forth in his rooms, unable to settle down. He's close to bursting with frustration and agitation and he can't hope to meditate on his emotions as Obi-Wan would tell him to when he's this upset. Meditation is for calmer mindsets.

Perhaps he can talk to Obi-Wan... Or Padmé.

Or maybe both of them?

That... That would be good. That's what he needs right now.

He picks up his comm and sends a group message to them. Byt the Force how he hopes they'll agree. There's no way he can deal with this alone. Palpatine has been his friend and mentor since he was a child... This is just too much to deal with.

Obi-Wan said it was his duty to start the investigation due to the Vote of No-Confidence, but there's no way he thought it would find anything. He can't have. Palpatine is one of the only politicians worth trusting in the Senate.

Surely Obi-Wan knows that?

He's always allowed Anakin to go visit Palpatine, even when he was a child, so he couldn't have thought anything was suspicious. The same goes for the Council for that matter!

They would have stepped in and refused Palpatine's requests for Anakin to visit if they thought he was corrupt. The Council hates politics outside the Order, and they always speak of the need to root out corruption.

They must have found Palpatine trustworthy then, and he's done his best since he became chancellor—no matter what Senator Mandai thinks.

It'll... It'll be fine.

Anakin swallows harshly and clenches his fists in his hair. He just needs to talk to Padmé and Obi-Wan.

He's too ashamed to face Palpatine—Obi-Wan got him into this situation, and Anakin has always vouched for him with the former chancellor—even though he knows his friend probably could use the support. Palpatine is strong, he can no doubt manage until Anakin gets a grip on himself.

~~~~

Padmé watches the news as they break. Former Chancellor Palpatine has been arrested and placed on house arrest pending the trial.

She presses her lips together and fights down the fear and anxiety she feels at the news. She knows Palpatine used the occupation of Naboo to further his career, so in a way she's not... She's not surprised that the investigation has found something...

But at the same time... Using an existing tragedy that you cannot make undone anyway is not the same as actively corrupting the system. Padmé should know, her own career has been helped by her hard work in disaster zones. So even though she knows that Palpatine used her—used Naboo—the thought that he may be entirely corrupt...

It feels foreign. It feels wrong.

It's as if there's an itch in the back of her head, as if there's a voice whispering to her to tread carefully, to doubt everything, because who knows who's truly to be trusted?

Her head hurts.

Her heart hurts when she considers how conflicted and hurt Anakin must feel right now. As if her husband needs more on his plate. One of his dearest friends possibly being a criminal of a terrible degree won't be a devastating blow to him.

She picks up her comm and looks at it, wondering if she should send him a message. He probably needs her, right now.

They never should have married.

At least then that would be one less thing weighing on him. At least then there might be a chance for them, for the dream of a happy ending.

She chokes back a sob. She must be strong.

Anakin will need her to.

~~~~

Bail listens intently to the report, drumming his fingers against the top of his desk. So the corruption stems as far as this, does it?

He glances down at the files and notes Miss Marili gave him just before the explosion in the Senate Office Building. He's still going through them to verify their validity, but so far everything checks out, and her own notes and thoughts are very astute.

Bail has always known, taught as such at his mother's knee, that if you want to truly know what goes on in an institution, you ask the aides and the lower-ranks—those who fade into the background. After all, who thinks of what the secretary overhears when they walk inside with documents? Or even what they can piece together they remain at their station by who comes and goes. Miss Marili, currently the aide of Senator Jacks of Belazura and the former aide of Senator Larr of Saram, is an excellent example.

Her information is very interesting indeed, and dates back decades.

Bail wonders just what it was that caught her eye, what sent her looking in the first place... But he's yet to hear that story from her. He's also curious as to why she came to him rather than Senator Jacks, but it's possible that it's due to his position as a Core World Senator.

And possibly his known friendliness with the Jedi—definitely important considering the content of her research.

Still, Bail can't make any moves as of yet. The information may check out for now, but who knows if she's hidden some falsehoods that could prove damaging within it. After all, she is an unknown factor, and Bail knows very little about her.

In fact, how Bail does not even know how she ended up as Senator Larr's aide in the first place, considering how young she must have been at the time. Perhaps her family moved to Saram at some point. That could, of course, be how Senator Larr found her in the first place since a Twi'lek family taking up residence rather than just going on holiday there would likely draw attention. Aside from the native human population few make Saram their permanent home despite its popularity as a vacation planet, as far as Bail knows.

Regardless, her mysterious past and everything else together makes for quite the puzzle.

Perhaps she'll trust him with the truth at a later time—though no doubt will he need to prove himself first.

All in all, the political situation on Coruscant is growing increasingly complex, even when you don't take the currently ongoing civil war into consideration.

~~~~

So those cretins think they've found something on him, do they?

Well, they'll certainly see about that.

Palpatine has made damn sure that anything more than slightly frowned upon will fall entirely on Amedda. The fool was always set up to take the fall should something go wrong and Palpatine's plot was derailed—as it has been.

At most Palpatine himself will receive a slap on the wrist and an admonishment to hire better staff.

Even so, he suffers the utter humiliation of being stranded on Coruscant, wearing a prisoner's bracelet to ensure he cannot leave the planet. They'll all suffer for this humiliation, the lot of them. Palpatine will grind Kenobi's skull to dust for daring to set this farce in motion.

Blasted Jedi.

He'll bathe in their blood and relish in every single second of it.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

[dvp95]

quiet on widow’s peak (15)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter), 49.6k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

"So," Phil starts, and then pauses. He has no real idea how to say this.

His parents wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts and his mum mutes the telly. Having their undivided attention doesn't really help, it just makes Phil sweat a bit. He can't even bring himself to sit down, too wired with anxious energy as he is.

The video has only been live for a day, but it's already one of Phil's most popular. People are clamoring in the comments for more; demands for proof and simple curiosity about what could explain his experiences. He's already had a call from Martyn about the benefits of going back and doing an update, but PJ and Sophie have put their two cents in as 'absolutely not'. Chris offered a don't care and then asked for Phil's mum's lasagna recipe.

Phil wants to stay. It's not so much about the mystery, for him, but he's pretty sure his friends and maybe even his brother already know that. He's got his own reasons for not buying a train ticket the moment the video went live and asking his divisive audience what they wanted him to do. Yeah, he'd been sort of hoping for this outcome.

He's not sure if he wants to stay for himself, for the stagnation that being here allows him, or if he wants to stay for deep dimples and a nice laugh. Probably a bit of column A and a bit of column B, if he's honest with himself.

"I uploaded the video on this case," Phil tells his parents. "And there were a lot of, um, unanswered questions. Because of that whole thing with the footage."

"Phil," his dad says, exasperation in his voice already.

"And that means more money from one case," Phil presses on, "because I don't have many expenses here and the ad revenue was really good in comparison to my last five videos. Martyn really thinks I should look into this some more. I promise I won't be here for months or anything, I just - just give me another week. Please, I just need a week."

Money talk usually gets his parents to back down a bit, but they exchange a long look between them that convinces Phil it isn't going to work this time. His mind is already whirring quickly, trying to settle on arguments that it thinks might win him this battle. He considers telling them that this is more than just a video to him, that his whole future feels like it's resting on this one mystery, but he has a suspicion that they wouldn't be very impressed with that lack of foresight. He's ready to bring out specific numbers when their silent communication breaks and his mum gives him a small smile.

"Phil," she says, echoing his dad with a bit more warmth and a lot more pity. "You know we need to talk about this, dear, why don't you sit down?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets so they don't see the trembling. He's not scared, he's just anxious, and his brain and body are conspiring to make him feel like he's going to die if something unexpected happens.

Phil doesn't like change. He doesn't like seeing his childhood house like this, he doesn't like having his career up in the air, and he doesn't like the way his parents no longer trust him to do what's best for himself. The worst part is that he's not even sure they're wrong - Phil knows he isn't thinking logically right now, that Martyn is the one who even mentioned ad revenue while Phil was busy wondering how best to prove himself.

"I'm good," says Phil. He hopes that the nerves aren't as palpable as they feel to him.

"Okay, well," his mum says, briskly rearranging things on the coffee table like she has to be doing something with her hands while they talk about this. He's reminded a bit of Dan in the coffee shop, of Chris in the attic, and he wonders what it is about him that makes people need to split their focus like that. "Your dad and I have been talking."

"About how I need to grow up?" Phil offers, heart in his throat. It feels like he might laugh or cry at any moment. "Yeah. I've noticed."

"We're retiring, Phil," his dad says. That's not exactly news to Phil - he knows why they're selling the house, after all - but he bites his tongue and lets his dad speak. "We've understood the... unstable nature of your work for several years now, but we can't keep bailing you out whenever you have a bad month. You're a smart man and you've got a good degree, you should have something steadier under your belt."

"We love how creative you are," Phil's mum chimes in. It almost sounds like they've practiced this. Phil bites down harder. "And if you can channel that creativity in a way that isn't so dangerous, you'll have our full support."

Phil kind of wishes that he already had their full support, but he's already had this conversation with himself. The work isn't fun for him anymore, and the risk of getting arrested for trespassing isn't a low one. It's almost not worth it when he doesn't have that full-blown excitement about a case.

He doesn't need every haunt to have a nice ending wrapped up with a bow, but he does need to like the content he's producing. Otherwise there isn't any point to it.

Still. It sucks to hear.

Phil deflates a little bit. His automatic defensiveness that springs up whenever his parents start questioning his many bad decisions in life is fading to something that feels like bone-deep exhaustion. The anxiety is still there, thrumming under his skin, but there's nothing he can really do about that. The truth is that he's been feeling listless and defeated and trapped for a lot longer than he's been back in his parents' house. There's no real point in pretending otherwise.

"Give me a week," he repeats, quiet. "I want to finish this project either way, y'know? Just let me stay for the rest of this week and - and if it doesn't pan out, if I don't find anything new, then... then I'm done. I'll stop. I'll find something else."

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" his mum asks. The relief that pulls at her shoulders and her pursed lips is enough for Phil to be sure.

"Yeah," says Phil. He gives them a little shrug. "I'm comfortable with what I'm doing. I like making videos and exploring places with cool stories, and even talking to people has been getting better. But you're... you've got a point. I can't keep doing this forever. Not at the pace and quality I like to maintain. If this video goes well, it might help me break into a more diverse and less dangerous niche, which would make everyone happy, I think."

His dad nods at him. "Okay. You can stay until Sunday, because that's when we're going to the Isle. You can do whatever editing and post-production stuff you need to when you get back to Brighton. We'll expect a call when you know for sure what you're going to do, Phil."

Phil swallows, clenches his fists tighter in his pockets. "You'll be the first to know."

--

Nobody asks Phil to leave, but he can't stay in the aggressively neutral version of his parents' house and field their 'casual' questions about what sort of things he might want to do if YouTube doesn't work. He escapes to the city again, sending a message to Dan on the bus. Instead of asking if they want to hang out with him, he simply asks where he can meet them today. As if it's a given that they're going to be spending time together.

Maybe that's presumptuous of him, but Dan uses an exclamation mark when they reply, im at home!, so Phil thinks it's probably fine.

Dan meets him at the door this time, mid-ramble about the broken dishwasher in their flat as if social niceties are no longer expected of them. That suits Phil. He grins back at Dan and joins them in the small but tidy galley kitchen, letting Dan talk his ear off while they scrub at some discoloured Tupperware.

"Sorry," Dan interrupts themself, turning big and apologetic eyes on Phil like they've just registered that he's standing there. "I'm having a weird brain day. Bit all over the place, you know."

"That's fine," Phil says honestly. He smiles, because Dan doesn't look all that convinced by it. "No, really, I don't mind. I like listening to you talk."

The blush spreads across Dan's face too quickly for them to hide by turning away. They try, anyway, and Phil is left looking at their face in profile, turned down and rosy as it is. "Normally I at least break for breath. What's new with you?"

"Since two days ago?" Phil teases. Dan's dimple makes an appearance right before the smile splits their face, and Phil has to twist his own fingers together so he doesn't reach out and poke at it. He's still working through some stuff, still doesn't want to make any decisions about this without thinking it over carefully, but he's never been good at resisting temptation either. "Uh, not much. My parents are still on my case. I'm getting good feedback on the video, but you probably know that already."

"It was a good video," says Dan. They pause as they dry their big hands on an old tea towel. "I... appreciate you saying that stuff about me."

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

Dan meets his eyes again, almost stubbornly ignoring the colour in their own cheeks. "I can appreciate things that you think are true, dingus. Take the gratitude already."

Phil grins. "Never."

--

There are snacks after that and some video games that Phil loses spectacularly and some good ferret snuggles. As the afternoon turns to evening, Phil watches Dan rearrange some titles on the bookshelf as they chatter about one of their science-y classes, no longer self conscious about how much they're talking. He's sitting on Dan's soft, unmade bed with Pixel, who keeps rolling around in the sheets like she's trying to get comfortable.

Phil is already comfortable. It's hard for him to ignore that Dan's bedroom feels so much like a safe haven in the way that his old house no longer does.

At some point Dan gives up on whatever system they were trying to implement. They pick Tofu up off the floor and flop onto the bed with Phil, wiggling around in almost the exact same way Pixel had. Phil presses his lips together tightly so he doesn't laugh.

"I think that things can be improved," Dan is saying, and Phil tries to figure out if they're still talking about the environment or if Dan has picked up the loose thread from their earlier rant about Bethesda. Pixel and Tofu are both running around like Dan and Phil are just bony jungle gyms, and Dan barely even stutters when one of them steps on their nose. "Of course they can be improved, it's not something you just give up on when things get tough, but the problem is that the people in charge have to implement the changes that are necessary for improvement, and - ow, that's my ear, don't bite that - and, uh... where was I?"

"You were telling me about climate change," says Phil. "Or potentially Todd Howard's ambivalence towards a quote-unquote 'perfect game'. I honestly lost track."

For a moment, Dan is quiet. Phil's anxiety rears its head for the first time since he got here, but luckily he hasn't stuck his foot in his mouth this time - Dan starts laughing, more or less cackling, and they roll closer to Phil to bury their face in a pillow.

Phil grins and reaches out to tug at one of Dan's curls, fascinated by the way it just springs back into place. He's done this to PJ once or twice or six times, but he's usually had a couple drinks before he resorts to it. Dan comes out of hiding with tears of laughter welling up in their pretty brown eyes and their dimples in full force, grinning up at Phil like he's the funniest person in the world.

"Those are both really important issues," Dan says, trying their best to sound deadpan when they're so obviously gleeful.

They wiggle around again and Phil says, "You look exactly like Pixel when you do that."

He's pretty sure that Dan honks at that, but he's immediately distracted by a ferret trying to bite his eyebrow.

This is good. Phil likes this. He's trying to dig himself out of the mindset that he'd backed himself into when he first started noticing Dan, because PJ might have had a point. Okay, so PJ definitely had a point, and Phil has been a bit of an idiot.

He won't know for sure how Dan feels about him being gay and uncompromising about that fact unless he asks, and he doesn't think he's ready to do that just yet. But there's a rainbow flag on Dan's wall and they don't consider themselves not not a guy, so... Phil thinks that maybe he's been assigning a strictness to Dan's own relationship to gender and sexuality that isn't actually there.

Dan is talking again, to their ferrets this time, and Phil is almost overwhelmed by the force of affection that washes over him now that he isn't trying so hard to hold it back. Dan's leg is pressed against his own and they're holding Pixel up like they're playing airplane with her and Phil likes them so goddamn much.

"Did you want to," Phil starts, interrupting Dan's musing about what goes on in a ferret's tiny brain. Dan looks up at him with such genuine happiness on their face that Phil's words stick in his throat. He should be asking if Dan wants to go out for dinner again or if they've seen whatever blockbuster action film is playing in cinemas this week, but that's not what comes out of his mouth. When Dan raises their eyebrows quizzically, what Phil ends up asking is, "Uh, come spend the night in the haunted house with me?"

Great. Real romantic.

--

Dan doesn't make a secret about how much they hate this plan. They say it over and over, but they don't take any of the outs that Phil offers them.

"I hate this plan," Dan says as they make a bunch of sandwiches. It seems like way too much for just the two of them, but Phil isn't about to say no to having a near endless supply of peanut butter and bread when they're stuck in a dusty attic again. "This is stupid. You should have just left it at the first video, Phil, that was fine."

"You don't have to come with me," Phil reminds them for the umpteenth time.

Dan glares. "No, I'm coming."

"You're a very complicated person," says Phil.

With a heavy sort of sigh, like they've been dealing with Phil for years instead of a week, Dan finally sets the peanut butter down. "Look," they say, pointing the dull knife at Phil for emphasis. "I can hate this plan and still want to make sure you don't get fucking arrested or possessed or trip down the stairs or something. PJ knows where I live."

"I think he'd be in the camp of me deserving it if I died in the Wilkins place," Phil says, his lips tugging into a grin. "But thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Dan mutters. "Will you at least tell me why we're going back? I know you're fucking stubborn and all, but I didn't figure you for someone who beats dead horses."

"Oh, that's a terrible idiom," Phil says, mostly to himself. He reaches out to squeeze Dan's shoulder when he sees them get all huffy at the apparent avoidance. The tension leaving Dan's body under his palm is frustrating to feel, because there's nothing Phil wants more than to lean into it. The problem, of course, is that he really does need to talk to Dan before he starts trying to hug them in their own kitchen. Phil lets his hand drop awkwardly between them and shrugs. "Well, uh. This is the first time in a long time I've actually been excited about a project. And that makes me think that maybe I've worn out my welcome here. Not... not here like Manchester here, but here like... my job, here."

Dan leans their hip against the counter and looks at Phil with their brow all furrowed. "This is an ultimatum," they say. "Like, to yourself."

"Yeah," says Phil. "I need to solve this - or at least find something else that I can show to people. Because if I don't, then I need to actually look at myself and admit I'm not doing something I like anymore."

"It sounds like you're already looking at yourself," Dan says quietly.

"I guess."

"No, you are," Dan insists, their voice stronger now that they can assert an opinion. "Trust me, I'm a pro at unproductive self-reflection and existentialism. Who am I, what does it all matter, I know the song and dance. And I don't think that getting more footage is going to erase what you're already thinking, Phil. Tell me if I'm out of line, whatever, but if you want to do something else with your life then just do something else with your life."

The automatic defensiveness threatens to make Phil snap back at Dan that this isn't any of their business, but he's had a lot of practice in keeping his negative thoughts to himself. He gives Dan a little humourless smile and shrugs his shoulders.

"You're twenty-one," Phil says. "And a student. I don't really expect you to get it."

Dan puts their hands on their hips like they're settling in for a proper row, but instead they just say, "I know. I don't know what you're going through, sure, I doubt anyone knows what anyone else is going through at any time. And, yeah, I've got another year before I have to worry about my career. But I've made some fucking tough decisions in my life, mate. I dropped out of my law course after two lectures. I don't talk to my family anymore. I've tried on so many different names and labels that it would make your head spin. You don't like your job anymore, and one video isn't going to change that."

"Yeah, probably not." Phil looks down at their little collection of sandwiches, feeling lost and stubborn and a bit scared about how much Dan sees him. "But I have to try, y'know? I can't just give up. I have to try."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, Dan sighs.

"Okay. Put these in a container, we don't use unnecessary plastic in this flat. Just whatever they fit in. I'll make some coffee for the road and find our Scrabble board."

[renaroo]

Super Brothers (3/12)

Disclaimer: Superman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Dysphoria, PTSD and Anxiety, Character Death Rating: T Synopsis: Jon Kent knew he pretty much had the perfect family life, but something still felt wrong with himself. At the height of feeling like an alien in his own skin, however, his world got turned upside down when his parents took in a troubled child who embodied everything he felt he lacked. However, becoming a brother ended up being the smallest of the trials brought by adopting Christopher Kent. And being best friends with Damian Wayne has not exactly helped keep a neutral perspective on the matter.

A/N: Apologies for taking a bit longer to update this one, I had some extra work to get done in the last week and that cut into my writing time rather than my Animal Crossing time (who could have seen that coming?) and all my fics got a slight push, though I tried to get back on track by this one’s update. Ah, partial points for effort I suppose!

As always, I need to thank everyone. for the wonderful support that this story is receiving. It means so very much to me and I wouldn’t have the motivation to keep working and improving if it weren’t for those of you who promoted and commented on it! Shout outs to @mirrorfalls, @secretlystephaniebrown, @thistleknight, and @karagordon.

Chapter Three: The Runaway

Lor is in immeasurable pain.

He can feel his skin taut and broken across his back, too painful to lay on overnight. He can feel his cheek inflamed and pressing up against his eyelid. He can feel his ribs sensitive and cracked, aching against his every breath.

And the worst of it all is the way the rage against him has still not diminished.

In the past, Lor has been disciplined. It is not an unfamiliar sensation. But his parents finished with the consensus that a lesson of some sort has been learned. Lor even finds himself in agreement with them.

Not this time. Not today. He is hurt and they finished the discipline without any commentary or any softness to their expressions.

No, though, that is still not the worst. Not as Lor lays on his bed in hysteric contemplation alone in the dark.

The worst thing of all is that he cannot shut his eyes, cannot sleep, without the hideous cracking of Ti’ahl’s arm sounding off between his ears. The echos of her cries and the horror of the crowds reverberate throughout Lor’s body and send cold shivers through him.

His family is not loved when the masses of Jakuul bow. And Lor’s entire universe is turned upside down knowing this.

Before this terror in his life, Lor still did not have a full understanding of his world or his life. He is, after all, a child. But he thought he understood what he was to his father and mother.

He is the Last Son of Krypton. He is the future of the House of Zod.

But he also knows that not living up to such things means that his parents’ approval is gone. And if it is gone, bad things will happen.

Now, as he understands with the display involving Ti’ahl, those consequences are far greater than anything he could have imagined beforehand.

Suddenly, horrifically, Lor understands that his life is not the most valuable part of him.

And he is scared.

In the middle of the night, alone in his room, Lor feels the strongest impulse he has ever had in his short life.

Lor-Zod knows, without a doubt, that he needs to leave.

The instinct comes from deep within him — thoughts of the Phantom Zone and its endless prison, how escaping it meant never staying somewhere he didn’t want to again. He can see it, his old dreams of leaving for different worlds the moment he was scared or unsafe.

The only home he had ever known had been the promise of leaving the places that were wrong and painful.

And, now, Lor needs to go. He’s scared. It isn’t safe.

Thinking of his lessons on the sunstones, Lor moves, sluggishly and painfully through the palace toward the transportation lab. What little Kryptonian equipment and weapons they have managed to gather and to create — or have the Jakuul create — rests in there, including the Phantom Zone pod.

The spiral pod is bronze in color with no seeable thrusters, only a thin screen that allows its occupant to see outside the pod. It does not steer, does not operate as a ship in any way, but as a bullet to be fired in a singular direction. Once someone is inside of it, outside of a Phantom Zone Projector, nothing will be able to tear the pod off its course. It will phase through matter, it will burst through time and space. And whoever is within it will sleep until they are released, heal until they are done.

And that is all Lor needs. Peaceful, forceful sleep without interruption. He needs comfort and rest, to heal up his ribs and his back and his eyes so that when he is done, he can return to being what his mother and father need him to be.

So that he is not treated and left in pain that someone like Ti’ahl experiences.

He can’t imagine there’s something better, something in between.

Lor loads his burdens onto the pod and begins setting his coordinates. He has not lived out of the Phantom Zone long and can only think of a few places he can go.

One is Krypton, his home he never knew and is no longer there.

One is Earth, his father’s enemy, and his only other point of contact.

If he can make it to Earth and back, perhaps Lor can make it through anything else. Including his parents’ anger.

At least, that is his sincere hope.

Just like that, Lor leaves his family’s palace.

***

Father doesn’t look surprised by Damian’s intrusion on his meeting with Cassandra. He barely acknowledges that it means Damian is missing school and instead asks him if there is anything Damian would like for him to know.

Within Damian’s heart, he feels the judgment, knows the look of his father searching him for something Damian isn’t giving. It’s frustrating. It’s painful. And it’s a look he’s never seen given to Cassandra.

Damian has nothing to say except for what he feels is obvious.

“I am better than any of you see in me,” he informs his father haughtily.

His father gives him a sigh and waves him off, dismissive and annoyed. Like swatting at a fly.

“We’ll talk about it later, Damian,” Bruce Wayne says in a voice that is distinctly lacking Batman in it. It’s weary and light. Others in the family call it the Brucie Wayne voice, but for Damian, it’s something far worse.

It’s basically baby talk toward him.

Cassandra doesn’t get that treatment either.

“I doubt it,” Damian glowers, crossing his arms.

When Damian looks back up toward his father, he is met by sharp blue eyes piercing his own gaze. That is more like Batman. It sends a shiver down Damian’s spine.

Much better than baby talk, that is for certain.

“I have something important I need to discuss with Cassandra,” his father reminds him darkly. “Give us some privacy.” He gives a purposeful pause before continuing, “Please.”

For a few long moments, Damian stands cross-armed beside Cassandra, facing his father’s large executive desk. The entire suite is large and deceptively slick and modern. Devices and trick switches are hidden behind the ostentatious decor and smatterings of family photographs framed and preserved seemingly forever. Newspapers are mounted with new stories of interest over the decades.

Everything is large, squared, and imposing.

Just like their father.

When it reaches the point that Damian feels as though the silence is threatening to eat them all whole, he finally relents and turns around. It takes him nearly double the strides it would require his father to make to exit the room, just as it would take him twice the height to meet the same reach his father does.

Logically, Damian knows that the unspoken part of his father’s request for privacy was for Damian to continue from his way out of the room down to the street level where Pennyworth and the car would be waiting. Then Damian could receive a whole other lecture on manners and family and general behaving that he has received over a dozen times before.

He’s tired of it before he’s even done processing the thought of it.

Making an executive decision of his own, Damian does not leave for Alfred and the car but instead takes a hard left at the elevator shaft. Having memorized the blueprints — the actual blueprints — for Wayne Tower, Damian knows that in the blindspot of the stairwell security camera is an always taped off custodial closet. In that custodial closet is a secretive shaft that will lower into the bowels of the Tower itself.

Once a part of the robust subway tunnel system beneath the streets of Gotham, the old junction now serves as the open space for research and development of their nightly activities. At least, one of the spaces for R&D at least.

It is also the one place where Damian can open up the Oracle Network safely in Wayne Towers and check in on others without causing too much of a fuss.

Anyone who notices will assume it is Batman and everyone leaves Batman alone to his devices for the most part.

Stepping up to the large silver monitor screen, Damian watches as everything in the room begins to activate — light by light, display by display. It is a very sleek and intimidating presence.

His father is good at maintaining certain aesthetic sensibilities, Damian will give him that, at least.

Looking around, Damian sees the computer chair, built for the size and magnitude of Batman, and immediately jumps into it. His body impressively slumps into the cushions, leaving him staring straight ahead in annoyance.

Recovering from the momentary sag of his body, Damian scoots the chair up, hands gripped to the armrests so tightly his knuckles whiten. Then he leans forward to the keyboard and begins typing.

Using spy satellites is an unfortunate habit that Damian has picked up from his father, but he assures himself it is for good reason.

There is still something so wrong and disconcerting about the way that Jon reacted to Professor Pyg.

Few things dig themselves into Damian’s guts and leave him unsettled. His friend being hurt somehow by the madman was one of them. Whether it was Damian’s sense of guilt or genuine fear for Jon, Damian is still working out.

Either way, he wants to hone in on Metropolis and see how his friend is doing for himself.

It isn’t a difficult maneuver. There is already a preset coordinate to the exact location Damian needs.

Damian expects no less from his father, after all, there are a myriad of reasons to keep watch on the family and wellbeing of the most trusted and power being in the world, if not the universe.

He watches with vague interest as two figures — Superman and Superboy — approach the balcony of the Metropolis apartment in question. One has a suitcase, the other a backpack beneath his cape. Then, in a dash of color, they are both gone long before a less accurate or powerful satellite or camera would be able to capture them.

At least, Damian would hope so.

Leaning his head forward, chin sharply balanced on his palm, Damian tries to think of the expression on Jon’s face. It’s hard to tell, even with Wayne Tech advances, the nuances of someone’s face at that distance. The pixelation hides the crevices and intensity.

But Jon seemed to be smiling. Which is, really, all Damian wants to make sure of.

At the end of the day, Damian does not have many friends. The ones he does have are important to him.

And he’s still not sure that allowing himself to be in the equation frees his friends to have good things happen to them.

The thoughts are still heavy on his mind when the monitor and all of the Oracle Network change in an instant.

A red flash comes across the screen with a blare of a signal. Then again and again. It continues.

Damian jerks into sitting upright again. His shoulders drop as he looks around wide-eyed toward the different monitor screens.

Something is happening in Metropolis.

Reaching for the keyboard, Damian zooms out from the tiny apartment and widens his view to the city. Even above the city, there does not seem to be anything he can see at a distance. But, as he begins to wonder if he should switch to news coverage, Damian sees that the sky is the source of the danger alert.

Heading directly for Metropolis is a fireball the size of a car.

Before he even thinks about contacting his father or anyone else, Damian is leaping for the closest plane his father has been working on.

He knows he might not get there before the crash, but Damian is definitely going to be there to help his friend with the aftermath.

***

Jon still feels off-balance in the air. His leg wobbles a lot, the plank-like rigidness he needs to maintain for a smooth flight can still tire him. He’s working on it.

And it always feels easier in the morning with his dad.

When his pa smiles down at Jon, he feels like no matter how weird his thoughts for the morning, the whole world is going to be okay. That Jon is going to be okay. Because how can the world be anything less than perfect when Superman himself smiles like he means it at you.

Holding onto the straps of his backpack, Jon readies to part from his dad and head down to the Siegel and Shuster Middle back gym entrance, but his ears begin thumping.

Just like when he listened for his mother’s heartbeat earlier, Jon can feel every noise, every vibration of all of Metropolis at once. His jaw tightens and he tries to push the noises out. The screech and scream and bark and cry and pop all at once, but he knows that there is something still off about them. There’s something different from normal if he can hone in and direct himself to it.

He halts in the air, raising his hands up to his ears and begins mashing the heels of his palms into the ear canals. It does nothing to help him out, but he tries it anyway.

“Ow! What is that scratchy noise?” Jon can’t help but whine.

Ordinarily, Pa’s soothing voice would put him at ease, explain everything away. But it’s different this time.

Instead, Jon glances over his shoulder and sees his father also stopped in the air. Superman stares, wide-eyed and slack-jawed for a long moment before tensing up.

“Stay here, son,” Clark orders before disappearing in a dazzling whirl of red, blue, and yellow.

The whiplash of it all nearly makes Jon go crosseyed. He regains his position in the air, hovering with far less security than his pa manages to. Then he looks around in concern.

With a simple scan of the surroundings, Jon can see what got his father’s attention and it nearly makes him gasp.

Falling from the sky, seemingly from nowhere and at ludicrous speeds, is a flaming ball of metal aimed right for the city.

“Where did that come from!?” Jon asks clouds around him.

As to be expected, he doesn’t get an answer. But Jon does know what he needs to do next, even without an omniscient reply to his questions.

At full speeds, Jon pushes himself forward, his fists held out in front of him as he aims for the exact place in the sky where his father is lining up with the mystery object.

Even at his highest speeds, Jon is too slow to get there when his father first makes contact with the object and begins flying back, resisting with all his might despite the hurdling force. He is engulfed in the flames, slowing, but still heading for the skyline of Metropolis.

There needs to be more force on Pa’s side and Jon intends to provide it.

He swoops down between the city buildings and positions himself just like he saw his father do before him. He holds his arms out wide and holds out his hands to catch.

It feels like only a blink before his hands are filled with his dad’s cape, and Jon is suddenly falling back through the skies as well.

“Jon!” Superman chokes out between gritted teeth, straining with all his power.

“Pa!” Jon manages to get out alongside him

The particulars of their conversation are forced to wait as they buckle underneath the heavy metal and flames. Jon pushes into his father’s back, his father pushes into the machine, and they progressively slow as they drop through the sky.

“Feet! Flatten your feet!” Pa orders before showing Jon with his own.

Jon obeys, the soles of his tennis shoes directed toward the ground. It still shocks him when his feet hit and the air nearly leaves his lungs, or when he skids backward with the asphalt crackling beneath them. They keep moving, backward, with the space between them getting tighter and tighter as the broken roads rise up and push Jon into his father’s back.

When they stop at long last, Jon full bodily collapses against his dad and breathes a sigh of relief.

People are already on the streets, looking on in awe, which limits the conversations they can have out loud. That doesn’t keep Jon’s pa from turning on his heels, hands on his hips, and looking at Jon very seriously.

“Son,” he says sternly. “Go to school.”

“What, no way, you’re not going to let me even look in it?” Jon asks, circling around his father as widely as possible to get to the hull of the copper-colored machine. “It’s so weird and looks like a snail shell, I bet it’s an alien!”

His father is about to continue with words of wisdom or some all-important notes on responsibility, but Jon cannot hear them. He looks instead at the strange screen on the machine they stopped together and tilts his head. It’s fogged up, like the mirror after he uses the shower, and he can’t see in it. But he can see a strange, blue glow from within.

Squinting, Jon taps on the glass-like structure only to jolt as the metallic shell opens up.

A thick fog hisses out of the opening and forces Jon to wave it away from his face.

And when it’s gone, Jon looks into the face of another boy, no older than him, with strangely cut brown hair and a swollen eye and lip.

“Whoa!” Jon exclaims.

Then he is punched in the face with more force than he has ever felt in his life.

It hits so fast, so hard, Jon is sent soaring through the air backward, headlong into his father’s chest as the larger than life superhero moves in to catch him.

“Superboy!” Pa yells out in code that still can’t hide his horror or anger.

“Ow,” is all Jon can manage to get out, feeling like stars are still busting behind his eyelids.

By the time he’s set back on his feet, Jon can see that the boy from the pod is floating above it, eyes wide and confused. He turns to run.

Suddenly, Pa isn’t behind Jon holding him up anymore.

Jon realizes his dad is in front of him now, next to the boy, stretched out so his large, kind hand is wrapped almost gently around the boy’s wrist. It keeps the boy back, but he isn’t fighting, isn’t resisting. He’s looking at Superman with terror, tears in his eyes.

But Jon can feel his entire face swelling, he grabs at it and looks frantically to his dad. “Dad! He punched me!”

“Hold on, son,” Superman says without looking Jon’s way. He lowers his arm, the boy slowly dropping with it, head bowing and shoulders jerking uncomfortably. Then, Superman pulls the mystery boy to his chest and holds him. “Hold on.”

Confused and more than a little betrayed, Jon shakes his head at the nonsense and rubs at his aching face.

He doesn’t know what’s going on, he can’t even contemplate it. But he’s hurt and he has a bad feeling it’s going to get worse.

[alchemist-shizun]

I Can See My Kingdom Now

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 4: Lightened up darkness

Word Count: 5,736

Taglist: @krisdoesart @stop-it-anxiety @jeevashun @kim-argent-moon

Characters in this chapter: Virgil, Deceit.

Warnings for this chapter: scars mention, implied insomnia, minor panic attack, negativity, mention of terminal illness

A/N: I’m not dead yet, apparently.  I wanted this to be longer but I also wanted to give you guys something as I haven't updated in two months djkssj pardon me. So, finally our snake boy is here! Also, if you have any theories already on what might happen, let me know, I'd love hearing from you. Next chapter, again, I have no idea when it'll be out, school started and I'm already doing tests, last year sucks, but I'm not going to abandon you! As always, thank you all for likes, reblogs and your wonderful comments! I appreciate every single reader, hope you're liking it this far, enjoy!

✾

❝ My mother, she told me

"Don't get in trouble"

My father, he told me

He knew I would.

My brothers, they told me

"Don't give a damn"

My sister, she told me

To do something good ❞

A flock of ravens was startled awake as the man in the black cape appeared between trees and forest plants through a flash of light, as if a thunder had just erupted from the barks surrounding him.

With a precise direction in his mind, he followed those instincts that never dared to fail him and let himself be dragged toward the place his familiar was busying itself.

The boy he had seen was still sitting on the grass, petting the fox by his side and giving it all his attention.

He approached them, careful not to make a sound. He didn't want him to end up like the ravens.

At a safe distance, sure he wasn't already in his field of view, he extended his gloved hand towards the boy and let a smirk play on his lips for as long as he didn't speak.

« Got lost, kid? »

While Virgil's head snapped up to look at the source of the sound, time seemed to slow down to a stop. His eyes went from the bright yellow glove not too far from his body, to focusing on the face of the man. To the white in his irises.

And the horrid scars on his cheek.

The man was sure time had started up again when he heard the kid bolt away in his opposite direction.

Eventually, he ended up like the ravens.

Not long had passed before he had lost hope for Virgil to return. He could as well have began his search again, just for someone else that might have been as much a good fit as him. But there was a certain feeling in his guts, something he couldn't exactly give a name to, which told him to procrastinate on that.

In fact, he had found the perfect amount of broken in that single soul.

Despite preferring the dark his home had to offer – more times than he could count he had found the light outside to be too strong even for his blind eyes – he let himself wander around the spot in front of his habitation. His familiar lent him its sight, responding to his every command as if it were a telepathic being.

He sat down next to it after adjusting to the sudden change of atmosphere; he could see the green around him and raised a hand to contrast the monotone colour.

Then, with automatic movements, his palm faced the sky, while his fingers refused to extend completely, some still sprawled over his palm.

He didn't even need to take a breath for the first flicker of light and smoke to be forming on top of his hand. The little aleatory shapes danced around themselves, some slow, permitting one to see the change from a pitch black hue to a somewhat light violet. Others were so quick they blended into a single multi-colored flame as they fought for dominance.

There was no spell to be cast, no purpose behind his work, he felt like he was back when he was still in training. All those years back...

His eye caught on something that felt off about the nature in front of him, right behind his hand: he had lived in there long enough to know every little change and detail of his surroundings.

The figure of the boy, trying his best despite failing in hiding behind one of the trees, sent excitement all over his body. But decided against making a move.

Instead, he used his other hand to put his show to a stop, joining the hands, only to open a new one as he separated them again.

Soon enough, a humanoid shape took over the scenery, walking on a pavement of black smoke: they were clearly wearing a hat and a cape. He knew it was working when he subtly noticed Virgil staring, but not running away.

After all, dark magic was prohibited in their kingdom.

The human shape put their hands to their face and soon enough was approached by another figure of the same likeness. As the newcomer passed a dark flame suspended in the air, they seemed to take away something at the eye-level of the first person.

The scenery changed when a fox appeared in front of the human with the cape, who knelt down to it and extended his hand. As soon as the two shapes came into contact, there was a tiny sparkle between them that changed into a reddish hue. Before he knew it, the scene had disappeared into a myriad of miniature sized fireworks, the glittery remaining flying down on his body and disappearing into the deep nothingness.

A small smile made its way on his face as the fox nuzzled closer to his leg.

The tale of how he met his familiar had always been one of his favorite stories to tell.

Despite how much it usually amazed and softened the people around him, when the man looked up, Virgil was nowhere to be found.

He couldn't have known yet that didn't mean it was a defeat.

Not until later, the day after, as he heard a timid knock on his door, the fox already bolting to the wooden entrance.

When he opened up, his eyes fixated on the mysterious person with an odd precision.

« Please, teach me how to do that. » they said.

The man didn't need to see who it was to understand the boy had inevitably fell into the game as well.

They had been sitting quietly in one of his not many rooms, the windows finally letting some light in.

« What is your name, kid? »

« Uhm, » for some unsettling reason, he hesitated. « Virgil. »

« Very well, Virgil. » he began, letting his chin rest on his hand. « I know you want to ask, go ahead. »

Virgil felt like he was piercing his skin with a simple stare, and shrank in his chair. « I don't... I wouldn't want to be rude. »

« Answers can be stupid, but questions are always valid. »

Virgil's mind seemed to twist for a second.

« Uh- What happened to your eyes? »

« I am merely blind. » he explained, moving his glance to the ground. « There are times in which you must pay a price. »

« Is it because of ... » the boy's voice trailed off, unable to find the perfect words.

« If you're wondering if this is for dark magic, not really. » the way he was so nonchalant to name it left Virgil taken aback. « Although, it requires to suffer to achieve it, it is easier to perform if the person has already been through hell and back. Like you. »

He knew he wasn't mistaken when he heard Virgil shift in his seat and basically felt his gaze on him.

After a beat, the boy found voice and courage to talk again.

« Who are you? »

« For anybody who knew me, the name was Sir Amartìa, » he leaned on the table. « But the people in town liked to call me something else. » he smirked, underlining the fact that he had cut ties with those gents.

« What would it be? »

The man's eyes lit up and turned to a glowing shade of yellow, much like the fox's, who jumped up to sit on his lap.

« Deceit. »

✾✾✾

Virgil spent three years with him.

His parents had given up on getting him a regular life, as far as he fed himself properly and started sleeping again, they didn't mind him wandering off in the woods for hours, only to return late in the night.

He knew he wasn't doing anything good, or something the citizens would have condoned, but it gave him a purpose, a target to achieve, something to look forward to.

He thought that, maybe, it could have fixed him.

The first purple glimmers that sparkled on his hand had sent so much joy and excitement in himself, a positivity he had long forgotten and had been afraid, as a child, that he would have never been able to experience again.

After he had been able to cast a few minor spells, Deceit had led him back to his home and told him to wait outside. He had informed him it was for the sake of a little surprise, a gift for his dedication and hard-working nature.

As someone who hardly even cared for his own birthday anymore, the anticipation seemed to give him goosebumps and drive him impatient. His mind raced through the options: could he be finally getting a familiar? Was he going to have a sorcerer outfit as well?

Deceit peeked from the half-open door and hid an object behind his back, barely able to conceal it.

« Close your eyes, snoopy. »

Virgil did as he was asked, even when he felt his arms being pulled outward: a cold sensation immediately caught his fingertips as a smooth object was placed on his hands.

He tilted his head to the side, not sure of what to think of it, a low hum stuck in his throat.

With one hand, he gripped a side of the item and was surprised to find … strings? They were definitely attached to one of the ends. Virgil arched an eyebrow, but couldn't stop the corner of his lip to twitch upward.

He opened his eyes after a moment of hesitation, and found a violin lying in his hands, as well as a bow being handed by the sorcerer facing him.

« Happy belated birthday, I suppose. »

Virgil didn't even notice his mouth was hung open when he examined the instrument and took the bow from Deceit's hands. He, as well, didn't recall deciding to launch himself at the man and trap him in a suffocating hug, but there he was, locking his arms around his chest. It felt like the last time he had done it had been years earlier.

« Hey, » Deceit gently pushed him away by the shoulders. « you said you wanted to use black magic as a neutral source. »

Virgil nodded, determined. For as long as he had heard of the tale and the laws that forced dark magic to be banned throughout the kingdom, he had been eager to find a way to prove people wrong.

Nothing was inherently bad, to be feared and lock away in the farthest corner of one's mind.

« We can start by simply shaping the substance magic is made of. You've seen me doing that once. »

A rose hue tinted Virgil's cheeks, embarrassed he had been easily caught.

« If you can put your mind into it, you will be able to control your own flow with the violin's strings. Only then the melody may tell a story. »

And Virgil had so many stories to tell.

He practiced daily, for hours, with such dedication that he amazed even himself, he felt drawn to the instrument and its music, he could forget about anything else and only concentrate on getting a tune right.

He played for the trees, the lakes and the flowers, he played for the forest animals brave enough to approach him and the fishes that weren't scared of the strings' vibrations.

Sometimes, when Deceit claimed he had to busy himself indoors, he basked in the sunlight that shined through the leaves and danced to the symphony he created. Tentative steps grew into twirls until he felt lightheaded and almost fell by tripping over himself.

Until one particular and seemingly tranquil afternoon.

The scenery was almost the same, with Virgil dancing with the air around him and the violin in his grip.

His eyes were already fixated on the strings when he saw a different hand, made of black smoke and purple light, pick on the chords for him.

Too frightened to realize what might have been happening, Virgil let the instrument fall to the ground, crashing and breaking right on the impact. He watched in horror as it went tumbling a few feet away from him.

His hands flew to his mouth before he even processed he had yelled.

Deceit swung the door open, eyes already flashing the familiar yellow color as he darted to the wide-eyed boy.

His glance went back and forth between Virgil and the broken violin on the ground. He sensed a strong magical aura from both.

« What happened?! » he demanded, placing himself between his apprentice and the instrument.

Virgil didn't answer, instead his breathing increased and tears welled up in his eyes: that was it, he failed, he was scared, it was too dangerous and couldn't help himself, he disappointed the last person that put trust into him and  he was going to disregard him from there. He lost his occasion to prove himself that he actually valued anything.

He saw Deceit open his mouth and he braced for insults.

Which never came.

« Virgil, hey kid. » had he ever heard his voice soften up that much? « I need you to breathe for me here. I am simply concerned. »

He was barely able to make out any shape, or to focus on anything that wasn't the crushing anxiety that threatened to destroy his stomach. He trembled and shivered with small sobs, his hands were already shielding his eyes to protect him with darkness. It was like those nights with those thoughts.

« Can you hear me? »

No no nononononono.

He crumbled to the ground, his shaky legs were too weak to bear standing up any longer. He didn't even sense Deceit catching him and kindly guiding him in a sitting position.

« Do you mind if I touch you? » why was he being so patient with him when he had ruined everything?

The familiar came closer to them, recognizing a situation it had experienced months before by then, and offered all the support it could give.

Deceit tentatively moved his hand to Virgil's fingers, trying to pry them away from his eyes as gently as he could.

As he succeeded, he gained enough confidence to wipe away the tears from his cheeks, even though new ones wet them again almost immediately.

« Focus on me, can you do that? » he waited for him to look up before he carried on. « I want to teach you something. »

Virgil saw him counting, he really wanted to follow him but he just couldn't understand what was happening around him.

One, two, three, four …

It's like the steps you do when you dance. Follow the rhythm.

Five, six, seven.

He tried to relax his stiff muscles.

Eight.

« It's fine, we can try again. » finally his hearing matched his lip-reading.

« Breathe in for four seconds. » Virgil did so, finding himself enthralled by the chanting of Deceit as he counted.

« That's wonderful. Now hold it for seven more. »

He didn't feel like choking anymore.

« Breathe out from your lips for eight seconds. » as he slowly complied, Deceit nodded and kept counting for him.

As soon as he was able to do it by himself, Deceit smiled and sat next to him.

« I apologize if I startled you. I heard you shouting, I thought the worst. »

Virgil didn't know how to answer. He wasn't used to apologies.

« Do you want to tell me what happened? »

« There was- » Virgil's voice was still shaky, he hated how he sounded like the ghost of his crying was still there.

He cleared both his throat and thoughts, as he would have been barely able to formulate a sentence of any meaning. « I- the violin. It was … I was playing it and something- a weird shape- it appeared right next to my face. »

« Do you recall it? »

Virgil dug in his most recent memories. « It looked like … a hand. Made of smoke. »

Deceit got up and picked up what remained of the instrument and the bow, only to turn back to his apprentice without looking away from the object.

« And what were you thinking about the exact moment before it appeared? » there was no way it had been someone else's deed. Virgil wasn't powerful enough to be envied by other mages, let alone trying to be manipulated.

« Uhm. » his thoughts traveled deeper, he remembered the melody he had been trying out and how difficult it was, but he had been settled on succeeding so much he didn't want to give up at all.

Realization struck him as he responded. « I thought that I could have used a hand. Because the song was too complex for me alone. »

« Are you sure you weren't the one that summoned it? » as Virgil saw the knowing look on Deceit's face, he could tell he had arrived to his conclusion.

« I did that? »

« You were emotionally invested. This permitted you to create a bond even with an inanimate object. » Deceit pointed to the violin in his hands, then set it on the ground, moved his hands on top of it until it was clouded by the now all too familiar smoke.

« Epanorthou. » the black turned into light blue and, when the mist had disappeared, there it laid the instrument, as if untouched and completely unfazed by the fall. Brand new.

Deceit caught Virgil staring in disbelief as he handed the violin back to him.

« Therefore, you gave it the ability to respond to your very needs, desires and commands. »

Virgil tried picking at the strings with his fingers. Nothing happened, especially because he wasn't particularly asking anything out of the instrument or his magic.

Then, he tested a few small tunes with the help of his bow.

I'd like a setting played out for this one.

Just as the first string touched the bow and the notes danced around them in an imaginary musical notation, at the same time a flicker escaped from the source of the melody and shape-shifted into a small forest scene.

Virgil stopped, and with him the magic flow turned into white stardust. This time, he felt confidence pervade his senses.

« Keep practicing. » Deceit encouraged him, walking back to the door he came from.

He couldn't hide his pride, for sure. That kid had managed to handle his magic so well in so little time! Anyone would have been amazed, too bad they had to hide in its shade.

It was when he glanced back at how the familiar danced around the boy, that he knew.

He was going to protect Virgil at all costs.

Not long after that, steaming teas were prepared and drank, a certain fox was pet and conversations were being held.

Their chat had been going on for quite sometime when the wizard had to stop Virgil after hearing a detail he didn't remember giving out to him.

« I told you that? » Deceit's white irises fell to the ground in a pensive look.

« You … did it just now. »

« Oh. » he pondered, leaning on a piece of furniture. « Must be this headache I'm having. » he mused and placed a hand on his forehead with a pained expression.

Virgil was rather confused, but shrugged and brushed it off; he couldn't really prove whether he might have had some kind of condition he hadn't told him about.

« Why don't you rest? I'll have your familiar by my side. » the fox promptly showed at Virgil's feet.

« Perhaps that'd be for the best. »

Virgil had been practicing for quite some time outside, when he noticed a certain golden flicker coming from the fox with the corner of his eye and sighed in defeat.

✾✾✾

« How did it happen, anyway? » Virgil was sixteen when he finally managed to ask about the story behind Deceit’s eyes. It took him an year to find the courage he felt when Deceit had barely mentioned his blindness in a discussion.

The man turned from the counter where he was placing some of the herbs found during one of their walks.

« You said it wasn't because of dark magic. »

« It's a bit heavy for a youngster like yourself. I doubt you'd want to hear it. »

« Try me. »

Deceit let out a sigh and abandoned his task, leaning against the counter, while Virgil reached him and sat on top of it.

« I used to live in another village before. » he talked to the air as if he was narrating a story to an audience in front of them.

« Everything was the same old miserable but oddly functioning and lament free livelihood, just like your place. But, of course, that didn't stop disgrace to fall onto people for natural or other circumstances. » his voice turned bitter, before recomposing himself.

« Everyone that saw me asked if I was alright. I said I was and that the blurriness I saw could have been easily fixed with a good pair of glasses. »

His head turned to the side and his glance hovered over where he believed Virgil's eyes were. He blinked a few times.

« The first doctor I went to diagnosed me with an eye condition. Another one told me it was a  simple sickness related to the discoloration of the irises. » uncovering old wounds didn't have to be so painful, yet there he was, holding back tears with the profound hope Virgil wouldn't have noticed.

« The last ones were professionals, » he took a deep breath. « And told me I had a terminal illness. »

Virgil was glad he couldn't see his expression. He placed a hand on Deceit’s shoulder, finding physical contact to be the only way he would have been able to show support.

On the other hand, Deceit couldn't wait to change the topic. « I was around thirteen I think, when a hermit traveled to our village. Just in time, he said he could have fixed the problem. None believed him until he gave a demonstration of his skills in public. Black smoke and indigo lightnings were enough for the people to condemn him and lock him out of the village. »

« But wasn't your life in the line? Didn't they care about it? »

« They would've soon stopped doing that too, anyway. »

Virgil arched an eyebrow, and let his confusion slip away as Deceit carried on his explanation.

« I reached out to him. I was going to get cured by myself. He told me he was going to cure the illness, but that I would end up blind for the rest of my life. My eyes turned white after the spell, which I agreed to without hesitation, and that only confirmed the type of condition I had. » he extended a hand to caress the fur of his familiar.

« Then he told me he could have helped me seeing again if I wanted, but I had to learn his magic first. I did, I escaped my own village, I found a familiar I could trust, then I was by myself out here. » he motioned to Virgil and himself. « And here we are. »

Virgil wanted to ask about why he had to escape rather than wanting to leave the place in a peaceful way. But, seeing as Deceit had barely brushed the memory, he decided against it.

« You never met the guy again? »

« No. He disappeared right after I met this fox. He said his duty was done. »

« That sounds sketchy. » Virgil eyed him warily.

« Or, he was actually a creep I shouldn't have approached as a thirteen years old. »

He stifled a laugh. « You're here now, though. »

Deceit looked down at his familiar, now curled up between his feet, always in need of human touch when sleepy. « Yeah, » he smiled almost imperceptibly to himself. « I think I'm glad. »

✾✾✾

He remembered the cries.

Howling. Screams. All those different voices he didn't realize actually came from him alone.

Virgil, now seventeen, paced around the forest shack in search of the seemingly absent wizard. Now, where could a blind sorcerer have gone without his familiar?

That was inexplicable. He never left without warning, nor did he leave the animal or the house completely unlocked and devoid of protection charms.

That was … too unusual.

Virgil grabbed his magical belongings and started running.

He had lost control over himself. All he wanted was to prove his power and worth to the other citizens, but there he was, horridly looking at his hands as solid scales made their way through his body, thickening his skin with every second.

The villager ended up following the familiar to a pattern it seemed to know a little too well to be casual; there was another clearing in the forest he hadn't been told to check yet. Deceit had explained there was nothing to be noted in that spot and that he had, consequentially, to ignore it.

Little did he know he was going to find him right there, peacefully sitting on top of a fallen tree trunk.

Alastair was at his side, but his vision was blinded with utmost fear and confusion, his agitated state worsened his condition and a suffocating feeling filled his chest.

« Deceit! »

« Deceit? »

The sorcerer's glance shifted to the spell book at their feet. A formula gone wrong. « What have you done? »

« Deceit? »

His eyes closed shut, his brain on the verge of exploding, his body heating up with impetuous emotions. He felt his shoulders being grabbed, a light flashed before his eyelids and the ringing in his ears ceased.

A slight tap on his left shoulder snapped him back to life, he intook some breath sharply and scrambled to his feet, searching for the source of it with a wary look.

Virgil threw his hands up. « It's me. »

He watched him slowly relax, as if he were trying to hide the fact that his heart had been pounding in his chest just a moment before. The fox immediately brushed its fur between his ankles and lent its sight.

« Didn't see you there. » he attempted at a joke, which failed to be delivered as Virgil's expression didn't change.

« What- »

« -happened? » Alastair's demanding tone had a veil of deep concern.

The citizens.

They had definitely heard. They were going to be after him.

« We need to leave. »

« What are you talking about?» there were barely hints of his voice, more startled noises.

« About them.» Alastair gestured to the window and, in that single motion, he gathered a multitude of meanings and dangers.

« They're not gonna be like that. » how could Deceit still put trust in the people that had already started to despise him was the greatest mystery the sorcerer had ever encountered.

« I beg you to rethink this. »

« It's fine. No need to worry about me. »

« They will turn against you, I assure you. »

« They're not going to end up like that. »

« You can't pretend I didn't see you holding your head like you were having a migraine. »

Monster. Inhuman. Beast. Abnormal. Miscreation. Revolting. Sickening.

They ended up being like that.

Deceit winced, reminiscent of a past wound that still stung right under his skin.

« Want to know how I got this? » he gestured to the scars that traveled down his cheek, cutting his eye in two symmetrical halves.

« Yes. » Virgil didn't hesitate.

« I didn't. »

Virgil shifted slightly, his eyes narrowing as the response set in his mind. Did that mean anything? Was this another life lesson? He kept silent, looking for a clue, when a sad smile formed on the man's lips.

A swift movement of his hand covered the left side of his face and, altogether, the scars vanished, leaving greenish-coloured scales in their place.

Virgil couldn't help but watch as he removed his gloves only to reveal more of them down his arms and fingers.

« There are more. » Deceit declared, his tone was so low Virgil wondered if he was actually suppressing a devilish voice that remained after a failed experience.

« Was this a curse? » the boy analyzed it all from a distance, he could almost feel the magical aura around them.

« I suppose. This is the result of inexperience. » he tapped on the scales on his cheek. « And the reason why I insist on being around when you perform new spells. »

That was when it hit Virgil. He had done that.

« Why do you cover them with an illusion? »

Deceit raised his eyes from the ground where they were implanted and fixated them on him in a blank stare.

« Because people are complete jerks. »

« I don't recall anyone around here apart from you, though. »

« And yet, you found me. You may never know. Prevention is better than cure. » his glance shifted to a pond nearby. « And compassion is better than a death threat. »

Of course, dragon-like skin would have alarmed anyone with enough brains to work out the single danger signal that would have derived from such a sight; scars, though? Empathetic individuals would have simply smiled sadly to themselves and moved on.

Virgil, though? He had an undecipherable expression, like someone had written in hieroglyphics on his face. He understood his decision and respected it, but there was still that sour aftertaste that left him ponder to what extent that situation was okay.

But it wasn't, at all.

Deceit stood up with a deep sigh, his fox trailing after him with silent contentment, with the intention on heading back to his habitation. He was stopped by Virgil's hand on his sleeve.

« Are you going to be alright? » how could he fool him, of all people? Virgil went through similar doleful circumstances, which made him the most understanding of the situation in the first place.

« Why, yes. I was merely reminiscing. » Deceit lied, but didn't move.

« Do you need a hug? »

He turned to face Virgil and offered a half smile while holding back tears.

« Please. »

✾✾✾

There was something fizzy in the air that morning.

Sure, with autumn around the corner, the temperature was on its way to get lower with each day, but Virgil had this sensation in his guts.

He was eighteen in that moment, which made him old and experienced enough in the supernatural to know what that feeling meant.

Virgil felt literal shocks sparkling around him, as if tiny thunders formed in mid air and disappeared the moment they showed themselves. The sound of static filled the silence here and there, lights and flickers made him buzz with an excitement he couldn't give a cause to.

He approached Deceit's home in the woods with a faster pace than usual. Once inside, he saw his literally glowing eyes looking through a woven bag. He heard the clinking of coins.

« What, are you going on holiday? » he smirked and took a seat in front of him.

« Something like that. » Deceit grinned and closed the bag before putting it back on a reserved spot on the wooden counter.

Virgil raised his eyebrow. « Huh? »

« Oh, you're coming with, too. »

« Sure, just let me go ask my parents for permission. »

Deceit let out a short laugh. « I'm serious. » he lifted his yellowish eyes to meet Virgil's, which were slowly growing wider. « We're leaving. »

The boy was stunned. « Wha- Wait, what do you mean? Where are we going? » he stared at the man, who smirked right after.

« The capital's center. Hopefully, also the royal palace. »

Virgil wasn't sure if he had just stopped breathing, or altogether existing. He was sure, on the other hand, of the hit his heart gave to his rib cage, so hard he was worried he'd have a broken bone by the subsequent few seconds.

At the mention of the palace, his hand instinctively flew to a certain golden and emerald bracelet in his pocket.

He hadn't been thinking about that for years.

Seeing that the boy was, for some reason, too taken aback to react, Deceit continued. « I heard they're holding some kind of festival soon. A talents show of sorts? There are going to be people from our kingdom participating, the best three competitors are going to perform in front of the two royal families that will be merged in the upcoming marriage. They're going to decide which of the three is the winner and they're going to let them stay at the palace and, eventually, attend the wedding too. »

To be fair, Virgil wasn't able to pay attention to the details. For the first time in eight years, he was given a chance to, maybe, see Roman again.

The name felt almost foreign even for his own mind.

« What will we do? » the blatant determination with which he spoke gave, right then, a meaning to the previous fizzy air.

« You can perform. » Deceit got up from his seat and approached him, before placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning slightly forward. « Show them dark magic isn't inherently wicked. That was your goal, wasn't it? »

Virgil smiled imperceptibly with the corner of his mouth. He nodded.

« Let's achieve it, then. » he backed away and opened his arms, his yellow glowing irises almost pierced Virgil's body in the dim light.

« Let's make history. »

Previous chapter | Next chapter

[emjenenla]

If You’re Gone, Maybe it’s Time to Come Home [SoC Fanfic]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Title: If You’re Gone, Maybe it’s Time To Come Home

Author: Emjen Enla (Fanfiction)/emjen_enla (Wattpad)/emjenenla (Tumblr)

Teaser: (There’s an awful lot of breathing room, but I can hardly move) Or Kaz goes into a downward spiral after Crooked Kingdom.

Rating: PG-13/T

Canon/Timeline: Mainstream, post-Crooked Kingdom

Dominant Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, appearances of various other characters, a couple relatively minor OCs

Pairings: Kanej (Kaz/Inej), perhaps one OC/OC if you squint (and/or can read my mind)

Warnings: depression, panic attacks, anxiety, some drinking, Kaz being Kaz, Ketterdam being Ketterdam

Notes:

-I think the time has come for us all to admit that I’m not going to be posting as much as I once did. I’ve been really busy in the last year with school and work and my own original work. I’m not saying that I’m completely done with fanfiction, but updates might be pretty slow from now on.

-I did not intend for this to be a multi-part fic, but I was working on it tonight and realized that the part I have written (which I think it roughly half) was already over eight thousand words. I figured that I may as well release it in parts to make it a bit more manageable. I’m hoping this will be a two-part fic, but it might get up to three. Hopefully I’ll be done before I go back to college at the end of August, but I’m honestly not sure what will happen.

-I read the Six of Crows Duology over Christmas break and it (mostly Kaz, let’s be honest) has stuck with me ever since. This story is mostly inspired by the fact that I’m honestly really worried about Kaz now that his only real reason for living (revenge on Pekka Rollins) is gone.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Six of Crows or the song “If You’re Gone” by Matchbox 20.

--

Part One

(1)

After they beat Van Eck and Pekka Rollins, everything and nothing changes.

Kaz is now king of the Barrel. Of course, the rest of the gangs haven’t figured that out yet. Everyone is expecting Rollins to eventually dig his way out of the hole he’d fallen into. The rumor of him on his knees at Kaz’s feet is spreading through the Barrel like wildfire, but Rollins has been in power for so long that no can fathom the idea that his time as ruler might be over. However, Kaz knows that it’s only a matter of time before that minor annoyance is rectified.

He also has four million kruge slowly siphoning into his accounts. Between that and the shares of the Crow Club and Fifth Harbor that he bought off Haskell, he figures he’s easily the richest person in the Barrel and probably comfortably in the top fifty richest people in Ketterdam. Not bad for a person who was flat broke two weeks before.

Still he makes the rest of the people involved in the Ice Court job keep the payoff quiet. It won’t do any of them any good for people to realize just how much kruge they’re each rolling in. Kaz has built his life around stealing from the ridiculously wealthy and he’d rather not become one of those pigeons for some other angry upstart.

He should be ecstatic, even with the Council of Tides still breathing down his neck, but he’s not. Firstly, Inej is leaving. He’s not surprised, though, and he’s not going to try to stop her. He understands why she needs to go, he just…wishes she wouldn’t.

Inej and her parents stay for a few days so Inej can show them around Ketterdam. She’s always with them so Kaz tries to say out of their way. Being around Mr. and Mrs. Ghafa makes him nervous. He’s not positive, but he’s pretty sure that Inej’s parents know exactly how he feels about her. (He shouldn’t be surprised, nothing says “I’m completely and totally, illogically in love with your daughter” like “I bought her a ship so she can go fulfil her purpose in life.”) That transparency makes him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. He’s not ashamed of what he is, but he knows that he’s not the kind of boy that the Ghafas want their daughter to end up with.

(Will he and Inej end up together? He’s not even sure.)

He tries to tell himself that Inej is the only thing bothering him, but if he’s truly honest with himself Matthias is weighing heavily on his mind as well.

Though it’s a truth he’ll take it to his grave, he was not completely surprised by Matthias’ death. He’d planned hundreds of possible scenarios for the auction scheme and he’d known that the chances that at least one of them wouldn’t make it out were much higher than he would have liked. He’d also known that after Kuwei, he and Matthias had the worse odds of them all. If something went wrong, the rest of the gang had a chance of being able to vanish underground and wait things out. He and Matthias would be forever chased by the powerful people who wanted them dead.

Still, he hadn’t mentioned any of that to Matthias. He’d told himself that he didn’t want to risk Matthias backing out, but he’d known that Matthias would never back out while Nina was still in danger. There had been no excuse. Perhaps telling Matthias about the dangers would have saved his life, perhaps it wouldn’t have (they still aren’t sure what had happened, though Kaz has his theories). Either way, the idea of Matthias going to his death knowing it was a possibility seems like it would make things a little better.

Kaz has lost crewmembers before, but somehow Matthias weighs on him heavier than all those others. The night of the auction, after he left Van Eck’s—Wylan’s—house, he returned to the Slat. He made a mug of the herbal tea Inej keeps around and makes after big jobs when he feels like crud because of shear exhaustion. He couldn’t get it to taste right so he corrupted it with a double dose of a painkilling tonic and couple shots of whiskey because why not. Then he downed the whole vile-tasting thing in a couple gulps. His stomach was empty so the concoction hit him hard and knocked him out in a matter of minutes. He slept until late the next morning and expected to wake up feeling more like his normal self, but he didn’t.

He hadn’t felt quite right since then either, but it would be okay. He’d had low times before and he always snapped out of them.

It would be okay.

(2)

Inej leaves long, long before he’s ready. The night before the Wraith is due to leave, she shows up at the Slat and they spend a night wandering the city, just like they did before the Ice Court. Kaz leaves his gloves off and tries not to flinch when people come to close. Inej pretends not to notice when he fails.

“So how exactly are you planning to catch these slavers?” he asks while they’re walking down an empty street even though they’ve already talked about this a number of times.

“Well, first I’m taking my parents back to Ravka,” Inej says. “I want to see the rest of my family again, plus they’ll need a ride back. While I’m there I might try to add to the crew. Papa says that I have a couple cousins who might be interested in signing on and there are a lot of purposeless Grisha in Ravka now. After that, I start looking for slavers.”

“And how are you going to find them?” he asks.

“Well, I know there’s a slaver hideout somewhere between here and Ravka,” she says. “I don’t have the crew or experience to take it now, but knowing where it is will help me to intercept individual ships.”

He nods and they’re quiet for a couple more minutes while he considers if he really wants to do this.

“I’ve thought about what you said about me helping you catch slavers,” he says after what feels like an age.

���Really?” she looks at him. Her expression is passably neutral, but he knows her well enough to see the tension.

“I’ll help you,” he says before he loses his nerve.

A huge grin spreads across Inej’s face. She moves like she’s going to hug him and he leaps out of the way, wrenching his bad leg. The smile fades as she realizes what just happened. Her arms drop back to her side and her lips press together. “Thank you very much,” she says formally.

The mood never quite recovers from that.

(3)

More people show up to see the Wraith off than Kaz anticipated. He hadn’t realized Inej had integrated herself so well into the Dregs. Even people like Beatle and Swann who had tried to literally beat Kaz’s brains out a few weeks before are there. A small group of people crowd the dock as Inej and her crew off.

Kaz leaves his gloves on. The crowd isn’t big by Ketterdam standards, but the dock is narrow enough that people bump and brush up against each other. He knows that if he tried to go barehanded he’d probably end up having one of his episodes like the one in the prison cart. (He knows what the proper name for those is, but he feels less pathetic and weak when he doesn’t think of them by that name.)

He waits until everyone else has finished saying goodbye to Inej before he approaches her. They stand there, staring at each other, neither knowing what to say, how they should part.

“Remember to write,” Inej says. Perhaps that sounds sweet to someone who doesn’t know that they ended last night by coming up with a plan on how he can get letters to her and an overly complicated code so he can send her information without blowing his involvement. There’s nothing romantic about her telling him to write; it’s just business.

He wishes it wasn’t. He wishes he could tell her he loves her. He wishes he could throw his arms around and hold her until she agrees to stay here with him. He wishes he could kiss her just so he could know what it’s like.

Instead he nods stoically, showing no hint of any of his desires. “I will,” he says and the promise is too audible in his voice so he goes on with something cutting, “And try not to get killed. It would be a waste of perfectly good kruge I spend on that ship.”

Her expression is somewhere between fond and disappointed. When she speaks again, her voice has dropped to a near whisper. “Kaz, about last night-”

He does not want to talk about this ever, let alone in front of all these people. “Wraith-”

“Kaz,” she cuts in her voice rising slightly, but when she next speaks her voice is quiet again. “Don’t give up hope, okay? Just keep trying. It’ll get better.” Then she reaches out, takes his gloved hand and squeezes.

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but he finds himself nodding stiffly and squeezing her hand back. They stand like that for a couple seconds. He can feel the gazes of the other people burning into him. He’s uncomfortably aware that for most of these people this is probably the first time they’ve seen him touch someone in a way that isn’t violent.

He pulls away first and steps back to put a little more space between them. “No mourners,” he says because he doesn’t know how to put words to what he actually wants to say.

“No funerals,” she says. “Take care of yourself, Kaz.”

When he doesn’t respond right away she turns away and heads up the ramp onto the Wraith, leaving him in Ketterdam all alone.

“You too,” he says too quietly for anyone else to hear.

(4)

The next few weeks are busy ones. Kaz consolidates his control of the Dregs and begins to use his inside knowledge of the falsity of the plague to encroach on the territories of other gangs (namely Rollins’). He begins searching for more spiders after it becomes obvious that Roeder won’t be able to fill Inej’s shoes on his own. He quietly starts tracking down slavers and their compatriots.

He’s very busy. Given that, if he’s eating and sleeping less than he should, that’s okay. If he’s drinking more coffee and whiskey than he probably should, that’s okay too. He’s a general now, not a lieutenant, he has more responsibilities than he did before (never mind that he was practically running the Dregs before the Ice Court job).

He’s not trying to ignore his stubbornly lingering guilt about Matthias. He’s definitely not trying to distract himself from the gaping hole in his heart and by his side where Inej is supposed to be. He’s fine. Just fine, thank you very much. There’s absolutely nothing wrong.

Nothing.

(5)

A month after the auction, Kaz pulls his first job as leader of the Dregs. There shouldn’t be much difference between this and any other job he’s ever done. After all, after the Ice Court and everything that happened afterwards, Kaz is pretty sure every job he’ll ever do should seem easy.

Still, no one knows about the Ice Court, and it doesn’t look like anyone ever will. This is his first job as leader of the Dregs and all the gang members in Ketterdam will be watching and waiting to see if he chokes.

That shouldn’t bother him—if anything it should make him more confident—but it does.

The job is a raid on a particularly rich mercher’s private jewel collection. It’s a job that requires a fairly small number of members (himself, Anika, Pim, Roeder and Mina, the thirteen-year-old Grisha Heartrender he’s letting try for a position as a spider). The job also doubles as a chance to look through the mercher’s records to see if the vague rumors Kaz has been hearing about the man being involved in the slave trade are accurate.

The break-in goes off without a hitch. The mercher and his family are still waiting out the “plague” in a summer home and it looks like the servants have taken this as an opportunity to take a paid vacation. Once inside, he leaves the others in the showroom to bag the jewels while he goes upstairs under the pretense of doing some reconnaissance. In reality, he picks the lock on the mercher’s office door and goes through the man’s papers.

It takes him four and a half minutes to find the information he’s looking for. Yes, the man’s involved in the slave trade. Yes, he knows when the next shipment’s coming in. There aren’t any routes in the information, but there are locations of launches and when they’re supposed to come in. That information will be a start for Inej. It takes him three minutes to memorize the information, then he puts the office back the way he found it, locks the door again and gets back to the showroom before the others have time to start wondering what was taking him so long.

The rest of the job goes off without a hitch. They’re back in the Slat within a few hours a couple thousand kruge richer. As soon as he’s sure everything’s settled and the jewels are locked up in the big safe that only he knows the combination to, Kaz retreats to his upstairs rooms (he’s taken over Per Haskell’s office, but his private rooms are something else entirely). He lights a candle, gets out a sheet of paper and starts his first coded letter to Inej.

He takes all his self-control to focus on the business and not say anything pointless about how much he misses her.

(6)

He doesn’t get a return letter from Inej for almost a month and when one does come it’s a list of the ships they’d raided (mostly ones from that first list he’d sent her) and people rescued. Perhaps Kaz feels a little pride at knowing his information was put to good use, but mostly he wishes she’d have said something, anything about herself and how she was.

He forces those thoughts out of his head with a couple shots of whiskey, then sits down and writes her another completely impersonal letter about the new information he has for her.

(7)

Almost three months after Inej left, Kaz dreams that he’s in the harbor again, swimming for his life. Not that unusual an occurrence, especially now. He would have thought that his nightmares would have gotten better after he got his revenge on Pekka Rollins, but if anything, they’ve gotten worse.

Still none of that matters in this moment. He struggles to keep hold of the corpse under his arms and struggles to keep kicking towards the lights of Ketterdam which never seem to get any closer. His breaths burn in his throat, his teeth chatter from the cold, his chest is tight with fear.

A wave washes over his head. He almost loses his grip on the corpse but manages to pull himself back onto it at the last moment. He blinks saltwater out of his eyes, harsh breaths that are just a little like sobs ripping out of his body.

Then he looks down and realizes the corpse he’s clinging to isn’t Jordie’s but Inej’s.

He jolts back to reality in his bed in the Slat, blankets twisted around his legs, sweat soaking through his shirt and sticking it to his chest and back. He takes two heaving breaths before he turns and vomits over the side of the bed onto the floor.

When he’s done he collapses onto his side and twists his bare hands into the sheets. He’s been trying not to wear the gloves as much so he can surprise Inej if she comes back (when she comes back, Kaz tells himself, when), but now he wishes he was wearing them. He’s sure that if he was just wearing the gloves he could deal with this, but they’re lying on his desk in the other room and he’s shaking too hard to make it in there to get them.

He curls up in a ball, biting the insides of his cheeks so hard he tastes blood. He stares at the opposite wall until his vision starts to tunnel. Images both from his memory and from the dream play over and over in his head. He can’t stop shaking.

He lies there, almost too afraid to blink as the night drags by and sunlight starts to slowly creep into the room.

The sun is quite high by the time he’s able to get up and go retrieve his gloves.

(8)

Inej comes back to Ketterdam two weeks later. Kaz meets her on the dock under the pretense of having just been passing by. He can tell she doesn’t believe him, but he finds that he doesn’t really care. He’s just happy to be near her again. Her quiet, steady presence relaxes and completes him. He feels more like himself than he has in months. Which is relieving, but also a little scary, mostly because he hadn’t realized he wasn’t feeling right until it stopped.

“So, you managed not to die or destroy my investment,” he says jerking his head at the Wraith.

Her smile is superficially fond, but he can see disappointment underneath it. Her eyes shift to his hands, encased in his gloves. She doesn’t say anything but he knows what she wants.

“Sorry,” he says beginning to peal the gloves off. “Forgot.” His stomach clenches into a series of knots. He’s been wearing his gloves constantly since the nightmare, because the thought of that happening again gives him cold sweats. He feels ashamed; he really wanted to be less reliant on the gloves the next time they saw each other.

He doesn’t mention any of this as he tucks his gloves into his coat, careful not to let his hands shake. Inej is studying him, with her head cocked to the side. He expects her to have noticed his nerves, but what she says is, “You look tired.”

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s been trying to avoid sleeping as much as possible because he’s terrified of having a nightmare about clinging to her corpse again, so he just gives her a thin smile. “Been busy.”

Now her smile is definitely fond, he feels like he’s floating. “You do know that even demons need to sleep, don’t you, Kaz?”

(9)

She leaves again long before he’s ready. Again, he wants to beg her to stay, again his bites his tongue and covers his true feelings with biting comments. Still he stands on the dock and watches until long after the Wraith has vanished over the horizon. Though he’ll never admit it, he’s hoping she’ll realize that there’s more for her here with him than out at sea.

That’s ridiculous though, Inej is nothing if not a noble person. There are a lot of people in the world who need her way more than one demon-boy in the city of Ketterdam.

By the time he heads back to Slat, a cold rain has started to fall.

(10)

Several months later, the Razorgulls start a gang war with the Dregs. People have been slowly realizing that Pekka Rollins is not coming back. That makes things more difficult for Kaz. He’s been slowly moving the Dregs into Rollins’ holdings since the plague scare. Up until this point, people have just been letting him, assuming that he’ll regret it once Rollins comes back. Now that it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen, people realize that Kaz has been allowed to snag a huge amount of territory with little to no resistance.

The conflict with the Razorgulls comes down to a massive fight through the streets of the Barrel while the stadwatch stands by helpless to control the violence. Torches light up the night until it’s nearly like day as Kaz chases the Razorgulls general through the alleys near the fighting.

He comes out into a dark dead end and the general is nowhere in sight. He has half a second to wonder where he went before the man leaps on him from behind wrapping bare forearms around Kaz’s neck in a headlock.

The waters rise up before Kaz has time to breathe and he drops like a stone. Within instants the other general is on top of him, one bare hand around Kaz’s throat and the other punching him in the face. He was probably yelling, but Kaz couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears.

Kaz can’t breathe, he can’t think. He struggles against the weight of the body on top of him, looking for a way out. Eventually he gets his fingers around one of his hidden knives and stabs it into the other general’s stomach. The man’s grip loosens and Kaz is able to shove him off. He finishes the job, then collapses against the wall gasping.

He waits until he’s no longer shaking like a Grisha on parem before he drags the general’s body up onto a high balcony above the main body of the battle. He declares the war over and gives the Razorgulls an ultimatum: join the Dregs or die.

Unsurprisingly most of them opt to join the Dregs.

That surrender takes place a few hours before dawn but it’s still well into the afternoon by the time Kaz gets back to his rooms. He’s profoundly exhausted in a way he hasn’t been since the Ice Court and he can’t quite shake the tremors from the memory of someone else’s hands around his neck. He collapses onto his bed and loses his grip on the world.

He wakes up late the next morning by Anika pounding on his door with a list of questions, as exhausted as he was when he fell asleep.

(11)

The surrender of the Razorgulls nearly doubles the size of the Dregs. Granted, it’ll be a while before he can actually trust any of these new recruits, but the Barrel runs on strength. Kaz is confident he can win them all over given time.

One of the more interesting new members is a scrawny eleven-year-old boy. He’s newly orphaned and worked cleaning chamber pots in one of the Razorgulls’ hideouts. His name is Espen and his eyes gleam with the same cold, calculating anger Kaz sees in himself every time he looks in a mirror.

Perhaps Kaz should take Espen under his wing and attempt to put the boy back together in a way better than the way he put himself together. Perhaps he would if he was a better person. Perhaps he would if the mere thought of putting up with another person’s issues on top of his own wasn’t utterly exhausting.

So, he doesn’t try to help. Instead his foists the kid on Mina and tells her to teach him to be a spider instead.

Maybe that will be enough.

(12)

His letters to Inej are starting to get out of hand.

Not the ones he actually sends to her; those are just as impersonal as always. It’s the drafts of those letters that are starting to become problematic.

They’ve gotten long.

Kaz has always been a master of brevity when it comes to letters. He can normally fit anything he could possibly need to say to anyone into under a page. His average letter is only a couple sentences.

The drafts of his letters to Inej go on for pages and pages.

His words scrawl across the paper, rambling in ways that don’t sound like him, and to make matters worse, he’s not really talking about anything. He does talk about the Dregs and Ketterdam news sometimes, but mostly he just talks about how much he misses her and begs her to come back and stay with him.

He realizes that this is getting beyond ridiculous the night he writes almost thirty pages of a logical, step-by-step argument for why she should abandon her quest to bring justice to the slavers and return to being his spider.

He stares at the letter for a long time, a strange feeling of disgust and fear swirling inside him. He can’t possibly send something like this to Inej. Hunting slavers is her purpose, and she will keep doing it no matter what. All this letter would do is guarantee that she really will never come back.

He crumbles the letter into a ball and throws it into the fire. Then he starts another draft. He intends for this one to be a short, to-the-point passing of information, but somehow it devolves into an even longer argument. This one is about how he is a horrible, corrupt person with no hope for anything better and how Inej would really be better off if she left him behind and never looked back.

The sun has risen by the time he finishes this letter. He sits at his desk and stares blankly at the letter. He images that a normal person would probably be crying right now, but there are no tears for him. There haven’t been since that night in the harbor all those years ago. It’s like something about that night locked all his tears up somewhere inside him and threw away the key. He hasn’t been able to cry since, even as an act.

So, his eyes are dry as he looks at the letter, but his chest is tight. He has never hated himself, never felt a sliver of shame about what he is, but he feels it now. If only he wasn’t like this, maybe Inej wouldn’t have left him. Sure, she’s come back a couple times, but how long will it be before she realizes how much better off she is without him in her life and stops coming back? How long before she leaves him completely alone?

The sunlight creeps into his room. The Slat is coming awake around him. He has a million things to do. He’s the leader of the Dregs, he has everything as long as he does the things he needs to do. He knows that he needs to get moving, but he doesn’t want to. He’s empty and sad and so incredibly tired.

So, for the first time that he can remember, Kaz Brekker ignores his responsibilities, he shoves the letter aside, pillows his head on his arms and hopes things will be better when he wakes up.

They aren’t.

(13)

Kaz is tired.

He’s used to being tired—he has a tendency to ignore things like sleep when on big jobs and doesn’t sleep a normal amount even when he’s not on jobs—but normally he can just slam a couple cups of coffee and be fine. This is something different. Even with his veins seemingly swimming with coffee, he still finds himself fighting against a deep-seated exhaustion. Even sleep doesn’t seem to shake it, even though he’s sleeping more than he normally does.

He tells himself that it’s no big deal. He knows that his sleeping habits are unhealthy, and if they’re finally catching up to him, Inej would probably say it’s for the best. It’s not like he’s sleeping an insane amount, anyway. If anything, he’s probably just sleeping a normal amount now and it just seems like a lot because he’s not used to it. It will only take him some time to adjust.

Still, he is tired and it’s hard to care about any of the things that used to take up his full attention. He hasn’t destroyed the letter. He keeps it tucked carefully away in one of the drawers of his dresser, nestled among his ties and spare pairs of gloves. He takes it out and reads it sometimes, as a reminder of why he’s so lucky for the chances he’s had with Inej and why he should never expect too much.

(14)

He, Roeder, Mina and Espen are on a job. They get in easy enough, but while they’re bagging the man’s inappropriately stuffed safe, the owner of the house comes home. They all freeze in shock when they hear the front door open. Kaz had calculated that they had another hour and a half before the mercher came home from his mistress’ house. For a few blank seconds, all Kaz can think is “How was I so wrong?” then survival instincts kick in.

“Clear out,” he orders and they make for the windows.

They aren’t fast enough. Within minutes the stadwatch are on their tails. They’re crossing over the river when one of the stadwatch gets lucky and hits Roeder. The oldest spider takes a dive over the edge of the bridge and into the water. Mina skids to a stop on the bridge and stares over. “Dirtyhands!” she yells (he has never heard her call him anything else, even Brekker) “You need to do something! Espen and I are too small!”

A voice whispers that he should just let Roeder die, but he needs Roeder. Roeder is the only one of the spiders who’s obviously useful in a fight and he’s not about to lose that advantage.

“Take care of the stadwatch,” he tells Mina giving her a look he hopes she interprets it correctly. Then he thrusts his cane into Espen’s hands. “Be careful with that; it’s worth more than your life,” he says then vaults over the side of the bridge and into the water.

Kaz knows how to swim; he is honest enough about his own life to know that is a useful skill, but he doesn’t like it. The water in the river tonight is cold and the memory of the barge returns. Still he does his best to push it down and he lunges to Roeder.

He grabs the back of the spider’s shirt and pulls him into his chest. He wraps his other arm around Roeder’s chest and almost immediately has one of the biggest flashbacks he’s ever had. He is nine years old in the harbor clinging to Jordie’s body, he has little to no recognition of ever being anything else. His head goes under and the only thing that keep him from shoving Roeder’s body away is the belief that he is Jordie and the only thing keeping him drowning.

His free hand strikes something hard. He grabs on and manages to drag his head above water. His mind is whirl of panic and revulsion. He knows that he needs to get out of the water, but the panic is so much that he can’t move.

When another hand clasps around his arm, he loses himself completely and trashes, letting go of whatever he was holding onto completely in an attempt to get away. The hand doesn’t let go, actually another joins it and jerks him to a stop just as his head goes under again.

The next moment his heartrate starts to slow and the edges of his panic fade. He realizes that his head is underwater and kicks until he’s above the water again and can get a gasp of air. His vision clears and he realizes the person attached to the hands holding his arm is Mina. She’s kneeling on the pier he grabbed onto, water sticking her mouse-brown hair to her face and her gray eyes wide. She’s using her abilities to lower his heartrate.

Mina helps him pull Roeder and himself out of the river and they drag the spider onto the shore together. Immediately, Mina pulls Roeder’s shirt open and positions her hands over his chest. Kaz knows that she’ll now use her powers to draw the water out of his lungs. She’ll do it carefully so no one knows exactly what she did. It’s still dangerous to be a Grisha in Ketterdam, so Mina keeps her powers carefully under wraps. Kaz isn’t even sure if Roeder and Espen know she’s a Heartrender. She would have been careful to find a very subtle way to incapacitate the stadwatch when he ordered her to.

Kaz just wants to collapse and not move until he can breathe again, but the instant Mina starts tending to Roeder, Espen is in his face.

“What was that?” the little boy snarls with an expression that even Kaz will admit is slightly demonic. “What is wrong with you?”

“What are you talking about?” Kaz asks more to buy time than anything else. He almost winces at how wrong his voice sounds.

“You were supposed to save Roeder, not freeze and make Mina pull you out!” Espen has his face in very close to Kaz’s, so close that flecks of the boy’s spit hit Kaz’s cheeks. “What kind of general are you?”

Kaz wants to pull away and put miles of distance between himself and every other human in Ketterdam, but he forces himself to react to Espen’s taunts and closeness in the way that helped to earn him his reputation, the way that will save face.

He punches the kid in the jaw.

Espen, for all his bravado, does not know how to take a punch. The kid goes sprawling across the ground, gasping. Mina looks on in surprise. Kaz takes a fortifying breath and stands up even though his legs feel no more solid than the water he almost drowned in both tonight and all those years ago.

“You really should learn that you’re not in charge here,” he tells Espen, keeping his voice steady through sheer force of will. “You only have a place in this gang because you the good you outweighs the annoyance of putting up with you. Understand?”

Espen is staring. For once, he’s actually wearing an expression other than anger. He looks shocked and a little scared. His mouth opens and closes mutely.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kaz snarls. “Now, what did you do with my cane?”

--

[spiralatlas]

GCAP 2017 Day 2

Consisting of:

More Wheelchair Hell

student games

Tony Albrecht from RIOT games

Jennifer Schuerle: Why ladders are awesome: A game design lesson in spatial design

Kate Edwards: Striking the hammer: the advocate’s journey

So the day started with me banging my newly hired mobility scooter INTO THE WALL of our apartment building and leaving a HUGE HOLE. Which was not great. But the security guard was nice about it after we showed ourselves happy to leave our details, and organised an easier way in and out via the garage. I spent the rest of the day VERY AWARE of this thing's massive turning circle. My husband Cam was an absolute life-saver, cheering me up and getting me stuff.

Also I managed to GET A SMOOTHIE IN THE END. I noodled south to the South Mebourne Markets, a hub of fancy food places which are only open a few days a week, and had a very nice if expensive vegan salted caramel smoothie and also a nice apple and raspberry sorbet from Fritz Gelato.

Anyway, on to the actual conference :)

The student games:

Unbond: a cute platform puzzler I actually managed to enjoy??

Harvest Hands a 3D farming sim, like Stardew Valley in the style of Slime Rancher.

Just Bearly an interesting series of metaphorical vignettes about awkwardness and anxiety.

Carta A very clever puzzle platformer where you rearrange the platforms, won the Student Showcase award.

Lacuna A point and click murder mystery using time travel and a really interesting connect the clues mechanic.

Komorebi (I couldn't find a link): a cute turn-based rpg using cards.

Misc Convention Stuff: I didn't mention this before but they had gender neutral toilets! I felt too self conscious to use the 'men's but it was nice to have the option. Also the volunteers were super concerned and helpful when my wheelchair broke. They didn't end up being able to fix it but tried really hard.

One of the speakers actually remembered non binary people exist one time when talking about gender bias in the industry!

I didn't go to the awards ceremony because it was at night and also I find awards super boring but seeing everyone talk about it on social media later it sounds like it would have been cool to go.

Opening Keynote: Tony Albrecht from RIOT games

He showed the path his career has taken, and where he and his early colleagues have ended up, updating a world map labeled with a network of connections.

He started out in Adelaide in 1999, he realised he was utterly miserable at his (mining?) job and wanted to get into games. His friends and family thought this was a terrible idea.

He went to AGDC and met other people like himself, forming Ratbag games in Adelaide.

Then they got bought out by a huge company and put in charge of a huge IP, based on a movie, with lots of potential... and the project and his company got scrapped.

And then he joined  anew little company and exactly the same thing happened again. And then again.

During one of these shakeups he managed to jump sideways to the US branch of the company via some guys he met at a party.

Is this kind of thing nepotism? Photo of Donald Trump and family. No, because it's not just about who you know and trust, it's also about competence. And when you meet someone in person it makes it easier to judge cultural fit. (He did not talk about how this kind of "cultural fit" tends to benefit white dudes such as himself. Also, I’ll pedantically point out it it would be 'cronyism' since it's not about family. Anyway, he’s right that for good or ill this is how things work)

The GFC caused a lot of people to lose their jobs, which was a horrible experience, but also brought down the dinosaurs of the industry, leaving space for the little mammal indies to feast on the dinosaur's bones.

In his final diagram, 22 people (I didn't follow who. People from Ratbag?) ended up covering 57 studios. All of those studios are now in a position to judge if he is any good, both competent and good to work with.

You can't just be good, you have to be known to be good, and good to work with. Market yourself.

Be both humble and ambitious.

Go to parties and meet people, but don't get so drunk you make an asshole of yourself.

Speak at conferences. He showed a photo of GDC and one of a games conference in Tehran, I found it interesting that the latter had way more people who I read as women (and of course was less universally white)

Surround yourself with people you want to be like, and be like the people you want to surround yourself with.

He's now at RIOT, a huge American company, and there are four people from Ratbag there.

Why ladders are Awesome: A game design lesson in spatial design Jennifer Schuerle Opaque Space @Gaohmee Training Astronauts with VR.

Visual stimuli guidance, tell players what to do and where to go. Lights: Points of interest. Colour theory. Positive vs negative feelings, mood. Logical pathways. Repetitive visuals guide players towards a goal.

Firewatch given as an example as being good at guiding the player (which shows that this stuff can be subjective because I got lost so much I had to give up haha) Uncharted, too.

More than just "good architecture". Oni used real architects as level designers and it was bad. The layout was boring and samey.

UX behavioural science.

Player expectations: a rusted barrel with a “flammable” symbol on it is read as "Shoot me and I will explode", which would weird people out in a pacifist game.

Health pack: Illegal to use a red cross against a white background for health. Instead people use a red H, blue cross etc.

Lock down parameters. How long should it take? Mission metrics. Visual themes. What need is this space supposed to fulfill?

Context: what does the player already know? eg in LA Noire you learn early that golden handles means an openable door.

Pacing: tension and mood is created by going from a confined space to large space, from dark to light. Make the player look away before a jump scare.

Explicit: Instructions telling the player exactly what to do. Implicit: in the environment Emergent: What the player makes up in conjunction with what is given by the game.

Some bad corridors:

Minecraft portal: doesn't look like it leads anywhere, looks like a dead end.

Portal corridor has extrusions in the wall hiding an upcoming intersection.

A good corridor: light highlights door, small flight of stairs hints to progression, hint of a curving corridor beyond the door, shows edge of the next room. Raised viewpoint makes it easier to see.

Ladders, interactive objects: must be clearly designed, grab attention, can lead to a surprise because you know where the player is facing and have a reason for things to change.

Buttons control exactly where the player is facing. It controls expectation.

Super Mario is a masterclass of level design. Include objects which illustrate the rules of the world.

Cognitive priming: Foreshadowing. If you show them before they have to do it they will do better.

(Alice?) shows you what you're going to do next with flythroughs, view from a hill etc. Gets players to follow the intended path.

Gone Home is one of the most important walking sims. You explore the world and character.

Players more on board if invested. Give them time to connect to characters and environments.

Give time, show they can trust your design.

Earthlight Arcade: 15 minute virtual space walk on the outside of international space station.

New technology means new challenges, for both devs and players.

Collaboration with NASA requires a commitment to a certain level of realism.

Astronaut suits are fucking annoying. Obstructs view, takes up lots of space.

Airlock: people have expectations that don't match actual airlocks. No up! Corridors tend to be round. Exit is on the side of the airlock, how do you point people towards it?

Cannot move without applying force, pulling on handlebars etc. People lean and it doesn't work. Can rotate in any direction when holding handlebars. (I asked if people get motion sickness and she said no, because they are in control, even if things work in unexpected ways)

The goal is to get the player to: learn how to move. Find the airlock hatch. Climb out feet first.

First attempt: "Ladder" of handlebars leading to airlock. Logos with text on to suggest an up. Didn't work.

Second Attempt: Narrow airlock so you have nowhere else to go but the door out. GIANT EXIT SIGN. Worked, but for the wrong reasons: players didn't notice the sign, there was just nowhere else to go.

People. Never. Read. People. Never. Listen.

Whenever people are overwhelmed, new information is hard to retain. It doesn't matter how clear your solution seems to be if the player doesn't get it. It's your responsibility to make it work.

Earthlight Arcade is at PAX in the freeplay area!

Summary: Make mechanics come first, use spatial design as a support tool.

Design for the human perception. How do humans navigate environments?

Believable carefully crafted environments mean people will follow your lead.

j.Schuerle@gmail.com

Question: How do you keep track of the player's centre of gravity? You can't with the current model. Don't model below the stomach.

Question: How did NASA feel about this highly innaccurate airlock? There are multiple builds. An easier and less precise one for the public, a more exact one for NASA they add their own models. They have to worry about tethers etc.

Closing Keynote: Striking the hammer: the Advocate’s journey Kate Edwards CEO & Principal Consultant, Geogrify Director of Outreach & Board Member, Take This Former Executive Director, IGDA kate@geogrify.com Twitter: @geogrify

Scholarship to GDC.

Pushed against various things (crunch, sexism etc) During Gamergate was a primary target, as was the organisation. Once you have 100 arrows in your back you don't feel any more.

Now works with Take This which focuses on mental health.

Her influences: Watched the moon landing. Tolkein's map helped her on path to becoming a cartographer. Star Wars. Pong.

Writer (wanted to be astronaut, star wars conceptual artist) -> cartographer -> VR researcher -> Geopolitical Strategist at MSFT -> Cultural consultant on games -> IGDA Executive Director -> Raging Advocate

Who am I? Created a unique Geopolitical career at Microsoft and Google. Worked on every Microsoft game 1994-2005 Worked on [redacted] for [redacted] Magazine columnist (other stuff I missed)

But then she was overwhelmed with self doubt and imposter syndrome. Watching the Matrix: "Don't think you are, know you are", she burst into tears.

She realised: Disbelief in your own skills doesn't make them disappear, or be invisible to those around you.

Know the reality of what others perceive in you, even if you struggle to think you have skills or not.

Imposter syndrome: What I know is a tiny subset of what everyone else knows. Reality: they are two overlapping sets of about the same size. The associated image

Comparison is the death of joy- Mark Twain.

Embrace your adversity. Treat it as your crucible, your forge. The Supreme Ordeal of the Heroes Journey.

Embrace your superpowers.

Even if it's self delusion it works. A bruise is a lesson and every lesson makes us better.

Be like Wonder Woman, stepping up out of the trench to stand up and do what's necessary. Only by emerging through the crucible can you do it.

Who am I? Someone who decided to give a shit. Evil triumphs when good people do nothing.

Cultural Change Catalyst

Change culture within: Games: Helped people stop making games that would be problematic in other cultures. Companies The Games Industry

Why do I care? Love. Respect. Admiration. Passion.

Humans have told narratives since the dawn of time and we in the games industry are changing how that works in new ways.

It's not about rage.

It's about righteous rage: A reactive emotion of anger in response to mistreatment, insult ...injustice.

Injustice: Crunch. Lack of diversity. Screwing over indie devs is wrong.

Inaction. Complacency.

righteous rage=advocacy

She became fierce.

Does a lot of cosplay, daughter is a costume designer. Wear it for a day first. First day she wore the Thor costume she felt kickass. I'm not pretending to be Thor I am Thor. An external representation of how she feels about herself.

The fierce formula (drawn for Inktober) authenticity/adversity, maintain conviction over rejection, willpower + (Fear times zero).

"Industry" thought of as a machine where people are cogs. The "industry" is us. If you don't like it, change it.

Video games seen as a waste, causes violence, played by children and boys, cause obesity, motivated by money. Who controls this narrative? Noone in particular. But we need to work together to try to fix it.

Perceptions of sexism going up, concern about diversity also up.

Most people think crunch unnecessary. Read Crunch hurts on takethis.org about the mental health effects.

People say can't change can't happen quickly. Photo of Harvey Weinstein, Bill O'Reilly, Google manifesto dude. People say it takes time, but what it takes is willpower and people banding together. Change is punctuated.

FX network CEO decided to fix things. 2014 12% directors women or POC. 2016 51% directors women or POC.

Why can't games CEOs take a stand against crunch?

Focus on The Cause over the fear.

She would speak up against Gamergate again, despite knowing how she would be harassed later.

If everyone felt this way there'd be a wall of resistance, not just ripples but a tsunami.

Be willing to be relentless. Fervently support each other. Mentor each other. Reach out to people who need help. Act with common will.

Common question: will there be a union? Interest continuously increases. She was vague about whether she thought it was a good idea.

There were suggestions to join with hollywood unions but game creators would never be respected by them.

Everyone in history who made a change was "just one person". If you can't feed a hundred people just feed one.

She isn't trying to change the world, just her corner, that's the part she has chosen.

gameadvocacy.org (not up yet) Reporting on specific issues whistleblowing public collective action on specific targets

Wonder woman from comics: when asked how strong she was, she said "I don't know. It's difficult to find an upper limit against which to test myself"

fiat justitia ruat caelum: Let justice be done though the heavens fall

She's turning 53, doesn't want to have to wait decades for games to be accepted as a medium.

She got a standing ovation.

Closing speech: Reminder that there is a strict code of conduct. If you see something and feel comfortable standing up we will be your shields. If you are not comfortable enough come and find the team.

Lots of thank yous. LOTS.

[buymepizzaordie]

Carré D'amour- Chapter One

Summary: Marinette always knew Tikki as the kind redheaded college student who worked part time for her parents at their bakery.Adrien always thought of Plagg as an annoying fellow model and older brother he never had.Neither of them know that Tikki and Plagg are actually immortal superheroes called Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Notes: Hello everyone! I'm still working on Origins, but I wanted to take a break and work on some of my other ideas. So until I update Origins, here is another fic!

AO3 >>

The girl sat at a small table in the teashop. She had a cup of tea and a chocolate chip cookie on the table in front of her. Chocolate chip cookies were here favorite, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat it. She was too anxious.

 She heard a bell ring, signaling that someone had entered the store. Her head whipped around to see if it was him. Her heart stopped when she saw it was.

 The boy’s eyes- bright green like she remembered them to be- scanned the shop, searching for something. His eyes landed on her and she knew he had found what he was looking for. He took a deep breath before walking towards her.

 The girl couldn’t take her eyes off of him. It had been so impossibly long since she last saw him in person, and she thought her heart might explode out of her chest. She wanted to stand up and greet him, but she couldn’t bring herself too. She searched his face for any sign that he might be feeling the same way, but he kept his expression neutral. To anyone else around them, he seemed as casual as ever. But she knew him too well for him to fool her- she could see the subtle clench in his jaw and the restless look in his eye.

 He was just as anxious as she was.

 This realization did not comfort her at all.

 He sat down, and they watched each other in silence for a few moments. She could tell he was trying to think of what to say next. There was so much she wanted to tell him; how much she had missed him, how happy she was to see him, how she hadn’t gone a single day without thinking of him, how stupid his hat looked on him. But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she waited and watched him, hoping that he would speak first.

 And he did.

 “Long time no see.” He said, trying and failing to act casual. She giggled into her hand, and he tried to hold back a grin.

 “Understatement of the century.” She responded. He didn’t try to hold back his smile this time, and she was glad. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, and she took a sip of her tea in an attempt to calm her nerves.

 She saw his eyes dart down to her cookie, and she rolled her eyes. Even after all this time, he was so predictable. “I already ordered you a sandwich. You haven’t changed at all, you know.” She told him.

 He smirked. “The usual?” he asked.

 “The usual.” She confirmed. “It should be here any minute.”

 Not two seconds after she said it, the waiter arrived with the tea and the sandwich she had ordered for him.

 “I still don’t get how you can stand the smell.” She said in disgust as she eyed the smelly sandwich.

 He just smiled at her and took a bite. “I’m offended. Camembert is delicious!” he said with his mouth full of food.

 “Honestly Plagg! Don’t you know it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?” The girl scolded him.

 Plagg shrugged and continued to eat his Camembert sandwich. She took those few moments of silence as an opportunity to collect herself. She was trying to hide her emotions but without much success. Her giddiness at seeing Plagg again was battling with her nervousness over the reason they were here in the first place. Almost as if he could sense her anxiety, Plagg finished chewing and put his sandwich down.

 “Tikki, why am I here?” he asked her. She knew what he was trying to ask, but it still stung to know that if he had a choice, he would leave her here and go on with his life without her.

 “Wayzz said he needed to talk to us. He said it was urgent.” She answered.

 “Why didn’t he just call me himself?”

 “Because you disappeared! You went completely off the grid, Plagg! If it weren’t for-” Tikki hesitated once she realized how loud she was. She lowered her voice and continued. “If it weren’t for our connection, Wayzz wouldn’t have even been able to figure out what continent you were in.”

 Plagg had no response to that. The two of them watched each other for a moment, trying to read each other. Tikki had almost built up the courage to ask him why he never came back on his own when Plagg picked up his sandwich again and started to eat.

 They sat in awkward silence for what felt like eternity but couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Plagg ordered an extra side of Camembert and Tikki finally took a bite of her cookie. She was just about to call Wayzz and ask him what was taking him so long when she saw him coming from behind the front counter. He was wearing an apron, which he quickly took off and handed to one of the other employees.

 “There he is.” She told Plagg. He turned around just as he walked up to their table. They both stood up to greet him. He gave Tikki a small smile, then turned to Plagg with a frown.

 “What? Do I have something on my face?” Plagg asked. Wayzz sighed and sat down, and Tikki and Plagg followed his lead.

 “Your hat.” Wayzz said to Plagg. “It’s hideous.”

 Tikki burst out laughing while Plagg scowled. The hat was a gray beanie with an image of a cartoon cat on it. She was glad Wayzz had told him it was ugly, because it had been nagging at her since he had sat down. Plagg didn’t take it off, and instead turned to Wayzz. “Well, it’s nice to see you too, Wayzz.”

 Wayzz leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. The moment he sat down, Tikki started to feel much less anxious that she had before. But she knew that was just one of his powers. He gave everyone around him the sense of safety and security. It was extremely hard not to trust him, even though Tikki knew from centuries of experience that he wasn’t always very trustworthy.

 “I’m afraid I don’t have much time for small talk. I’m currently on my lunch break, and I have to get back to work soon.” Said Wayzz.

 “You work here?” Tikki asked.

 “Yes I do. This is the best tea shop in Paris.” He said as explanation.

 “Ok, then lets cut to the chase. Why am I here?” Plagg asked.

 Wayzz looked around to make sure no one was listening before responding. “It’s Nooroo. He’s been kidnapped.”

[timdjohnson131-blog]

Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition

Hey friend, want to have a heart to heart?

The most important part of Vintage Revivals, surprisingly isnt the Merc, or my post on how to paint furniture. It's my Real Life Story. It's been a while since I've updated it and while I wasn't initially intending this post to be part of it, I feel like it needs to be. Cause struggling and being human is way easier when someone else says “Hey girl, me too.”

I dont know what your last year has been like, but if I had a word for 2018 it would be STRESS. Like that, in all caps, screaming in your face. Over the last few years I've felt it compounding, but this last year it was overwhelming. I found myself paralyzed in anxiety, brimming with anger, and disconnected, jealous, and negative. (Which is very unlike my rose colored glasses way of living.) I had a few irrational outbursts, I had stress induced psoriasis patches all over my body, I very intensely thought about driving my car into a wall one night.

The crazy and most frustrating part is that I tried everything that I could think of to find relief. Hormone therapy, actual therapy, change in diet, sticking to a schedule, meditation, exercise, podcasts, books, if it was suggested to me I tried it. And nothing made it better. Every time I cut my hair my sisters were worried I was going to buzz it Britney circa 2007 style.

Have you ever been in a place like this? Where you've pulled your boot straps up so high that you're wearing them like suspenders and yet, you are still there, in the garbage? GAH! It is the worst feeling like you're letting everything and everyone around you down. Man, if you have my heart goes out to you. Maybe we should start a suspenders club?

For me, I've learned, is that it wasnt about the circumstances that were going on (maybe we'll talk about those soon). What really was happening is that sometime along the way I shifted my spirituality into neutral. Spoiler alert! It seems to be when you put something in neutral, it eventually coasts to a stop and that is what happened. I had stalled out.

For those that don't know, I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My faith is what has rescued me from the seemingly unreachable darkness. Understand the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the power that it has to bring grace and purpose to my life changed everything. After experiencing all of the miracles that we have over the years, you would think that I would be set on the right path and have all of the energy in the world to endure whatever ups and downs life throws at me, but man it just is not that way.  I was still going to church, Court and I are still missionaries for the 12 Step Program, and still doing the “things” but trying to restart some spiritual momentum out of sheer self loathing is just not the way that it works.

In October I went to a hypnotherapy session that changed everything. It was probably the most sacred and spiritual experience that I've ever had. I can't share all of it, but during the session, I had this huge weight of darkness descend on me. As I focused on it I could feel it, like a thick black mist, intertwining itself around every part of my body. My therapist had me project the feeling outside of my body and asked me what shape it took on. It was like I was staring at a mirror image of myself, but instead of skin and clothing it was a faceless shadow of tumbling black smoke staring back at me.

As I faced it, those familiar feelings of dread, stress, hatred, anger, jealousy, self-will, pride, resentments, and sadness intensified and the smoke grew larger and larger until it was no longer the shape of me, but just a huge swirling black mass of despair. My therapist had me directly ask why it was there, and with a laugh and an energy that I recognized as Satan it replied “because you allow me to be”.

That son of a #&*%$

Slowly, almost undetectably I had let all of these garbage thoughts and feelings take seed in my life and they grew  and grew and grew until I found myself in this horrible place. Never has the term enemy of my soul meant more to me.

I dont know if you know this, but when I started my blog I had never DIYed a thing in my life. I had very little confidence in anything, especially myself, and what little I did have was sucked into the dark hole of Court's addiction. I was an absolute shell of a person. When I stumbled one day upon the world of DIY blogs, it changed everything! These wonderful, relatable, awesome women shared their knowledge with me and made me feel like I could do something scary. It unlocked a talent that had been completely undiscovered and quite literally altered the course of my life.

A few months into the blog I knew that I needed to share our struggle with addiction. At that point Court had only been sober for a few months, but he was so different than any other time he had been clean, that I didn't hesitate to believe that this time really was different. From the moment of being willing to be vulnerable things changed for me. I learned who I was, and how God speaks to me. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the reason that I had this gift was to bring people to the blog so that I could share with them hope, and confidence, and happiness. Maybe in a thrifted dresser, maybe in a relationship, maybe in God. But always that change is real and everything can be made better. That purpose unlocked my heart.

But over the years, that perspective shifted. If you ask me point blank, that is still the answer you'll get, but in my heart it changed. It became about me, not about you. I dont know if the content really changed all that much, but the energy and reason behind it did. I would be interested to know for those long time readers, if you'd noticed.

So for the last little while, I've focused on finding my Savior and my peace and my perspective again. It has become my number one priority. It never ceases to amaze me that He is always there. ALWAYS! Even when I turn away from him, even when I struggle and try to do things on my own and make a mess out of the path that he set my life on, he is still there! Through this journey I've dedicated more time to going to the temple and reading the Book of Mormon. I've cut out everything in my life that doesn't fill me with hope and happiness (I'm looking at you Netflix) and my heart has been changed.

One of my favorite quotes by President Benson says “When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives. Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities.” It's quite miraculous how that happens. I feel like I know what my Heavenly Father wants from me and as I am willing to trust him and move forward in faith that he will work the miracle for me to become whatever he intends.

And as for the enemy of my soul, whenever I am feeling frustrated or defeated I read from the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 4:18-35

18 I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me.

19 And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins; nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted.

20 My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep.

26 O then, if I have seen so great things, if the Lord in his condescension unto the children of men hath visited men in so much mercy, why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, and my flesh waste away, and my strength slacken, because of mine afflictions?

27 And why should I yield to sin, because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul? Why am I angry because of mine enemy?

28 Awake, my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul.

30 Rejoice, O my heart, and cry unto the Lord, and say: O Lord, I will praise thee forever; yea, my soul will rejoice in thee, my God, and the rock of my salvation.

So what does all of this mean!? Hahaha man I have no idea. But I do know that Vintage Revivals always going to be about projects and paint and trips to Home Depot. But if I'm creating that content with love, awareness, and perspective-I believe that it can create a deeper connection and that is what the whole point behind all of this is. To know that none of us are alone in our bad bathroom tile, or in our imperfect lives.

If you've made it this far you get 10 Vintage Revivals points and a huge heartfelt thank youuuuu! Thank you for letting me share about where I've been cause man, what a lonely and crappy place that is. And thank you for letting me figure this whole thing out. You are wonderful!!

If you would like to learn more about the LDS 12 Step Addiction Recovery meetings, you can get more info for meetings in your area here.

If you're interested in receiving a free copy of the Book of Mormon, I would love to send you one! Shoot me an email at mandi@vintagerevivals.com!

Love your guts guys!!

    The post Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition appeared first on Vintage Revivals.

[karenpbrown12-blog]

Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition

Hey friend, want to have a heart to heart?

The most important part of Vintage Revivals, surprisingly isnt the Merc, or my post on how to paint furniture. It's my Real Life Story. It's been a while since I've updated it and while I wasn't initially intending this post to be part of it, I feel like it needs to be. Cause struggling and being human is way easier when someone else says “Hey girl, me too.”

I dont know what your last year has been like, but if I had a word for 2018 it would be STRESS. Like that, in all caps, screaming in your face. Over the last few years I've felt it compounding, but this last year it was overwhelming. I found myself paralyzed in anxiety, brimming with anger, and disconnected, jealous, and negative. (Which is very unlike my rose colored glasses way of living.) I had a few irrational outbursts, I had stress induced psoriasis patches all over my body, I very intensely thought about driving my car into a wall one night.

The crazy and most frustrating part is that I tried everything that I could think of to find relief. Hormone therapy, actual therapy, change in diet, sticking to a schedule, meditation, exercise, podcasts, books, if it was suggested to me I tried it. And nothing made it better. Every time I cut my hair my sisters were worried I was going to buzz it Britney circa 2007 style.

Have you ever been in a place like this? Where you've pulled your boot straps up so high that you're wearing them like suspenders and yet, you are still there, in the garbage? GAH! It is the worst feeling like you're letting everything and everyone around you down. Man, if you have my heart goes out to you. Maybe we should start a suspenders club?

For me, I've learned, is that it wasnt about the circumstances that were going on (maybe we'll talk about those soon). What really was happening is that sometime along the way I shifted my spirituality into neutral. Spoiler alert! It seems to be when you put something in neutral, it eventually coasts to a stop and that is what happened. I had stalled out.

For those that don't know, I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My faith is what has rescued me from the seemingly unreachable darkness. Understand the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the power that it has to bring grace and purpose to my life changed everything. After experiencing all of the miracles that we have over the years, you would think that I would be set on the right path and have all of the energy in the world to endure whatever ups and downs life throws at me, but man it just is not that way.  I was still going to church, Court and I are still missionaries for the 12 Step Program, and still doing the “things” but trying to restart some spiritual momentum out of sheer self loathing is just not the way that it works.

In October I went to a hypnotherapy session that changed everything. It was probably the most sacred and spiritual experience that I've ever had. I can't share all of it, but during the session, I had this huge weight of darkness descend on me. As I focused on it I could feel it, like a thick black mist, intertwining itself around every part of my body. My therapist had me project the feeling outside of my body and asked me what shape it took on. It was like I was staring at a mirror image of myself, but instead of skin and clothing it was a faceless shadow of tumbling black smoke staring back at me.

As I faced it, those familiar feelings of dread, stress, hatred, anger, jealousy, self-will, pride, resentments, and sadness intensified and the smoke grew larger and larger until it was no longer the shape of me, but just a huge swirling black mass of despair. My therapist had me directly ask why it was there, and with a laugh and an energy that I recognized as Satan it replied “because you allow me to be”.

That son of a #&*%$

Slowly, almost undetectably I had let all of these garbage thoughts and feelings take seed in my life and they grew  and grew and grew until I found myself in this horrible place. Never has the term enemy of my soul meant more to me.

I dont know if you know this, but when I started my blog I had never DIYed a thing in my life. I had very little confidence in anything, especially myself, and what little I did have was sucked into the dark hole of Court's addiction. I was an absolute shell of a person. When I stumbled one day upon the world of DIY blogs, it changed everything! These wonderful, relatable, awesome women shared their knowledge with me and made me feel like I could do something scary. It unlocked a talent that had been completely undiscovered and quite literally altered the course of my life.

A few months into the blog I knew that I needed to share our struggle with addiction. At that point Court had only been sober for a few months, but he was so different than any other time he had been clean, that I didn't hesitate to believe that this time really was different. From the moment of being willing to be vulnerable things changed for me. I learned who I was, and how God speaks to me. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the reason that I had this gift was to bring people to the blog so that I could share with them hope, and confidence, and happiness. Maybe in a thrifted dresser, maybe in a relationship, maybe in God. But always that change is real and everything can be made better. That purpose unlocked my heart.

But over the years, that perspective shifted. If you ask me point blank, that is still the answer you'll get, but in my heart it changed. It became about me, not about you. I dont know if the content really changed all that much, but the energy and reason behind it did. I would be interested to know for those long time readers, if you'd noticed.

So for the last little while, I've focused on finding my Savior and my peace and my perspective again. It has become my number one priority. It never ceases to amaze me that He is always there. ALWAYS! Even when I turn away from him, even when I struggle and try to do things on my own and make a mess out of the path that he set my life on, he is still there! Through this journey I've dedicated more time to going to the temple and reading the Book of Mormon. I've cut out everything in my life that doesn't fill me with hope and happiness (I'm looking at you Netflix) and my heart has been changed.

One of my favorite quotes by President Benson says “When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives. Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities.” It's quite miraculous how that happens. I feel like I know what my Heavenly Father wants from me and as I am willing to trust him and move forward in faith that he will work the miracle for me to become whatever he intends.

And as for the enemy of my soul, whenever I am feeling frustrated or defeated I read from the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 4:18-35

18 I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me.

19 And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins; nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted.

20 My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep.

26 O then, if I have seen so great things, if the Lord in his condescension unto the children of men hath visited men in so much mercy, why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, and my flesh waste away, and my strength slacken, because of mine afflictions?

27 And why should I yield to sin, because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul? Why am I angry because of mine enemy?

28 Awake, my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul.

30 Rejoice, O my heart, and cry unto the Lord, and say: O Lord, I will praise thee forever; yea, my soul will rejoice in thee, my God, and the rock of my salvation.

So what does all of this mean!? Hahaha man I have no idea. But I do know that Vintage Revivals always going to be about projects and paint and trips to Home Depot. But if I'm creating that content with love, awareness, and perspective-I believe that it can create a deeper connection and that is what the whole point behind all of this is. To know that none of us are alone in our bad bathroom tile, or in our imperfect lives.

If you've made it this far you get 10 Vintage Revivals points and a huge heartfelt thank youuuuu! Thank you for letting me share about where I've been cause man, what a lonely and crappy place that is. And thank you for letting me figure this whole thing out. You are wonderful!!

If you would like to learn more about the LDS 12 Step Addiction Recovery meetings, you can get more info for meetings in your area here.

If you're interested in receiving a free copy of the Book of Mormon, I would love to send you one! Shoot me an email at mandi@vintagerevivals.com!

Love your guts guys!!

    The post Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition appeared first on Vintage Revivals.

[lowmaticnews]

Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition

Hey friend, want to have a heart to heart?

The most important part of Vintage Revivals, surprisingly isnt the Merc, or my post on how to paint furniture. It’s my Real Life Story. It’s been a while since I’ve updated it and while I wasn’t initially intending this post to be part of it, I feel like it needs to be. Cause struggling and being human is way easier when someone else says “Hey girl, me too.”

I dont know what your last year has been like, but if I had a word for 2018 it would be STRESS. Like that, in all caps, screaming in your face. Over the last few years I’ve felt it compounding, but this last year it was overwhelming. I found myself paralyzed in anxiety, brimming with anger, and disconnected, jealous, and negative. (Which is very unlike my rose colored glasses way of living.) I had a few irrational outbursts, I had stress induced psoriasis patches all over my body, I very intensely thought about driving my car into a wall one night.

The crazy and most frustrating part is that I tried everything that I could think of to find relief. Hormone therapy, actual therapy, change in diet, sticking to a schedule, meditation, exercise, podcasts, books, if it was suggested to me I tried it. And nothing made it better. Every time I cut my hair my sisters were worried I was going to buzz it Britney circa 2007 style.

Have you ever been in a place like this? Where you’ve pulled your boot straps up so high that you’re wearing them like suspenders and yet, you are still there, in the garbage? GAH! It is the worst feeling like you’re letting everything and everyone around you down. Man, if you have my heart goes out to you. Maybe we should start a suspenders club?

For me, I’ve learned, is that it wasnt about the circumstances that were going on (maybe we’ll talk about those soon). What really was happening is that sometime along the way I shifted my spirituality into neutral. Spoiler alert! It seems to be when you put something in neutral, it eventually coasts to a stop and that is what happened. I had stalled out.

For those that don’t know, I’m a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My faith is what has rescued me from the seemingly unreachable darkness. Understand the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the power that it has to bring grace and purpose to my life changed everything. After experiencing all of the miracles that we have over the years, you would think that I would be set on the right path and have all of the energy in the world to endure whatever ups and downs life throws at me, but man it just is not that way.  I was still going to church, Court and I are still missionaries for the 12 Step Program, and still doing the “things” but trying to restart some spiritual momentum out of sheer self loathing is just not the way that it works.

In October I went to a hypnotherapy session that changed everything. It was probably the most sacred and spiritual experience that I’ve ever had. I can’t share all of it, but during the session, I had this huge weight of darkness descend on me. As I focused on it I could feel it, like a thick black mist, intertwining itself around every part of my body. My therapist had me project the feeling outside of my body and asked me what shape it took on. It was like I was staring at a mirror image of myself, but instead of skin and clothing it was a faceless shadow of tumbling black smoke staring back at me.

As I faced it, those familiar feelings of dread, stress, hatred, anger, jealousy, self-will, pride, resentments, and sadness intensified and the smoke grew larger and larger until it was no longer the shape of me, but just a huge swirling black mass of despair. My therapist had me directly ask why it was there, and with a laugh and an energy that I recognized as Satan it replied “because you allow me to be”.

That son of a #&*%$

Slowly, almost undetectably I had let all of these garbage thoughts and feelings take seed in my life and they grew  and grew and grew until I found myself in this horrible place. Never has the term enemy of my soul meant more to me.

I dont know if you know this, but when I started my blog I had never DIYed a thing in my life. I had very little confidence in anything, especially myself, and what little I did have was sucked into the dark hole of Court’s addiction. I was an absolute shell of a person. When I stumbled one day upon the world of DIY blogs, it changed everything! These wonderful, relatable, awesome women shared their knowledge with me and made me feel like I could do something scary. It unlocked a talent that had been completely undiscovered and quite literally altered the course of my life.

A few months into the blog I knew that I needed to share our struggle with addiction. At that point Court had only been sober for a few months, but he was so different than any other time he had been clean, that I didn’t hesitate to believe that this time really was different. From the moment of being willing to be vulnerable things changed for me. I learned who I was, and how God speaks to me. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the reason that I had this gift was to bring people to the blog so that I could share with them hope, and confidence, and happiness. Maybe in a thrifted dresser, maybe in a relationship, maybe in God. But always that change is real and everything can be made better. That purpose unlocked my heart.

But over the years, that perspective shifted. If you ask me point blank, that is still the answer you’ll get, but in my heart it changed. It became about me, not about you. I dont know if the content really changed all that much, but the energy and reason behind it did. I would be interested to know for those long time readers, if you’d noticed.

So for the last little while, I’ve focused on finding my Savior and my peace and my perspective again. It has become my number one priority. It never ceases to amaze me that He is always there. ALWAYS! Even when I turn away from him, even when I struggle and try to do things on my own and make a mess out of the path that he set my life on, he is still there! Through this journey I’ve dedicated more time to going to the temple and reading the Book of Mormon. I’ve cut out everything in my life that doesn’t fill me with hope and happiness (I’m looking at you Netflix) and my heart has been changed.

One of my favorite quotes by President Benson says “When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives. Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities.” It’s quite miraculous how that happens. I feel like I know what my Heavenly Father wants from me and as I am willing to trust him and move forward in faith that he will work the miracle for me to become whatever he intends.

And as for the enemy of my soul, whenever I am feeling frustrated or defeated I read from the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 4:18-35

18 I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me.

19 And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins; nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted.

20 My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep.

26 O then, if I have seen so great things, if the Lord in his condescension unto the children of men hath visited men in so much mercy, why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, and my flesh waste away, and my strength slacken, because of mine afflictions?

27 And why should I yield to sin, because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul? Why am I angry because of mine enemy?

28 Awake, my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul.

30 Rejoice, O my heart, and cry unto the Lord, and say: O Lord, I will praise thee forever; yea, my soul will rejoice in thee, my God, and the rock of my salvation.

So what does all of this mean!? Hahaha man I have no idea. But I do know that Vintage Revivals always going to be about projects and paint and trips to Home Depot. But if I’m creating that content with love, awareness, and perspective-I believe that it can create a deeper connection and that is what the whole point behind all of this is. To know that none of us are alone in our bad bathroom tile, or in our imperfect lives.

If you’ve made it this far you get 10 Vintage Revivals points and a huge heartfelt thank youuuuu! Thank you for letting me share about where I’ve been cause man, what a lonely and crappy place that is. And thank you for letting me figure this whole thing out. You are wonderful!!

If you would like to learn more about the LDS 12 Step Addiction Recovery meetings, you can get more info for meetings in your area here.

If you’re interested in receiving a free copy of the Book of Mormon, I would love to send you one! Shoot me an email at mandi@vintagerevivals.com!

Love your guts guys!!

    The post Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition appeared first on Vintage Revivals.

Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition published first on https://landscapingmates.blogspot.com

[alexrodriguespage]

Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition

Hey friend, want to have a heart to heart?

The most important part of Vintage Revivals, surprisingly isnt the Merc, or my post on how to paint furniture. It’s my Real Life Story. It’s been a while since I’ve updated it and while I wasn’t initially intending this post to be part of it, I feel like it needs to be. Cause struggling and being human is way easier when someone else says “Hey girl, me too.”

I dont know what your last year has been like, but if I had a word for 2018 it would be STRESS. Like that, in all caps, screaming in your face. Over the last few years I’ve felt it compounding, but this last year it was overwhelming. I found myself paralyzed in anxiety, brimming with anger, and disconnected, jealous, and negative. (Which is very unlike my rose colored glasses way of living.) I had a few irrational outbursts, I had stress induced psoriasis patches all over my body, I very intensely thought about driving my car into a wall one night.

The crazy and most frustrating part is that I tried everything that I could think of to find relief. Hormone therapy, actual therapy, change in diet, sticking to a schedule, meditation, exercise, podcasts, books, if it was suggested to me I tried it. And nothing made it better. Every time I cut my hair my sisters were worried I was going to buzz it Britney circa 2007 style.

Have you ever been in a place like this? Where you’ve pulled your boot straps up so high that you’re wearing them like suspenders and yet, you are still there, in the garbage? GAH! It is the worst feeling like you’re letting everything and everyone around you down. Man, if you have my heart goes out to you. Maybe we should start a suspenders club?

For me, I’ve learned, is that it wasnt about the circumstances that were going on (maybe we’ll talk about those soon). What really was happening is that sometime along the way I shifted my spirituality into neutral. Spoiler alert! It seems to be when you put something in neutral, it eventually coasts to a stop and that is what happened. I had stalled out.

For those that don’t know, I’m a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My faith is what has rescued me from the seemingly unreachable darkness. Understand the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the power that it has to bring grace and purpose to my life changed everything. After experiencing all of the miracles that we have over the years, you would think that I would be set on the right path and have all of the energy in the world to endure whatever ups and downs life throws at me, but man it just is not that way.  I was still going to church, Court and I are still missionaries for the 12 Step Program, and still doing the “things” but trying to restart some spiritual momentum out of sheer self loathing is just not the way that it works.

In October I went to a hypnotherapy session that changed everything. It was probably the most sacred and spiritual experience that I’ve ever had. I can’t share all of it, but during the session, I had this huge weight of darkness descend on me. As I focused on it I could feel it, like a thick black mist, intertwining itself around every part of my body. My therapist had me project the feeling outside of my body and asked me what shape it took on. It was like I was staring at a mirror image of myself, but instead of skin and clothing it was a faceless shadow of tumbling black smoke staring back at me.

As I faced it, those familiar feelings of dread, stress, hatred, anger, jealousy, self-will, pride, resentments, and sadness intensified and the smoke grew larger and larger until it was no longer the shape of me, but just a huge swirling black mass of despair. My therapist had me directly ask why it was there, and with a laugh and an energy that I recognized as Satan it replied “because you allow me to be”.

That son of a #&*%$

Slowly, almost undetectably I had let all of these garbage thoughts and feelings take seed in my life and they grew  and grew and grew until I found myself in this horrible place. Never has the term enemy of my soul meant more to me.

I dont know if you know this, but when I started my blog I had never DIYed a thing in my life. I had very little confidence in anything, especially myself, and what little I did have was sucked into the dark hole of Court’s addiction. I was an absolute shell of a person. When I stumbled one day upon the world of DIY blogs, it changed everything! These wonderful, relatable, awesome women shared their knowledge with me and made me feel like I could do something scary. It unlocked a talent that had been completely undiscovered and quite literally altered the course of my life.

A few months into the blog I knew that I needed to share our struggle with addiction. At that point Court had only been sober for a few months, but he was so different than any other time he had been clean, that I didn’t hesitate to believe that this time really was different. From the moment of being willing to be vulnerable things changed for me. I learned who I was, and how God speaks to me. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the reason that I had this gift was to bring people to the blog so that I could share with them hope, and confidence, and happiness. Maybe in a thrifted dresser, maybe in a relationship, maybe in God. But always that change is real and everything can be made better. That purpose unlocked my heart.

But over the years, that perspective shifted. If you ask me point blank, that is still the answer you’ll get, but in my heart it changed. It became about me, not about you. I dont know if the content really changed all that much, but the energy and reason behind it did. I would be interested to know for those long time readers, if you’d noticed.

So for the last little while, I’ve focused on finding my Savior and my peace and my perspective again. It has become my number one priority. It never ceases to amaze me that He is always there. ALWAYS! Even when I turn away from him, even when I struggle and try to do things on my own and make a mess out of the path that he set my life on, he is still there! Through this journey I’ve dedicated more time to going to the temple and reading the Book of Mormon. I’ve cut out everything in my life that doesn’t fill me with hope and happiness (I’m looking at you Netflix) and my heart has been changed.

One of my favorite quotes by President Benson says “When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives. Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities.” It’s quite miraculous how that happens. I feel like I know what my Heavenly Father wants from me and as I am willing to trust him and move forward in faith that he will work the miracle for me to become whatever he intends.

And as for the enemy of my soul, whenever I am feeling frustrated or defeated I read from the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 4:18-35

18 I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me.

19 And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins; nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted.

20 My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep.

26 O then, if I have seen so great things, if the Lord in his condescension unto the children of men hath visited men in so much mercy, why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, and my flesh waste away, and my strength slacken, because of mine afflictions?

27 And why should I yield to sin, because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul? Why am I angry because of mine enemy?

28 Awake, my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul.

30 Rejoice, O my heart, and cry unto the Lord, and say: O Lord, I will praise thee forever; yea, my soul will rejoice in thee, my God, and the rock of my salvation.

So what does all of this mean!? Hahaha man I have no idea. But I do know that Vintage Revivals always going to be about projects and paint and trips to Home Depot. But if I’m creating that content with love, awareness, and perspective-I believe that it can create a deeper connection and that is what the whole point behind all of this is. To know that none of us are alone in our bad bathroom tile, or in our imperfect lives.

If you’ve made it this far you get 10 Vintage Revivals points and a huge heartfelt thank youuuuu! Thank you for letting me share about where I’ve been cause man, what a lonely and crappy place that is. And thank you for letting me figure this whole thing out. You are wonderful!!

If you would like to learn more about the LDS 12 Step Addiction Recovery meetings, you can get more info for meetings in your area here.

If you’re interested in receiving a free copy of the Book of Mormon, I would love to send you one! Shoot me an email at mandi@vintagerevivals.com!

Love your guts guys!!

    The post Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition appeared first on Vintage Revivals.

Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition published first on https://vacuumpalguide.tumblr.com/

[jeffdonaldsons]

Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition

Hey friend, want to have a heart to heart?

The most important part of Vintage Revivals, surprisingly isnt the Merc, or my post on how to paint furniture. It’s my Real Life Story. It’s been a while since I’ve updated it and while I wasn’t initially intending this post to be part of it, I feel like it needs to be. Cause struggling and being human is way easier when someone else says “Hey girl, me too.”

I dont know what your last year has been like, but if I had a word for 2018 it would be STRESS. Like that, in all caps, screaming in your face. Over the last few years I’ve felt it compounding, but this last year it was overwhelming. I found myself paralyzed in anxiety, brimming with anger, and disconnected, jealous, and negative. (Which is very unlike my rose colored glasses way of living.) I had a few irrational outbursts, I had stress induced psoriasis patches all over my body, I very intensely thought about driving my car into a wall one night.

The crazy and most frustrating part is that I tried everything that I could think of to find relief. Hormone therapy, actual therapy, change in diet, sticking to a schedule, meditation, exercise, podcasts, books, if it was suggested to me I tried it. And nothing made it better. Every time I cut my hair my sisters were worried I was going to buzz it Britney circa 2007 style.

Have you ever been in a place like this? Where you’ve pulled your boot straps up so high that you’re wearing them like suspenders and yet, you are still there, in the garbage? GAH! It is the worst feeling like you’re letting everything and everyone around you down. Man, if you have my heart goes out to you. Maybe we should start a suspenders club?

For me, I’ve learned, is that it wasnt about the circumstances that were going on (maybe we’ll talk about those soon). What really was happening is that sometime along the way I shifted my spirituality into neutral. Spoiler alert! It seems to be when you put something in neutral, it eventually coasts to a stop and that is what happened. I had stalled out.

For those that don’t know, I’m a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My faith is what has rescued me from the seemingly unreachable darkness. Understand the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the power that it has to bring grace and purpose to my life changed everything. After experiencing all of the miracles that we have over the years, you would think that I would be set on the right path and have all of the energy in the world to endure whatever ups and downs life throws at me, but man it just is not that way.  I was still going to church, Court and I are still missionaries for the 12 Step Program, and still doing the “things” but trying to restart some spiritual momentum out of sheer self loathing is just not the way that it works.

In October I went to a hypnotherapy session that changed everything. It was probably the most sacred and spiritual experience that I’ve ever had. I can’t share all of it, but during the session, I had this huge weight of darkness descend on me. As I focused on it I could feel it, like a thick black mist, intertwining itself around every part of my body. My therapist had me project the feeling outside of my body and asked me what shape it took on. It was like I was staring at a mirror image of myself, but instead of skin and clothing it was a faceless shadow of tumbling black smoke staring back at me.

As I faced it, those familiar feelings of dread, stress, hatred, anger, jealousy, self-will, pride, resentments, and sadness intensified and the smoke grew larger and larger until it was no longer the shape of me, but just a huge swirling black mass of despair. My therapist had me directly ask why it was there, and with a laugh and an energy that I recognized as Satan it replied “because you allow me to be”.

That son of a #&*%$

Slowly, almost undetectably I had let all of these garbage thoughts and feelings take seed in my life and they grew  and grew and grew until I found myself in this horrible place. Never has the term enemy of my soul meant more to me.

I dont know if you know this, but when I started my blog I had never DIYed a thing in my life. I had very little confidence in anything, especially myself, and what little I did have was sucked into the dark hole of Court’s addiction. I was an absolute shell of a person. When I stumbled one day upon the world of DIY blogs, it changed everything! These wonderful, relatable, awesome women shared their knowledge with me and made me feel like I could do something scary. It unlocked a talent that had been completely undiscovered and quite literally altered the course of my life.

A few months into the blog I knew that I needed to share our struggle with addiction. At that point Court had only been sober for a few months, but he was so different than any other time he had been clean, that I didn’t hesitate to believe that this time really was different. From the moment of being willing to be vulnerable things changed for me. I learned who I was, and how God speaks to me. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the reason that I had this gift was to bring people to the blog so that I could share with them hope, and confidence, and happiness. Maybe in a thrifted dresser, maybe in a relationship, maybe in God. But always that change is real and everything can be made better. That purpose unlocked my heart.

But over the years, that perspective shifted. If you ask me point blank, that is still the answer you’ll get, but in my heart it changed. It became about me, not about you. I dont know if the content really changed all that much, but the energy and reason behind it did. I would be interested to know for those long time readers, if you’d noticed.

So for the last little while, I’ve focused on finding my Savior and my peace and my perspective again. It has become my number one priority. It never ceases to amaze me that He is always there. ALWAYS! Even when I turn away from him, even when I struggle and try to do things on my own and make a mess out of the path that he set my life on, he is still there! Through this journey I’ve dedicated more time to going to the temple and reading the Book of Mormon. I’ve cut out everything in my life that doesn’t fill me with hope and happiness (I’m looking at you Netflix) and my heart has been changed.

One of my favorite quotes by President Benson says “When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives. Our love of the Lord will govern the claims for our affection, the demands on our time, the interests we pursue, and the order of our priorities.” It’s quite miraculous how that happens. I feel like I know what my Heavenly Father wants from me and as I am willing to trust him and move forward in faith that he will work the miracle for me to become whatever he intends.

And as for the enemy of my soul, whenever I am feeling frustrated or defeated I read from the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 4:18-35

18 I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me.

19 And when I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins; nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted.

20 My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep.

26 O then, if I have seen so great things, if the Lord in his condescension unto the children of men hath visited men in so much mercy, why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, and my flesh waste away, and my strength slacken, because of mine afflictions?

27 And why should I yield to sin, because of my flesh? Yea, why should I give way to temptations, that the evil one have place in my heart to destroy my peace and afflict my soul? Why am I angry because of mine enemy?

28 Awake, my soul! No longer droop in sin. Rejoice, O my heart, and give place no more for the enemy of my soul.

30 Rejoice, O my heart, and cry unto the Lord, and say: O Lord, I will praise thee forever; yea, my soul will rejoice in thee, my God, and the rock of my salvation.

So what does all of this mean!? Hahaha man I have no idea. But I do know that Vintage Revivals always going to be about projects and paint and trips to Home Depot. But if I’m creating that content with love, awareness, and perspective-I believe that it can create a deeper connection and that is what the whole point behind all of this is. To know that none of us are alone in our bad bathroom tile, or in our imperfect lives.

If you’ve made it this far you get 10 Vintage Revivals points and a huge heartfelt thank youuuuu! Thank you for letting me share about where I’ve been cause man, what a lonely and crappy place that is. And thank you for letting me figure this whole thing out. You are wonderful!!

If you would like to learn more about the LDS 12 Step Addiction Recovery meetings, you can get more info for meetings in your area here.

If you’re interested in receiving a free copy of the Book of Mormon, I would love to send you one! Shoot me an email at mandi@vintagerevivals.com!

Love your guts guys!!

  The post Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition appeared first on Vintage Revivals.

via Mandi at Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition via Jeff Donaldson’s Blog Real Life Story Update 2018 Edition