#I need to be a root- that which supports so much and is the core of it all- but doesn’t have to be above grown | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sherlockedfannibal23 · 2 days ago

Text

The complete dynamic between Al Haitham and Kaveh (an overthinker's analysis)

So this has been bouncing around in my head for the past few months and I'm going to try and condense it into this post to get it out of my system. Basically these are the parallel themes or principles that I've seen between Al Haitham and Kaveh since they released.

1. Subjective versus objective

Kaveh is one to value the subjective, hence favoring art which is the expression of the individual even if it's the expression of his client's wishes, and will often overextend his empathy to inanimate objects like Merahk, animals, etc. Al Haitham on the other hand is more focused on objective fact that isn't malleable or sympathetic to subjective whims, he takes comfort in the stability of knowledge and that all it takes is more learning to solve problems, and considers a lot of subjective things like emotions to be 'noisy'.

2. External vs Internal perspective

Kaveh prioritizes the perspectives of others over his own as the roots from which his understanding grows, while Al Haitham prioritizes his own perspective over others'. This is why Kaveh comes off as empathetic and sentimental and maybe even naive on the surface even if he's highly intelligent, he chooses to take the more alturistic route on purpose, just like Al Haitham chooses the individualistic route even if it makes him more outwardly selfish and callous, has the potential to isolate him and has made him more difficult to understand, the important part here is that they're exercising the method that they concluded was best to realize their interests. For Al Haitham society begins with the individual (himself), while for Kaveh it begins with the collective, and so their respective truths align accordingly. While Kaveh prioritizes responsibility, Al Haitham prioritizes his personal boundaries. Also, while Al Haitham perceives external perspectives as 'noise', Kaveh uses them to actively shape his understanding.

3. Done versus perfect

Kaveh approaches the world as he'd like it to be, based on its potential, while Al Haitham approaches the world as it is. So Kaveh tends to lean into perfectionism and ideals while Al Haitham leans into efficiency and solutions. This is why Kaveh tends to overextend himself, not only does he think that his projects should be the best they could possibly be, but he also thinks the same about himself, holding himself to perfectionist standards. Meanwhile Al Haitham comes off as doing the bare minimum, sometimes even less, because he believes that as long as something meets the 'done' requirements, any extra effort wastes precious energy, time and resources.

4. Different kinds of evolution (adapting/growing versus navigating/surviving)

I think this is where the most contention happens between them, both Al Haitham and Kaveh were faced with circumstances that forced them to adapt (no family and barely any support at a young age, being unique thinkers who are difficult to understand by the average person).

They also both, early on, chose to carve out unique paths for themselves, with belonging being the trade-off. However, while Al Haitham leaned into maintaining himself as he was, finding a niche in which he was comfortable, Kaveh tried to adapt and conform as much as he could while maintaining his core. Think of it like compromising as much as you can to fit in versus refusing to change in exchange for fitting in.

Al Haitham thus sees Kaveh giving away something precious in return for acceptance from people who don't even understand or value him, while Kaveh sees Al Haitham as simply refusing to try to reach an understanding and so find the support and connection he needs. Neither of them is completely correct about the other, and this is what created the circumstances for their fallout. Because they were shaped mainly by their circumstances and did what they had to do to make it out of their difficult circumstances with their 'selves' intact. They evolved differently and thus have very different interpretations of resilience and growth.

5. Openness vs reservedness

This is a small section that ties into the previous one, but basically Kaveh wears his heart on his sleeve, often having a hard time keeping secrets, while Al Haitham is more protective of his, even going so far as avoiding vulnerability by deflecting when people try to frame the conversation in a way that he needs to be forthcoming with personal details. Don't get me wrong, they both struggle with vulnerability, but Kaveh wants to be understood, almost desperately, while Al Haitham wants to be as invisible as possible and would rather not be percieved.

6. Study vs Mastery

This is kind of a minor one but the way they process information is interesting, with Kaveh leaning more into practice and mastery of a craft while Al Haitham seems to lean more into the accumulation in knowledge and closing any gaps in his database.

7. Structural thinking vs dynamic thinking

This is a little difficult to explain and gets into headcanon territory but basically Al Haitham prefers to break things down into components and then work through the pieces systematically while Kaveh likes jumping from point to point, like traversing a flexible web of ideas or connecting stray dots. It's why Al Haitham is better at fact checking, prefers consistency and is resistant to wild ideas, while Kaveh is more creative and prone to unique and far reaching ideas. It's also why their conversations usually involve Kaveh coming off as an overthinker while Al Haitham grounds his train of thought. Imo they're both overthinkers Al Haitham is just systematic and quiet about it.

8. The past vs the future

This is an overarching theme in Sumeru but dreams, memories, and the connections between them as well as how shared experiences reinforce them are big themes even with these two. Kaveh wants to be very future oriented based on his dialogue but you can also see the past weighing him down, heavily influencing his decisions, while Al Haitham is very pragmatic and averse to thinking too big about the future, wanting a peaceful and free life, but even this was sparked by his grandmother's wish, who in a way set him free from carrying through on a dream tied to external expectations or his family's legacy. Too add, he is close to Kaveh and the gang whether he likes it or not precisely because of their shared past, Kaveh is his memory, and he ends up living in their 'dream house', he is still affected by those thread like connections that come with interacting with others and living in community.

9. Risk vs certainty

Another small one but Kaveh is more likely to make a decision based on the potential outcome than what is right in front of him like Al Haitham. This also ties back into seeing things for their potential versus how they are, with Kaveh preferring to work based on the ideal potential of something versus the factual outcome that Al Haitham prefers.

10. Hope(dreams) vs evidence(memory)

This one is speculation and might also be another reason why Kaveh leans into more speculative territory while Al Haitham prefers fact. Kaveh probably only had his dream to hold onto at his lowest point while for Al Haitham structure and evidence have always been available to him (his grandmother was a steady presence who reassured him on being himself while Kaveh was abandoned with little beyond the guilt-laced memories of his father). So for example Kaveh's projects rely on him having and holding onto a vision that he eventually fulfills, while Al Haitham documents what's already been done and established as the Scribe. This ties into Kaveh seeing himself and the world based on potential while Al Haitham prefers seeing things as they are. However Al Haitham ends up respecting Kaveh because he always follows through on his dreams while Kaveh begrudgingly accepts that Al Haitham is far more consistent due to working within realistic boundaries.

My Conclusions

1. They're both self contradictory

The reason people find the two to be confusing is because their characterization is intentionally misleading, in line with the theme of Sumeru where characters turn out to be more than their tropes once you dig a little deeper. And this is exemplified by how they also misunderstand each other when they were younger and inexperienced, hence their fallout.

A really good example is how Al Haitham believes that it's better for people to be individuals (find their own path to belonging with their sense of self intact) rather than conform or force themselves into systems that won't accomodate or appreciate them, however he just happens to fit neatly into the structures of the Akademiya, he's very compatible with how the Akademiya works, something that's not only rare but inaccessible to most people of Sumeru.

Kaveh on the other hand believes that systems should change to accommodate everyone, and that people should try to meet their potential despite the obstacles, and yet is in the one nation where his dream, his ideal, becomes an impossible task, materially but also systemically. His talents aren't appreciated by the institution that's in charge, even after proving it (and above and beyond that), and after years of putting in the extra effort to appeal to the Akademiya and pull his Darshan out of the dark.

The point of their dynamic is not that either one or both are right, it's that they grow even more through their connection and understanding the other's perspective, which is why Al Haitham takes Kaveh in and indulges his whims somewhat, or in the archon quest when he offers himself up as hostage, even if he knows it'll add more 'noise' to his life, something he explicitly avoided as part of his purpose, and why Kaveh didn't accept to continue the utopian-esque research of Sachin even if it would give him a chance to continue chasing his ideals. They were mirroring each other in action.

2. How they mirror each other

Basically they are both unique to the world, and neglected by the world (in different ways but especially in terms of understanding), and as such needed an equally unique person to help them further deepen their understanding of themselves and their world (inner and external), they also both share many core experiences and thus perspectives on a lot because of their time together at the Akademiya, and as such, their relationship is the thing with the most potential for them to both grow/evolve further. They not only understand each others quirks, routines, and flaws, but also gaps in knowledge and experiences, which is invaluable for a scholar.

So with Al Haitham, Kaveh is probably the only person who is truly empathetic towards him, who can correctly deduce on the roots of his behavior, and also anticipate his needs, and thus Kaveh is the only one who can, for example, give meaningful support and company, as well as a controlled environment to learn about others without conventional and tedious socializing. Kaveh is the reason Al Haitham got leftovers even though he forgot there was a meetup, and the reason Al Haitham now has friends to get drinks and play cards with.

With Kaveh, Al Haitham's self reliance and individualism gives him no room to empathize beyond what's necessary, and so Kaveh is forced to just exist and look inward to his own wants and needs, and then voice them, instead of distracting himself with the needs and wants of the people and institutions around him. He's also a stable anchor for Kaveh, both as a consistent and stable presence in his life, as well as the grounded voice to balance out his dreaming. Al Haitham makes space in their shared home for Kaveh to rest and be himself beyond his burdens.

3. Why Nahida prefers Kaveh's perspective but Al Haitham becomes Grand Sage

Honestly I don't know for sure. My speculation is that Nahida and Kaveh both have great potential for growth as well as the desire to fulfill their dreams, they also share the desire to understand the perspectives of others, exercise empathy that is. However this doesn't apply to when the Akademiya needed a new Grand Sage, a period of instability that needed discernment, efficiency and results, after which it can go back to dreaming about the future.

If you made it this far thank you for reading!

I might edit this to add some pictures later.

#alhaitham #kaveh #genshin impact #kaveh x alhaitham

20 notes · View notes

kanizsacollage · 8 months ago

Text

#it’s all math.#every thing- trying so hard to balance back to zero #sometimes I feel like I can see how it all works #how it all fits #but then I avoid it all #I don’t want to lose my stability #I made a promise in Edinburgh that I would not be the first to dip. ever. always trying to hold on for one last taste #now I don’t know what that looks like #it doesn’t have to be like *that*#but it has to be something #I learned in my feelings homework that one of my values/priorities is ‘obtain recognition and status’#which can fall under ‘become powerful and able to influence other’#that brings me so much shame: the arrogance; the audacity; the dark bad thing that hurts people #and so- I cut myself off #I deny all the people who love me- it’s overwhelming #cause it overwhelms but how lucky am I that people need me with them #I need to be a root- that which supports so much and is the core of it all- but doesn’t have to be above grown #‘you can grow up there- I’ll help from down here #but you can’t let yourself get too buried- too cut off from the light #Hi my name is Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way-ass ramblings #gotta act opposite to shame somewhere- why no tumblr dot com

1 note · View note

fondcrimes · 6 months ago

Text

the "labru chapter" is the kabru chapter

this is a dungeon meshi love manifesto, but not in the way you think. sorry not sorry for the labrubait

what makes chapter 76 so amazing is kabru’s desperation has little to do with laios specifically. it’s not just about kabru being obsessed with laios and making sure he doesn't cause tragedy, either. I think this chapter emphasizes kabru's struggle with the concept of love and companionship. the point of this chapter is that every critical part of kabru collides at once and renders him useless.

(disclaimer: this post includes a lot of projection/speculation but it's to understand kabru's character arc i promise. for clearer analysis and examination of how kabru's ideologies are constructed, check out this really great post)

kabru is a lone visionary

in ch 76, kabru’s threatened by lycion exposing his true intentions to laios not only bc he wants to prevent laios from joining marcille in her destruction, but also bc laios is also from a short-lived race and kabru needs an ally in his power struggle against elves (esp when the chips are down)

but has kabru really accepted his need for allies in his plight? kabru has spent his adult life suppressing a human urge to connect meaningfully with others. he even keeps rinsha et al. at arm's length in the name of achieving his masculine hero complex/survivor's guilt goals. he's already quite disillusioned bc most adventurers don't have the same goal as he does. so he uses people and gets on their good side for systematic support. he’s well-intentioned and takes care of his party. but the idea that an ally could also protect HIM and make HIM feel safe as well doesn’t really register with him until later on in the narrative bc camaraderie and allyship, at its core, is about acknowledging intimacy. kabru struggles with intimacy sub-textually (his self-neglect and social insincerity) even though he knows how to simulate it to gain others' trust.

but he can’t crack laios, he can’t get him to listen. for lack of a better word, kabru is spoiled by the fruits of his superb perception and emotional intelligence. he also doesn’t cope well with failure (bc his goal is too valuable to ~not~ devote himself to) he puts too much value in conquering laios and when he thinks he's failed, he basically crashes out. the real problem is he still doesn’t understand his true feelings--not feelings for laios, but the root of his desire. the root of his goals and the endless search for companionship.

kabru is a strategic historian

at his core, kabru is a storyteller. he tells himself a variety of stories about his trauma and his goals, which serve as motivation and to some extent, self-protection (as shown in his conversation w mithrun). he deeply understands the role of storytelling in regards to the construction of history and drastic shifts in power.

as an utayan, he understands that the tragedy that overcame his people was not random, but resulted from elven negligence of a disenfranchised people. it is imperative for kabru to cement himself as a voice for otherwise voiceless people. in his story, he has no choice but to handle the hero, if not become the hero himself.

kabru even has a story about his pursuit of laios, mainly that laios is currently the most capable person of defeating the mage and that he must do whatever it takes to ensure laios doesn’t fuck it up. his instincts are right, sure, but at first, he places special value in laios’ capabilities that almost seems unearned… like yes he’s studied the island adventurers with frightening expertise, so it makes sense he would have a good idea about who is the most equipped to succeed. but his early suspicions of the toudens seems to complicate my perception of his knowledge by adding emotional depth and a layer of tinhattery so to speak.

canonically, kabru has been rebuffed by laios multiple times (which is so... lolll) when he's talking with his party, kabru hides behind the excuse of dungeon but he’s been trying to get his attention this whole time. to me it reads like he's got a bruised ego from being ignored and is being a hater about it (so real lol). it's funny bc kabru is usually great at taking shit from others (esp elves) if it means nobody suspects/interrogates his true intentions and he can keep the peace. so why does laios tick him off so bad? now we have to get into the psychoanalysis of it all!

kabru is a cynic

first and foremost, kabru’s cynical philosophy about humans is challenged by the touden mission. but plenty of people don’t care about the impact of their actions, so why does kabru obsess over the toudens at the start? I figured kui changed gears with kabru's characterization following his introduction, but I want to try to connect it to kabru's unresolved survivor's guilt. kabru is the sole survivor of a catastrophe caused by negligence and oversight. he criticizes the negative impact of the toudens' generosity and naïveté and confirms his cynical worldview (the road to hell is paved with best intentions), but still maintains a level-headed perspective. on the other hand, kabru's interactions with laios are tinged with irrational jealousy/resentment/desperation, even prior to kabru learning laios' character/intentions as an adventurer. I cannot emphasize enough that I am employing a neutral definition of jealousy here--it seems kabru is jealous of the freedom to not care the way laios does not care about the fate of the island. this isn't to say laios doesn't care about humans, he does, but he seems so singleminded compared to kabru esp in ch 76. kabru sees laios going to the literal end of the world to save his sister. laios gets to be human selfishly, kind-natured but ultimately self-prioritizing.

kabru correctly assesses motives (besides his own maybe). falin said she’d do anything to protect laios and marcille. laios has been socially rejected by people his whole life, and at first, he only cares about his sister and monsters. kabru has survived horror but only by accident… he doesn't agree with their pov and more importantly, it doesn’t exactly compute with him. the toudens are wholly unaware of their impact, which does not sit well with kabru at all, who understands the impact of negligence better than anyone else, esp how it ends up harming the less fortunate and extremely marginalized in society. it's reminiscent of the age-old trolley problem. while kabru has been the victim of senseless pain, I suspect kabru can’t yet make sense of senseless love. he gets to look down at their cause and call it selfish because it directly contradicts his lived experience.

kabru is an ethicist with a heroic streak

it's easy to glean that kabru wants to be the hero utaya should’ve had. while he's hardcore and intense, but not paranoid enough to do something rash. he uses violence as a means of achieving peace. he's self-aware enough to know his skill limits, which seems rational at a glance but the pressure he puts on himself suggests he views himself as inadequate until he achieves his goal. the races of humans are so split up and he sees that this is a matter of power first and foremost.

with the canaries, kabru submits to political pageantry to make a separate case for innocent people. senseless tragedy is unforgivable, but so is the "too little too late" reality of the canary system. he takes on the impossible task of rallying people together to save the dungeon. one read is that he's saving his childhood self from trauma perhaps by saving those like him… he's wishing someone did something before it got bad, wondering why nobody intervened when they had every opportunity to step in. it’s deeper than a sense of duty or fairness, this is about betrayal and retribution.

throughout his life, kabru struggles with the material inequity and limits of love. the human population is fundamentally segmented into a hierarchy due to lifespans and access to power/resources. his mother was the only one who loved him in utaya and she was ostracized because of his appearance and then she was killed due to senseless tragedy. his frustration with the elves encapsulates this idea perfectly, because he is aware of of the limits of their empathy as a long-lived race and adjusts his strategy and rhetoric accordingly. I think milsiril’s love for kabru is genuine, but still infantilizing and smothering due to the racial imbalance. this continues to inform his politics, as he views their perception of short-lived races with contempt. the worst offense is that their bigotry is nonsensical, meaning their hearts cannot be reasoned with.

dungeon meshi is a story about power and politics, yes, but genuine love and acceptance are the catalysts of change and equality. the "invisible gulf" that marcille is referring to is the inability to view other races with love and care. such is the essence of camaraderie. kabru's backstory, family history, and beliefs/motivations raise two important questions for me: who gets to be loved enough to survive, and then to thrive?

kabru is a monster

the emphasis on distinguishing between humans and monsters is quite interesting too. of all sentient beings, who qualifies as worthy of "human" treatment? who deserves empathy and acceptance? kabru seeks these answers to fix the world, but also to justify his place in it.

kabru's lack of self-worth is evident here, but what’s more interesting is he knows many humans suffer worse fates than some monsters. the dehumanization/neglect of fellow humans does not compute, if the premise is humans are superior to demi-humans/non-humans because mutual empathy and understanding. he clings to the superiority of humanity as an appeal to ethos to those in power despite what he might actually believe about himself. to kabru, the true injustice is that humans won’t even save “inferior” humans despite being the same. his unclear heritage manifests as guilt, as he feels directly responsible for his mother's suffering because he is monstrous. then here comes laios, a human who somehow can find it in himself to love monsters.

kabru doesn’t want laios to love him, per se, but laios’ love for monsters and for falin reveals life-altering possibilities for kabru: there is a world where someone could love him even if he were a monster. there is a world where somebody would go to extreme measures just to save him. kabru does not know the extent of laios' trauma but recognizes a sort of kindred spirit but inverse. taking off the ship goggles here--it has less to do with laios specifically, and more to do with what his beliefs/abilities represent for the trajectory of the world (because kabru studies how beliefs/abilities manifest into material reality, after all)

kabru is seeking the power of love

in a different story, kabru would be laios’ archnemesis. they would have a disastrous battle of opposing worldviews in their struggle for dominion. kabru has every right to want to take laios out bc while his affinity for monsters is sympathetic and even charming, it is still a natural threat… kabru has the true hero pathology. he believes he only deserves to live if he can save people for a variety of reasons/traumas. he should do whatever it takes to exterminate laios. but the expectation is subverted in chapter 76 bc we see kabru’s curiosity and ongoing quest for understanding win over his worst fears.

I feel like I’ve been projecting a lot but bear with me... a huge part of kabru’s character is him trying to figure out how to matter to people, or figuring out why people matter to others in general. it’s not to say he doesn’t matter to his friends or milsiril, but why else would he bother with all the manipulative people-pleasing? it would be less meaningful if he had ulterior motives like greed or power, but he plays into people's expectations/desires for a disastrously noble cause. he’s still actively living in his trauma as a deeply traumatized adult. it’s pure serendipity that laios can send him right back to his past and then pull him right out again. I don't think it's crazy to say kabru (correctly) projects a lot of shit on laios bc he doesn’t know how to deal with those injustices and barriers between people himself.

this is also why I believe kabru's beef with laios is as personal as it is strategic. we have to consider the trajectories of their character arcs (their big missions, respectively) in relation to one another as foils. if laios' love for falin can move mountains and do impossible things, kabru is subconsciously drawn to the magnitude of that love like a magnet. his response to cognitive dissonance is quite remarkable as well. at the root of his unbelievable capacity for understanding and curiosity is the deep wound of being unloved and unprotected. kabru does not avoid or run away from his fears, he quite literally keeps running toward them and follows it down to hell. he wants to identify the true source of his deepest wound.

to me, this omake connects his childhood curiosity to his search for love, almost as to ask “is there enough room for me to be loved?" and the same can be said for marcille's character arc/ backstory. her biracial heritage has caused her great existential pain and social isolation.

in dungeon meshi, the issues of protection and justice continue to be interpreted through love. if kabru were to go back in time and save utaya, he would’ve needed incomprehensible magic, a supernatural power to save himself, his mother, his hometown. in contrast, laios' mission to save falin is just one manifestation of the surreality of love, all of the impossibilities it permits. the touden party wade through invisible gulfs to save falin, but also each other. kabru doesn’t hate their story, he just can’t fathom it yet.

kabru is a skilled strategist and communicator. and does not listen to his heart or body until he’s absolutely forced to do it. he has insane goals and expectations for himself and will go to great measures for those goals. as cerebral and cold as he might seem, it’s critical to understand that his character arc is about love too. in my opinion, it’s almost as if he’s trying to change his reality in hopes of finding love. my favorite thing about kabru is that he has all the narrative makings of the perfect misunderstood villain who self-destructs at the end of the story. but kabru is too smart for that, too focused on the big-picture impacts and the historical trajectory of the cause. instead, kabru finds the wherewithal to stand down once he understands that laios is capable of loving humanity like he does, or that he could help him see the value in humanity at all.

to love is to understand, and then to surrender.

#dungeon meshi #kabru #kabruganda #labru #dungeon meshi meta #long post #dungeon meshi spoilers #hits post and runs away #unfortunately everything is about love to me #mine

1K notes · View notes

comicaurora · 9 months ago

Note

I'm sorry that the terfs made their way onto your blog but it does feel good to see you support trans people. Thank you for that

Always.

I think, charitably, that the discourse going down on that post is an extrapolation and over-focus on one element of the point I was making: that for me, determining with certainty that I was cis was a rather fraught process. I was presented with many alternatives, but underlying their imposition on me was the oddly regressive idea that the things I liked, the principles I valued, the parts of myself I was proud of were not permitted of women. My whole life I got smacked with the background radiation that I couldn't like being strong because women aren't allowed to be stronger than men. I couldn't like being loud and boistrous because women aren't allowed to take up space. I couldn't be a math geek because women aren't smart. It was all deeply regressive misogyny from day one, but I started getting hit with it slathered in a fresh coat of paint - all those assumptions still held to be true, but now there was the out that I could do all those things if I just wasn't a woman.

Concluding that the underlying bioessentialist premise was wrong was very important. Absolutely none of those statements were true, and were only ever maintained by cultural saturation, goalpost-readjustment when they were actively disproven, and the occasional bout of lying with statistics to pretend they weren't just Shit All The Way Down. The core premise that certain things were only permitted of or possible for men was bullshit, and I didn't need to surrender the gender I liked best in order to play in the spaces I wanted to. I could simply exist the way I was already existing. I didn't need anything else.

The misinterpretation is the assumption that this being true of me means this is everybody's relationship with gender. I turned out to be cis, so for me, feeling that holding onto my assigned gender wasn't allowed was distressing - just another invocation of the same bioessentialist bullshit I'd been dealing with since the preschool playground. This is because misgendering is fundamentally denying that a person has the right to express themself the way they want. When aimed at me, it says I'm not performing traditional femininity well enough to deserve my pronouns. The same disrespect is the root of misgendering when aimed at trans people. "Perform your gender to my satisfaction or I will confiscate it."

The problem is, bioessentialism is 100% ingrained into the terf playbook, which is why, for instance, all their shitty talking points about trans athletes eventually boil down to "no woman can ever defeat a man in any contest because we are simply naturally weak and stupid and there is nothing we can do about it" and quite frankly nothing disgusts me more than the defeatist acceptance of the very lie that feminism is dedicated to overcoming. Instead of accepting that the paradigm of bioessentialism is a false dichotomy right from the jump, they embrace and weaponize it against the people whose existence proves the dichotomy is a lie. If gender essentialism is fundamentally false, then it is nobody's fucking business what anybody does with their gender. If the lines don't exist, nobody needs to enforce them. And yet there the terfs go, hunting down people whose lives are none of their business and trying to argue that they represent some great and terrible evil, some downfall of society made flesh, something that makes it totally correct and normal for them to spend so much time thinking about strangers' genitalia. They want this to be a noble crusade so badly they won't even examine what flag they're flying.

I love and support the trans people in my life and will always, always stand on the side of your right to exist, but alongside that, terf rhetoric especially disgusts and infuriates me because it is, at its heart, utter cowardice. The world told them they were weak and stupid and inferior and they fucking believed it. And now they think Fighting The Good Fight For Women means turning around and using the same paradigmatic weapon that hurt them to hurt the people whose existence outside the binary proves the weapon is a lie. They're the same shithead schoolyard bullies who made me believe my entire existence was foundationally wrong for years of my life and I will never, ever side with them or the shitty, cowardly rhetoric that contributed to the loneliest years of my life.

Figure out who you are and do it on purpose. Find the real source of the misery in your life and try fighting that instead of the other crabs in the bucket. Trans rights.

#asks #not aurora

2K notes · View notes

natalchartnurtures · 6 months ago

Text

PAC: Energy Check~ for wherever you are right now

This was completely unplanned but frankly spirit doesn't give a fuck about my plans. So if this found you, here are some messages you probably need right now-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pile 1: Ooh.. as I was preparing to start your reading, I saw 11:11 as the Chariot card showed up for you. This. Tells me that you are pretty strongly connected to your divine path right now, which simply means that you're doing something that's keeping you in alignment, sweet pile one! Good job! Keep going down this road because you WILL stumble upon amazing experiences and people! This message is coming through quite strongly. Now, isn't that lovely? Hehe.

Here's the thing, though.. Although you're actually IN alignment with your greatest timeline and life, you seem to be completely UNAWARE of the fact! You might be going through the necessary purging emotionally and/or mentally as a result of this alignment since the "old stuff" has no more room in your new vibration anymore. So, you've probably had to go through some intense endings and/or tower moments in life lately and THIS has left you feeling really, really sad. Maybe even depressed. For some of you, if that's the case, please seek help, sweet soul. It doesn't have to be therapy but even as simple as talking to a trusted loved one, you know? Or even journaling about it could help if you're into it. It seems like you could use a new perspective on the things you're going through right now. I'm sensing that you might be feeling emotionally numb right now too, but that's because you've been doing a lot of emotional processing lately AND IT'S ALL PAYING OFF. I just need you to know that. You just can't see it right now because you're slap dead in the middle of the storm, and I'm looking at it from a bird's eye view, you know?

While you're purging old stuff, I also see you making your way through an old core belief - "I gotta work hard to be deserving of anything because I inherently don't" Or something along those lines. You may have started purging this belief as a result of life showing you that it's simply not something worth keeping alive inside you. Maybe recently, you caught yourself overworking yourself to death only to receive very little in return (in any area of your life - relationships included) and this experience helped you wake up to this unhelpful belief of yours. You're unlearning this belief as we speak. It's not easy though, but I CAN assure you, you're acing it.

If you find yourself worrying too much about anything and everything or simply feeling a general fear, just know that it's a normal reaction to having things uprooted in your life. Life, right now, is asking you to do your best to focus on what's right in front of you because if you do this, the future is guaranteed to sort itself out. I promise.

I love you so much, pile 1. I see all your hard work and am rooting for you SO hard, bro. Love and light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile 2: Seems like to me that y'all have been STUCK in a particular pattern for a while now, maybe years? For some of you folks reading? Let me spell it out for you what this pattern looks like to me - an imbalance of the mind and heart. Too much mind and too little heart. Maybe none at all.

I can't seem to tap into the root of this imbalance, maybe because it's different for each of you reading, OR maybe it's not relevant to us right now because you can simply begin to address this imbalance as you see it in your day-to-day. But I sense that you're really good at addressing things, so once you're conscious of this pattern going on subtly in the background, running your life, you can really do something about this. This pattern may show up as you struggling with feeling fear, and this is blocking you off to one very important thing fear is here to show us, and that is how to support ourselves. If we are afraid of something we desire and have a healthy relationship with fear, we go for the desire while caretaking our fear. I read a quote the other day, it said "Do that thing you love but if you find that you're scared, then go do it scared." The point I'm trying to make is, fear isn't going to go away on its own, it's you who will simply expand your ability to hold space for it AND your desires equally. When you figure out how to do this, magic will happen in your life. You'll find that your unwillingness to caretake your fear only gave you more things to be afraid of (because, hello, Law Of Attraction *lol*), BUT you'll also find that when you radically start taking responsibility for your fear(s), you'll be able to act from a wiser space and be your full badass self. You'll find that there are so many things you CAN do and so much life you CAN live. Everything you've wanted to start doing in life will start to happen almost seamlessly. It WILL surprise you big time. You're currently making your way through an important part of your healing, and that is to hold yourself in all your glory. To hold all parts of yourself, even the ones that are scared shitless. Once you've integrated this segment of your healing, SO many doors will unlock for you. Sweet soul, you have no clue of JUST HOW MANY. And this… is probably because you manifest with your heart primarily (meaning you feel things deeply and so you unknowingly tap into the frequency of what you want easily) and your fear is keeping you stuck in your head, which means you're only 40% of the full You right now, PRIOR the healing of c. You might even feel it sometimes. You might feel like you're only a shell of a person (been there myself, you're not alone in this!). Listen to that feeling. Your truth lies in there. You're meant to be the 100% you, and I see that you're already halfway there!

I love you so much, pile 2, sending you so much light and love. Hope you find the resources you need to make it through to your new life where you live in more love than fear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pile 3: Man… y'all been fighting for your lives, huh? I see that you may be in the midst of a lot of divinely evoked darkness? Lol, I literally heard that - divinely evoked darkness. Maybe you're going through a dark night of the soul, perhaps? Whatever your're going through though, it seems like you've been hanging on for dear life.

Some good news for you- no matter the circumstances you're in right now (be it good, bad, or terrible), you've been doing all the work necessary to keep your head above water and have been diligently nurturing your own light, positivity, and essence. THAT'S incredible resilience, sweet pile 3, and I'm really proud of you! It's not easy to keep an open heart through bad times, and that's such a grand achievement in my eyes. UGH, BEAUTIFUL.

Your energy SCREAMS transition period vibes. You seem to be neither in your "old" timeline nor in the new one yet. You're sorta hanging in the middle right now. I see the Hanged Man in the third eye as I tell you this. Feels like you're in the void right now, and things just seem… bleh. Boring. Colorless. This is probably because you're already done with the ugly part of the process, "the divine shakeups", the loss, and the purge. Think… the bland but peaceful feeling you feel after having an intense ugly crying session, you know? Yeah, you're energetically there right now. You'll probably be here for a while longer because you've let go of MAJOR stuff, pile 3. Did you let go of people recently, maybe? Or that old bad habit, perhaps? That was the purge, so to speak. And now you're in the aftermath of it all, the uncomfortable but necessary calm.

-Side note: You might've struggled to embody your divine feminine earlier, but the timeline you're entering right now is the exact opposite of that. You might be attracted towards things that will help you nurture your own divine feminine right now. Give into it. Nurture patience, stillness, and compassion for self. It will HOPEFULLY speed up the void period if you consciously take part in it, you know?-

You're quite emotionally intelligent, and it has guided you throughout the whole process, and it also seems like it ain't your first rodeo in the process of proverbial death and rebirth. Good on you because you're doing a real good job keeping your calm through venturing into the unknown. You know what? You remind me of Elsa from Frozen, taking on the unknown like it belongs to her. You are such a queen, omg.

Yep, all that's left to do now is celebrate yourself, pile 3! Try your best to embrace this period, the void, and you'll be on your way to your next happy adventure! Love and light, sweet soul. Thanks for sharing your energy with me today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

734 notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 1 year ago

Text

who could stay? (you could stay.) (eddie munson x reader)

summary: you're convinced that being loved comes with a cost. he finds a way to prove you wrong. (wc: 9.7k+)

order up! i've got one ash's special for anonymous. ♡

Keep going, keep going, keep going.

Agree to run that errand for someone. Offer a shoulder to cry on for that person. Fix that problem for this friend. Keep going, keep offering, keep becoming indispensable.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact age you’d figured out the formula. You can never know for sure if the day was sunny or if it were rainy, if it were a calm December morning or a buzzing July night, but those details aren’t very important. The only important detail is that you had finally cracked the code at some point – you had finally figured out the solution to feeling unlovable. And that was that, truthfully, there wasn’t a solution. Once you were destined to feel this way, to feel so sour at your core, there is no easy way to rid yourself of that rotten pit. It would always be there – always churning, always burning, always yearning. Yearning to be loved, yearning to feel those waves of warmth cascading over your brain and down your spine, the ones others had always described to you but you’d just never… experienced. Never became familiar with.

It felt like everyone was playing an over-elaborate prank on you. They’d all conspired against you, invented a false feeling in which someone claims to feel loved, only to sit back and watch as you fumbled to find it. They’d laughed as you dug through a graveyard of relationships, caked your fingernails with dirt as you sobbed and would continue to claw deeper, trying to find just one set of bones that might hold that warmth for you.

The only solution to that detrimental feeling of being unlovable, was to feel needed.

You needed to feel so necessary, so essential, to everyone around you at all times. It never mattered how much of you it took. You’d give away every piece of yourself a million times over just to feel wanted at some capacity, even if that capacity were one you’d forced upon the other person. You didn’t care if you’d built the glass cages of theirs – you just cared that they kept you around to wipe away any smudges that appeared.

Being wanted wasn’t quite the same as being loved. And if you thought about that for too long or too often, you might just break irrevocably.

“I just don’t understand him,” Nancy sighs from the head of your bed, reclining against a wall of pillows you’d lined your headboard with. Two of which were body pillows. Long tubes of fluff to try and fill lonely spaces, you suppose, “Why didn’t he just tell me he didn’t want to go to the same college? Why… Why do I feel like I am forcing him to be with me?”

Because you are. Just like I force you all to need me.

“I don’t know, Nance.”

That bland, bitter, half-thought out answer lingers on your tongue, almost burns your throat with the whisper of say more, say something useful, say something comforting. It’s the whisper of those four words not being enough. It’s the whisper of that threat that those four words could be the beginning of the end, the thing that makes Nancy realize she doesn’t need you.

After all, what use is a friend that can’t give good advice, or be supportive during relationship rants?

You open your mouth to add on something sweeter, something to coat the conversation like honey and smooth out the lines forming on Nancy’s forehead, but she beats you to it, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Yes. “It’s fine,” at least that wasn’t a lie – you’d dug this specific grave, had rooted down tooth and nail only to find another empty coffin of a friendship curtained with want instead of love. You’d all but asked for this, “What he did really was shitty. It’s not fair to you.”

The words are almost robotic, telling Nancy Wheeler what she wants to hear rather than what she needs to hear. You don’t always do that, you do make a point of investing in the truth from time to time to truly secure your position as someone who is genuinely needed in her life, but the headache nagging at your temples tells you it’s not worth the fight tonight. You’re tired, you’re agitated, and you really just want to get Nancy to the point of contentment in her rambling so that you can send her on her way.

God, you’re an awful friend.

It turns you quiet, a ricocheting thought that bruises your inner skull the rest of the time Nancy sits on your bed. The guilt eats you alive for that moment of irritation the rest of the night. Even after Nancy goes home, even after you’ve brushed your teeth and you’ve tucked yourself into bed. The guilt gnaws on the edges of that emptiness inside of you, that ever-present black hole that already existed, and says this is why you cannot be loved.

Maybe the pity party for feeling like a bad friend is what makes you a bad friend.

And maybe if you were a better friend, you would be loved instead of wanted for once.

It’s all part of a cycle, never-ending and treacherous. It’s always been this way. You make promises to your friends and rip yourself to shreds before remolding yourself into whatever they need; giving rides to the younger kids within your circle to the pool all summer which evolved into taking turns with Steve as to who would pick them all up after their D&D club ran late every Friday night, always lending a listening ear to Nancy once Johnathan moved away and she’d had to witness her relationship and her love vanishing in real time, always being the one person who will listen to Robin ramble for hours about her sudden interests. None of it was born of ill-intent, but when you’d go home lonesome at the end of the night, you could see it all for what it was.

You were trying to fill a void. A hollow rot, a black hole. And it was only working half the time.

Half the time, until he came along.

And make no mistake, his arrival was as bloody as anyone who had previously entered your life. For a while there, you believed his headstone was at the end of the line already, sanctioned away in this graveyard of the ability to be loved. He came crashing into your life on a random Friday night, and you had sworn you could already see the end as it began, but you had been wrong.

“So, you’re the infamous babysitter.”

His voice caught you off guard. You’d been sitting in your car with your windows down, enjoying the reprieve of a cooling autumn evening as you waited for the boys to finish up with their D&D club. With your head buried in the latest sci-fi novel that Dustin had recommended and would no doubt be grilling you on once he got in the car, you hadn’t even heard the club exit the school.

“Nope,” you fought a smile as you glanced up from the pages to see an older guy standing there, closer to yours and Steve’s age than the kids. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that this was the famous Eddie all the boys would ramble on about for hours on end, “Harrington’s the babysitter. I’m just the taxi driver.”

There was something particularly pretty in the way he threw his head back with laughter at your words. Curls that messily fell just beyond his shoulders, full lips disappearing as his teeth peeked through and shined beneath the parking lot’s lamp posts. His denim vest looked purposefully distressed with a mirage of patches and pins, and he was wearing a leather jacket beneath it, even if it wasn’t quite cold enough for it yet outside. He was cute – and watching him laugh because of you sparked something irreversible inside of you.

“C’mon now,” he sighed as his cackles quieted, “Give yourself more credit than that. At least call yourself something fancy, like ‘chauffeur’.”

“Ah, but ‘taxi driver’ insinuates that I charge them,” you don’t miss a beat, and your quick wit has him chuckling again.

You caught sight of his eyes, corners creased with joy – brown. They were deep, russet, tantalizing brown. Almost indiscernible from his pupil in the dark.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

You took his hand that he shoved through your open window with ease, and felt an immediate shiver run down your spine. Not quite from the cold, but not quite warm. You saw the first flash of his grave, and you knew you’d be digging your greedy hands into it soon enough.

As you gave him your name in return, you knew you wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone.

You had been half right that night. You wouldn’t be leaving well enough alone, you would be seeking out the impossible from Eddie – but so would he.

It quickly became apparent that Eddie was a pest. Someone who weaseled his way into the lives of others, who made his presence felt and never forgotten.

You’d started with the same slow dance as you did with every new person, a hesitant dipping of your toes into their waters, unsure if your presence in their life would only cause more trouble than you’re worth, when you quickly discovered that nothing could ever be hesitant or slow with Eddie Munson. He’s the one constantly reaching out to you. Driving the kids home now takes double the time it used to, long conversations being had with him that has the kids dragging you away, practically begging to just be taken home. The day he’d asked for your number, you couldn’t tell which one of you burned brighter red. And the moment he had your number in his clutches? Forget about it. You never heard the end of Eddie Munson, and you never really wanted to.

Unlike your friends you already had and loved deeply, Eddie was observant.

It’s within the first month of knowing you that he had picked up on your insecurities. Maybe he hadn’t directly seen that gaping hole in your chest yet, but he noticed your habit of running yourself dry to see others thrive.

The need to be needed. He picked up on it quickly.

“What about Sunday?” Eddie’s voice traveled over the line as you laid on your stomach, stretched out across your bed for a few moments of rest before you had to get up and take the cookies you’d baked for Steve and Robin into Family Video, just like you had promised, “I’m free then if I finish all my fuckin’ homework on Saturday night.”

Surprisingly, that phone call with Eddie hadn’t been something expected or planned. It had been impulsive; in a rare moment of peace, you found yourself craving to hear his voice. Somehow, the two of you had ended up trying to figure out a free day to properly hang out. Eddie wanted to go to Benny’s for milkshakes, and you wouldn’t turn down the free fries he also promised.

“I can’t,” you paused just to hear his predictably dramatic sigh, grinning as you continued to explain, “I’m taking Max to the skatepark that day.”

“And it’s going to take all day?”

“It could!”

“There’s absolutely no way.”

“You clearly haven’t seen that girl skate.”

The conversation continued, light-hearted enough with plentiful jokes made. Something about talking with Eddie made your heart lighter, the usual unbearable and contradictory weight of emptiness no longer on your mind as you listened to him ramble about something that had happened in one of his classes – a teacher tried to embarrass him when he caught Eddie doodling for a D&D campaign by asking him a question, not expecting him to know the answer. Eddie had, of course, leaving the teacher baffled with a smirk.

It’s all about my charm, sweetheart, he responded when you asked how he hadn’t earned a detention from that.

Only towards the end of the call, when the conversation finally lulled and the two of you found yourselves settled into a comfortable silence, did Eddie finally circle back to the beginning of your conversation.

“You know,” he started, “When I first met you, I never took you to be someone so…”

“Amazing? Wonderful? Funny?” you jokingly attempted to finish his sentence.

“Busy.”

Oh. You hadn’t expected that one.

“Busy?” you repeated back to him, “I’m not that busy.”

Your mind immediately started racing with thoughts of what he had meant. Was he feeling neglected? Maybe you should have canceled on Max on Sunday, agreed to Benny’s with him instead. No, you couldn’t bear Max’s disappointment. Maybe you could tell Max you had a time constraint, even though you knew she hated those when it came to her skating days. Was there any other plans you could abandon? Anyone else you could bear to let down for the sake of not leaving Eddie high and dry? No, no – all your other weekend plans involved going to the movies with Robin, helping Steve look into colleges finally, taking the boys to the Starcourt mall to shop for supplies to make figurines for their newest campaign. The room was suddenly getting smaller, your chest constricting, your head spinning. You couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing any of those people, no, but what about Eddie? Maybe he was right in feeling neglected, maybe you deserved whatever guilt was to come from whatever his next words would be. He was your friend, you were supposed to make time for h-

“Sweetheart,” he scoffed over the line, and you swore you heart stopped right then and there, “You’re the highest thing in demand since Cabbage Patch Kids last Christmas – and trust me, I should know how in demand those fuckers were. I worked seasonally at the mall, remember?”

Your breath caught. He was feeling neglected. You weakly began your apology as tears were already filling your eyes, that panic turning over itself in your gut, “I’m-”

“And it’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong,” It’s clear your voice had been too soft, too weak, for him to hear you, “Just means I’ve gotta fight harder to be worth your time, am I right?”

You had to clear your throat, but it did nothing to subsidize that anxiety that rattled your bones. It’s blatantly evident as your voice shook with a second attempt at an apology, “I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean- I can… I’ll… Just tell me when for Benny’s. I can make it work, I swear-”

“Woah, woah, woah.”

He had to have heard the tears that had escaped down your cheeks. The shake of your breath as you’d stuttered over your words, grasping for a solution.

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” his voice was soothing and soft, the most gentle it had been the entire night. You pinched your eyes shut and just tried to imagine those stupid, big doe eyes, those ungodly messy curls (you’d started to tease him about if he ever even brushed or combed them). The panic remained, but Eddie’s voice started to give it a run for its money, “I was just playing around. You know that, right?” he paused to give you room to answer, but your throat was still tightly squeezed by overwhelming emotion, overwhelming fear of having scorned Eddie, “You could only have enough time in your schedule to see me once a year, and I’d still be your friend. We could only have these random phone calls, even if they were never longer than a minute, and you’d still be worth it. You know that, right?” Another pause, another wave of silence from your end, “Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.”

Each word made the panic settle. You weren’t sure how he did it. You weren’t sure how mortified you should be that he had only been in your life for a month at most, and had just overheard you at your most vulnerable.

All you were sure of was that you believed him.

“Okay,” you croaked, finally feeling that ring of fear loosen, vocal chords finally functioning once more.

“Okay,” Eddie repeated back in that same gentle, soothing, soft tone.

You weren’t disappointing him. You weren’t making him feel neglected. He still found use for you, he still wanted you around – he still needed your friendship. That had to be enough.

It was quiet over the line for a few moments.

It has to be enough, you reminded yourself.

“Say,” you finally said, voice back to normal strength and the tears having dried themselves up for the most part. Your heart had almost returned to normal rhythm, “How does Benny’s sound tonight?”

“Tonight?” he chimed back, sounding as excited as a little kid the morning of a cherished holiday, something like Christmas.

A shiver ran down your spine. It’s not from the cold, and you tell yourself it’s not quite warmth – it can’t be warmth.

“Tonight,” you confirmed, “With a detour by Family Video, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a special delivery of cookies to fulfill.”

“What kind?”

“Excuse me?”

You were grinning - God, you were a pathetic fool, grinning and clutching onto that phone like a lifeline. Like if you let go of it, you’d lose his voice, and if you lost his voice, that would be the end of the world.

“What kind of cookies?”

“Chocolate chip.”

He hummed, not answering right away as if he were deliberating this information. When he finally spoke again, another shiver wrapped around your spine, spinning down, down down. Waves of what you almost believed were warmth. “Okay. I suppose I can be your taxi driver, for a price.”

“What’s your price?”

“One cookie.”

“Deal.”

It had to be enough, because you were still clutching that telephone tightly to your cheek, long after the phone call ended with Eddie’s promise of being at your house soon enough. It had to be enough, because after that night, it became clear; the world would not end with the loss of just Eddie’s voice from your life, but the loss of Eddie, period. It was the first night of many in which you played a very, very dangerous game.

Even with Nancy gone, you felt restless. You couldn’t help but linger just a little longer in all that self-pity, still replaying the night and all you could have done differently.

Had she caught on with how out of it you had been? Had she seen through your act and immediately assumed the worst – assumed you weren’t worth keeping around?

The thoughts might be an overreaction.

You were definitely overreacting.

You didn’t really care that you were overreacting, though, because you really couldn’t control it. It was just another dark path you couldn’t stop your mind from traveling down. It was endless, and it was lonesome, and… and it was just normal. What should be devolving into a panic attack can only settle like an emptiness deep within your chest; you’ve been staring at the blank wall of your living room for so long without blinking, your eyes have gone dry.

A pattern. That’s what the therapist said. You had a pattern for overthinking these interactions, for projecting feelings onto others that didn’t exist. You think all your friends hate you, you think that a stranger found your smile to be more of a grimace, you think your mom hasn’t called in months because she recognizes you as a failure finally. But none of it is actually what those people think. It’s like a mirror – you look into the eyes of others, and you see all your own insecurities reflected back.

She’d asked you to work on it. To take a step back and just breathe, just remind yourself of that, whenever this happens. You’d decide whether you’d mention this minor slip up later. For now, you were going to wallow. You were going to spiral with just you, this damn blank wall, and maybe even the bottle of wine in the fridge.

Yes, your mind was made up, and you force yourself to stand from the couch and wander into the kitchen, eyes still dry and chest still caving in on itself as you open the fridge.

That’s as far as you get. Your fridge is wide open, the bright luminescent light flooding your kitchen floor in time with the trickling chill that sneaks up on your warm cheeks and already numb toes, when you spot it.

A box of takeout. It’s old enough now you could throw it out, you had known the moment he’d taken the last of his meal to-go that he wouldn’t finish it. Teased him about it, even. But he was stubborn and you weren’t capable of turning down the opportunity to let another piece of him, another flash of evidence of his place in your life, occupy this apartment. So there it sat, a half-eaten burger he hadn’t revisited.

But he had revisited the apartment – revisited you. He’d been here every night this week, and you’d practically had to shove him out on the street to get him to leave this morning to get to work on time.

The edges of that emptiness that weighs down your insides blur, already lightening microscopically as you slam shut the fridge and forgo the wine completely to grab the phone instead.

“You don’t have to always take care of everyone, you know,” he murmured as he joined you in the kitchen to retrieve popcorn for the gang, everyone gathered in the living room for a movie night.

“Pardon?” you asked, hardly glancing over your shoulder as you punched in the designated time for the microwave to turn the kernels into an easy, mouth-watering snack of butter and crunch.

“You always take care of everyone. You don’t have to.”

His words rang clearer that time, loud enough to have stopped you in your tracks. You paused mid-reach, the cabinet for the Harrington’s bowls wide open and shelves nearly too tall for you.

“I-” you weren’t sure exactly what to say, “What do you mean?”

His brows scrunched, eyes having narrowed in the slightest in your direction, “Please don’t play dumb right now.”

“I’m not playing dumb. I’m trying to get popcorn for our movie night,” you waved your hand towards the shelves lined with bowls for emphasis on your point, “That’s not really taking care of everyone – it was just being polite. Steve’s hosting, it’s the least I can do.”

“The least you can do? The least you can do is actually just sit with friends, enjoy the movie,” the crease between his brow deepened, eyeing you with an unfamiliar concern. You shifted beneath the weight of his gaze.

You don’t know what to say. Except, “It’s not that serious.”

He scoffed, and you nearly flinched from it. Fear threatened to bubble up – he’s upset, he’s getting irritated at you. He’s getting tired of you.

You waited for him to say something more as the buzz of the microwave filled the tense space, but he remained silent. Brooding.

“What?” your voice shook, your entire being torn between succumbing to all that fear and anxiety in upsetting him further and that voice in the back of your mind that urged you to push him, to hear what he really thought. “I know you have something more to say.”

“In the six months I’ve known you, you haven’t taken a single break for yourself.”

He met your push, stood his ground and didn’t let it put any distance between you two. It felt like a goddamn revelation, right there in the Harrington kitchen.

“I take plenty of breaks, Eddie,” you tried to laugh off, “I do spend time away from you all, hard as that may be to belie-”

“Hardly,” he cut you off as sharply as the first resonating pop that echoed from the microwave.

“What’s your point? I just like being around you guys. Like I said, it’s not that serious.”

This was the part where the distance would happen. You kept pushing, took the inch he’d given you to bite back and ran with it. Normally, you avoided conflict with any of your friends vehemently. Always afraid, always assuming the relationships to be so fragile and so delicate. You would take such care in never giving them a reason to hate you that you’d never taken to a battleground before.

But there had been a look in Eddie’s eyes that night. A shine that, breaking through all the worry for you, whispered, fight with me. Stand your ground with me. I’ll still call you tomorrow, no matter what words we exchange tonight.

A safety net had formed that you’d never even noticed. That delicacy wasn’t needed here. You could pick up the sword, there in that kitchen, and it wouldn’t turn Eddie to smoke and shadows.

“My point is…” he paused, he swallowed hard, he exhibited the delicacy that was usually expected from you, “You can like being around us. But you should put yourself first. At least once. At least on movie night.”

“How is me making popcorn not putting myself first?” you got the question out, you took a deep breath, ready to go on some sort of defensive tirade for your habit you were well aware of.

He beat you to it, “Every day last week, you only got three hours of sleep, at most, before your shifts. You gave up sleep to hang out with us all way too late, refused to throw in the towel and go home before anyone else.”

“I could have napped-”

“You didn’t nap,” he stressed, taking a step closer to you. The popping of the snack turning in the microwave was erratic, mere seconds left on the timer. Static noise to the conversation at hand, “I know you didn’t fucking nap after your shifts because you were immediately running errands for everyone else, or hanging out again. You offered to give Robin a ride to work every single day, and her shifts start… what, an hour after yours ended? And then you had to give her rides home, right? But in those hours she was at work, you were helping Dustin with an essay for school – that little fucker told me all about it. You were awake when Johnathan called you and we were all stoned off our asses, went and got us food we didn’t need but still wanted. We didn’t even expect you to pick up, you know? I told them, I swore to them, you wouldn’t pick up. You had a morning shift. You were scheduled literal hours from when we called you. But you picked up. You fucking picked up, and you went and got the fucking food for us fucking idiots.”

Your brain completely malfunctioned. You couldn’t comprehend how he was saying all of these things that should be good things, things that proved you were needed and you were reliable, but with such venom in his tone.

Anger had sparked within you as you pictured how giddy Dustin had been over the B he’d earned on his essay, that sincere appreciation on Robin’s face every time she left your car last week, the dopey grin that Argyle had worn when you’d arrived with their food order in your pajamas. All previously things to fuel you, filling that aching hole inside of you, now being tarnished because he was concerned.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you seethed at him, “Would you prefer I hadn’t been awake? Would you prefer I let Dustin just… get a fucking F on that essay? Or Robin walks to work?”

“Yes!”

You were both shocked at the sudden volume in your voices. The quickness in his reply. The quiver in your lip.

“Yes,” he breathed out, quieter this time, “I would prefer those things if it meant you were taking care of yourself. The word ‘no’ should be in your vocabulary, sweetheart. I… The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.”

But you all needing me might.

“Just… just…” your breaths came out in huffs, eyes downcast and unwilling to meet Eddie’s stare. A final push, and it came out more fragile than you’d ever intended, “Just mind your business, Eddie.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but the microwave started to go off, signaling what you saw as the end of the conversation – the fight. You’d raised your voice at him, you’d swung that sword in his direction, and he hadn’t vanished. His friendship – he – wasn’t as breakable as you’d thought.

You spun on your heel, you took the popcorn out and divided it into bowls for the group, busying your hands in any way possible. All the while, he never left the kitchen. He stood just feet away from you and let you do what needed to be done, and only stopped you as you turned to exit the kitchen with the snacks acquired.

His hand caught onto your elbow, “You have bags.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have bags under your eyes,” he elaborated. He no longer looked frustrated, but defeated, a morose distress pinching the edges of his feature.

“Jesus,” you were now scoffing, adjusting your grip on those bowls, “You really know how to compliment a girl, don’t you?”

“They’ve been there for months,” his grip refused to loosen, thumb trailing over the crease in your arm, “Please don’t run yourself into the ground.”

You gave him a cold shoulder as you left him behind to rejoin your friends, unable to shake his consternation. It was so genuine, it terrified you. It made your insides churn, it turned your anxious attachment to dust.

It made a shiver of warmth travel down your spine.

The empty space beside you on the couch only remained for seconds after you’d passed around the bowls, keeping one for yourself. He was back there, back at your side, as if the two of you hadn’t just exited a battle ground. As if a stand-off hadn’t just occurred, as if it all hadn’t ended in a draw.

He looked at you with those eyes.

Fight with me. Stand your ground with me. Don’t walk away from me. I will still call tomorrow.

He did more than call that night. As the movie started, he didn’t so much as flinch when your head fell to his shoulder in exhaustion. He only tucked an arm around your shoulders, only shifted you to be more comfortable as you used him as a personal pillow. He glared at everyone in warning not to grill you on the plot of the movie when you’d awoke mildly disappointed, he’d let you sleep on the drive home. He never once brought the fight back up.

And he still called the next day.

After your shift, he was the first voice you heard after dragging your feet into your apartment. A brief apology was exchanged before it was back to business as usual between you two. And somewhere between his rambles, you fell asleep with your phone balanced half-haphazardly between your cheek and shoulder. You could only dream of the grin he wore when he’d hear your soft snores over the line, quieting down immediately to let you rest. He never hung up – he was content to sit on a hushed line if only for the assuredness that you were finally resting.

The warmth no longer traveled down your spine, instead curling up timidly near that hole inside of you. You let it.

“Munson residence!”

That warmth that had found home in your chest still remains to this day, rousing at Eddie’s voice over the line. It’s nearly enough to make you cry – the relief that floods you just by the sound of him and his endless chipper. His optimism that always seems to exist, even in contrast with those harsh edges he tries to portray.

“Eddie,” you whisper, as if you’re not the only one in your apartment, “Can you… Are you free?”

Even after a year, you still sometimes felt guilt, asking so much of him. Asking so much, and giving so little in return.

But you weren’t the one who set that standard. Eddie had. Ferociously, fiercely, stubbornly. The insistence that you simply being was enough for him.

“For you, sweetness?” he chuckles lowly. He recognizes your voice immediately; you never have to say it’s you calling. You could have shrugged it off as Caller ID, but you knew the Munson’s phone didn’t have that. No, he recognized you by voice only. He’d once joked that only you would one day be able to rouse him from the dead, based on the ‘sweet melody alone’. Recognition in death – you had managed to burrow your way so deeply into his life, you’d earned recognition in death. “Always. What’s up?”

You could have just kept him on the phone. Had one of your infamous conversations about everything and nothing. Sat on the cold tiles of your kitchen and smiled like a child as you listened to him rant. But the cold chill of your lonesome apartment was becoming suffocating, and you remembered that take out in the fridge and the way one of his socks had ended up in your laundry last week. You remembered how you started keeping his favorite brand of beer in your fridge and how one of your pillows started to permanently smell like his aftershave.

He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. He had a key to your apartment. He had a space, here, in this lonesome apartment. And all you had to do was beckon to him, and he would come to fill it. Always.

“Can you come over?”

You don’t even have to explain yourself. He complies readily, whispers out a soft yes in the voice you’d also recognize even in death, and promises to be there within ten minutes.

He makes it within eight.

And you’re still leaning on your kitchen counter, your head still swimming dangerously with all the different ways you’d let down Nancy. Once upon a time, you might have worried about inviting him over, worried that your anxieties and your short-comings might bleed into your relationship with him. In the beginning, it had been simple enough. You kept him at an arm’s length away the moment you realized you couldn’t make yourself needed to him, not out of selfishness but out of fear. Fear, because if he didn’t need you, why would he stick around?

Because without need, if you did the wrong thing, there was no necessary thread tying them to you. Because without need, there was no chance for the day that you might find love in your grave robbings, and you couldn’t handle the thought of someone like Eddie Munson deciding you weren’t worth his time.

It hadn’t occurred to you for a very long time that maybe, possibly, you’d been going around the concept of love with a very wrong mindset.

Your safe place. That’s what the back of the van had become over these sticky summer nights – your safest refuge.

It was always the same scene; Eddie on his back beside you, lazily nursing a joint, while you sat up reading passages of the latest book you two had embarked on together. Sometimes it was poetry, sometimes it was fantasy, and sometimes, it was just a reread. That night, it was a reread. The Hobbit.

“‘I don’t see that this will help us much,’ said Thorin disappointedly after a glance. ‘I remember the mountain well-’” you recited off of the page, when Eddie suddenly sat up abruptly and snatched the book from you.

“No, no, no!” he wagged his finger at you after he discarded his joint into the ashtray you’d made him start keeping in the fan, “Sweetheart, you’re doing the voices all wrong.”

You rolled your eyes at him, reaching to take the book back, “Not all of us have a Dungeon Master voice to whip out, Munson. Give it back.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Do I need to say please? I’ll say please.”

It was best like this. Just the two of you, away from everyone else. Some nights, the two of you hadn’t even needed a book to bond over. You’d just gaze at stars, or indulge in whatever weed he’d brought along with him. He never pressured you, though – if you shook your head at his offer of the joint, that was that. He seemed to apply that to most aspects of your friendship this last year.

You never had to prove anything to him. He saw your worth as if it were glaringly obvious, as if it were as simple of a concept as breathing. No extra effort needed from your end.

Just by being, you had managed to become something important to him. He needed you, if only because you were you.

“The puppy dog eyes aren’t gonna work on me,” he snorted, shifting so that his shoulder pressed against your own. A warmth spreads from the point of contact. “Let the master show you how it’s done.”

You tried to not let it show, but your grin was radiant. He was the master at those ridiculous voices, at theatrics and at bringing the story to life. You were transported from the shore of Lover’s Lake, in the back of that stuffy yet comforting van, to meadows of soft grass and hobbit holes of comfort. To a place where all the threats were mythical and all the expectations of you were released.

You’d spent the week helping Steve finish up his college plans. His parents had tried to pressure him into picking his top three universities, but the moment he had confided in you that he might prefer a community college to begin, you’d held his hand as you guided him through the process. A rewarding process, have no doubt, but it had left you numb and reeling. Sharing someone else’s stress, shouldering their burdens – it had been a bit much.

You needed this. You needed Eddie’s ridiculous voices and the sharp press of his shoulder against your temple.

“Falling asleep on me already?” he teased when he’d noticed how quiet you had gone.

“Never,” you lied through a yawn that quickly exposed you.

“Liar,” he huffed. You didn’t even need to glance up to confirm the smile you knew he wore. “We can head back home, if you need. I know it’s getting late-”

“No,” you quickly sat up, effectively making yourself dizzy, “No, I- It’s fine. I’m awake. I swear.”

“It’s okay that you were falling asleep,” he was quick to reach out, to tug you back down to his side, wrapping his arm around you to press you even closer than before, “I just don’t want to keep Cinderella out past Midnight.”

“It’s barely ten.”

“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he scowled as you pressed your grin against his t-shirt clad shoulder, “I’m serious, though. Do I need to take you home?”

“No, Eddie. I’m good.”

“Swear it? Swear you don’t have an early shift, or some… some obligation?”

“No shifts, no obligations.”

“And if I just kidnap you for the weekend? Am I going to have an angry mob at my doorstep, demanding your service?”

You smiled wider at the thought. The idea of him hiding you away, letting you live in this reprieve for the entire weekend. It was a nice thought, “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

And so the two of you sat there like that for an hour more. Eddie coming up with ridiculous tones for the various characters, you slipping in and out of consciousness as his warmth stayed wrapped around him. You don’t even notice when the warmth he’d planted in you finally covers up that hole inside of you, not even missing the absence of that emptiness until Eddie went quiet.

In the silence, you noticed it.

The gash you’d grown accustomed to, the hole that had become an extra limb for you. Vanished. Gone. Disappeared without a trace.

It was a sudden and terrifying realization. Everything in you urged you to jump up, to scramble around you to find the darkness again, like a comfort blanket you couldn’t stand to lose. You went against the instinct, though, and rose slowly from Eddie’s hold.

In lieu of scrambling, you peered at Eddie curiously. “Hey, Eds. Can I ask you something?”

He nodded sleepily, almost as drowsy as you. You’re shocked when he shifts and instead of pulling you back to him, he opted to lay his head in your lap.

That hole was still gone. The weight of his head on your thighs, the feeling of his breath on your bare thigh. For a moment, you can’t breathe.

You’re warm. Not uncomfortably so, but encapsulated with an internal warmth. Like a fever spreading, the ice in your spine that you had lived with for years had begun to thaw.

“Why do you keep me around?” you whispered, still sitting stiffly, staring in awe down at the way he just nuzzled his face into your lap.

With his eyes still closed, face smooth from any worry from the question, he mumbled, “What do you mean?”

You only hesitated due to the thought crossing your mind; what if you bringing this up reminds him?

You thought back to the night in Harrington’s kitchen. The push and the pull, the bloody battle and the way he still called.

He was not as delicate as you took him for.

“I- What do you get out of this?” you couldn’t figure out how to phrase it correctly. You knew what you got out of this, but what does he get?

“Get out of what?”

“Get out of keeping me around.”

His eyes finally opened, twisting in your lap so that he could stare up at you. “You say that as if you’re forcing me to be your friend.”

I could be, that nagging voice in your mind whispered. You could very well be forcing him, and just be blinded because you were enjoying the summer of warmth that he carried with him too much to let him go.

“You never let me do anything for you,” you sighed, fingers finding themselves tangled in his roots against better judgment. But you needed to touch him, to ground yourself, as you admitted this hard truth, “You do shit for me all the time. You drive all the way out to this lake just because I complain about everything being too much. You’ve started playing chauffeur for the kids to give me a break. Harrington said you even offered to look at college brochures with him. And…. And I’m not stupid, Eds,” your voice shook as you looked down at him, a sudden feeling of undeserving striking you in your chest, “You do so much for me lately. And you don’t ask for anything in return – you don’t let me do anything in return. Why?”

His smile twisted with a hint of sadness, and brown eyes met your gaze without so much as flinching, “Sweetheart, why do you think you have to repay me for that stuff?”

“I-”

“No, hear me out,” he reached up, taking your hand out of his hair and lacing his fingers with yours, slowly dragging it down to rest on his sternum, “I chose to do that stuff. And, yeah, maybe I was trying to take some of that shit off your plate. But you didn’t ask me to. I chose to. I wanted to do those things, do nice things for you, because you won’t let anyone else.”

You bit back a scoff, “I let people do nice things for me-”

“You really don’t,” his hold on your hand tightened, “You really, really don’t. You constantly…. You just, you take care of everyone else, but you act afraid to let someone take care of you. People are allowed to take care of you, too, y’know? You should let them. They love you – they want to take care of you, just like you take care of them.”

They love you.

The air drained from your lungs in a slow, silent sigh. You waited a few minutes, but the oxygen never replenished as you tried to grasp his words.

They love you.

Why would they love me?

“Why wouldn’t they love you, sweetheart?” Eddie looked more concerned now, suddenly prepared to sit up and remove his head for your lap. But his hand still held yours tightly, still clung to you, “You know they love you, right? God, you gotta know that. We all love you.”

You hadn’t realized you’d spoken the bitter thought out loud until he looked at you, utterly heartbroken, in complete disbelief. “I…”

No. I don’t know that. What have I done to deserve their love?

“They need me, sure,” you started, narrowing your eyes at the breaks in the waves of Lover’s Lake, “I mean, I just try to make myself useful to them. It’s the least I can do when I… when they…” you struggled to get the words out. You saw that hole again, like a light at the end of the tunnel, but so far from the relief most mean by that metaphor. Something peeking around the corner, ready to devour you all over again. So you plunged, you prepared yourself for it to spring to life and take you whole as you nearly whimpered, “When they put up with me. It’s the least I can do when they put up with me.”

“No one puts up with you,” Eddie’s voice cracked. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. “Least of all me.”

The deadliest of blows. He cracked your hardened surface with that, shook the foundations of every belief you’d held for eternity.

“Most of all you,” you corrected without thinking, “God, I- Eddie, seriously. What reason do you have for keeping me around? I don’t know how the fuck you put up with m-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you’d never heard him beg so painfully before then, “Please. Don’t… You want to know my reason?” you nodded numbly, finally looking to find him with wet eyes and lips pressed into a fine line, “Because you’re you. I… Fuck, I love you. I keep you around because you’re you. You’re good for me. Whether you believe it or not. You’re good for me just by being you, and there’s nothing you have to do to accomplish that,” you started to look away before he grabbed your cheeks, turning you to face him as he emphasized each word, “You don’t have to earn love. That’s not what love is. Got it?”

You looked into his eyes, and saw all the soft declarations of love echoed back to you, even from the very start.

‘Sweetheart, you don’t owe me your time. And I don’t need monopoly over it for us to be okay.’

‘The world doesn’t end just because you don’t constantly make yourself available.’

The entire time you’d been so worried about taking care of everyone else, he’d been worried about taking care of you. Endless late night phone calls, careful check-ins when he saw the exhaustion take the frontlines, sparse fights about putting yourself first. The only thing he ever wanted from you was for you to take care of yourself.

While you were busy being there for everyone else, he was busy being there for you.

He never once made you dig to the bottom of his grave to find the warmth. He’d handed it over on a silver platter.

So how could you look him in his at that moment, and tell him that you didn’t ‘get it’? That you’d never been sure if what you were seeking from your friends was really love? That, really, you’d given up on being loved a long time ago, assuming it was asking too much?

How do you look him in his eyes in that moment and tell him you had long since declared yourself unlovable?

He didn’t make you say it. Only kept your cheeks pressed between his palms, as he leaned forward, forehead meeting yours and whispering words for only you, “I love you, no strings attached. You’re my… friend. I love you. Okay?”

No one had ever fought so valiantly to get the point across. Not just that night at the lake, but in the entirety of his friendship with you.

The hole slinked back behind the corner. The darkness decided it could wait another day. And in its place, warm brown eyes filled the void. Whether he even realized it or not.

You nearly believed him. Nearly. But you bit down hard on that belief, throwing it out of sight, and instead of echoing back the ‘okay’ you assumed he was seeking out, all you did was sob out another, “Why?”

When you collapsed into him, he held you. Your sobs remained dry, your confusion palpable as you clung to him and tried to let that belief envelope you like his arms had.

I love you.

How could someone love you?

He didn’t press it the way you thought he would. He didn’t scold you for continuing to question him and he didn’t lash out at your disbelief.

He just held you. Letting your face press into his neck as his fingers ran up and down your spine, giving it a moment before he started talking again.

“Your humor,” he hummed after a couple moments of silence, heavy breathing eventually evening out.

“What?”

“The way you take care of others,” he continued on like he hadn’t heard you, “That spark you get in your eyes when you tell someone about something good. A favorite book, movie, story from your day – whatever it is. The way you give the best hugs – and you don’t give me them nearly often enough. The way you snore, and the way you definitely deny snoring.”

You opened your mouth, about to lift your head and argue with him, but he just placed an encouraging palm on the back of your head to keep you close to him.

“The way your favorite color changes with the seasons. The way you only like artificial cherry flavoring, not the real stuff. The way you look at night when we’re driving and you’re just screaming your favorite lyrics. The way you look at me to see if a joke lands. The way you fuss about my wrinkled clothes, even when you also don’t care about the wrinkles in your own shirts. The way you take your coffee. The way you always offer to paint one of my nails to match yours. The way you treat your recipe for chocolate chip cookies like some top secret, government trade. But we both know it’s just some recipe from a cookbook you thrifted when you were ten. The way you get excited over the small things, like the cows we pass by on the way out here. They're always there, and you always point them out. The way you just… are.”

He didn’t have to say it. He was answering your question.

He was listing his whys.

“You don’t have to earn it,” he didn’t say the word, not this time. You felt it, “It just… it’s there. It’s there and it’s not going anywhere. I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”

Loved. For the first time ever, it felt like a possibility; to be loved.

Eddie always knocks on your front door a certain way – a pattern he rarely strays from. But you can always tell. He’s the only fool who would find humor in knocking out such an annoying compilation of hits on the wooden panels until you finally unlatch the lock and open it to find him standing in your threshold.

His hair is frizzy and in a low ponytail, wearing a baggy band shirt and plaid pajama pants. He greets you with such a wide smile, your chest aches.

“Hey there, sweetness.”

You don’t say a word, just drag him inside before you wrap your arms around his waist. Ever since that night, and his admittance of enjoying your hugs, you made a conscious effort to hug him more often.

“Miss me?” he chuckles, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek as you softly pinch his side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him only laugh harder once you pull away.

“Not at all,” you snark back as you make sure the door is securely shut and properly locked.

“Not even a little bit?”

“Nope.”

He smacks a fist to his chest as if you had stabbed him with your words, “Ouch. You wound me, sweetheart.”

“Get over it,” you tease. Your head has finally stopped swimming, your chest no longer tight with the fear of not being enough. Nancy is long forgotten as you say, “Have you eaten dinner?”

“Depends,” he hums as he toes off his boots, “If you’re offering to buy me some, then no, I definitely did not eat spaghetti with Wayne right before you called.”

You throw your head back laughing as he’s already making a beeline for your kitchen, digging out that damned takeout menu and reaching for the phone, already so sure of your order.

Knowing your order at restaurants. Without having to ask. Apparently, that was part of the whole ‘being loved’ gig.

Adjusting has taken months. Since that night in Eddie’s van, he’d kept his word. Not a day went by without him finding a way to remind you, whether it be by direct words or small actions, that he loved you. You both kept it under that friendly guise. He loved you in that familiar way, the way the others supposedly loved you. A way you could manage to recognize some days.

Other days were still rough. Days like today were still rough.

The takeout is ordered and Eddie sets up camp on your couch, rambling about something that had happened during one of the DnD nights he still hosted with the kids. Something about a dumb decision Mike did that cost most of the group their character’s lives. You have a hard time following along, and he’s quick to pick up on it.

“Hey, sweetheart?” he murmurs as you lean into the back couch cushion, smooshing your cheek as you watched him animatedly speak.

“Hm?”

“Bad day?”

He never judged you for the rough days. He never judged you for the days you still couldn’t find the love, even after he worked so virtuously to show it to you. He may never understand it, that hollow ache that resided in your darkest corners and whispered that none of it was real, but it never deterred him.

He loved you on good days, and he especially loved you on bad days.

You consider lying to him, but you can’t. Not when he looks at you so earnestly, “Yeah. It… yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks you, shuffling to be more comfortable where he sits as he motions for you to lay down. You do so immediately, head finding a home against his thigh and his fingers stroking over your cheek before they toy with the ends of your hair.

All you can do is shake your head. You didn’t want to talk about that fear of failing Nancy as a friend, especially when you know that wasn’t her take away from it. It felt silly now; all that overthinking, when you know now if you questioned her on it, all she would have seen from the day was a friend lending a caring ear. You know because you had asked her about it once, if she found your listening habits too callous, upon Eddie’s insistence.

She hadn’t. In fact, all she could do was thank you, had insisted that she was just grateful someone would listen to her ramblings. And you understood that, left it at that.

“Okay,” he murmurs, voice so quiet you nearly miss it. His fingers continue to play across your shoulders now, barely weighted against bare skin, “That’s fine.”

He didn’t mind if you didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t mind if you never spoke another word, if all you needed was him here. You just needed him close by and to sit with you, to make it all a little less much.

Nothing. He needed absolutely nothing from you, asked nothing of you. Because you didn’t have to earn this. All you had to do was simply be, and he would provide this.

Love. What an odd concept, to have found warmth in a grave you never even got the chance to dig your shovel into.

“Hey, Eddie?” his fingers pause at your croaking voice. You smile at his stillness, at the way he hums carefully in response, still trying to offer the silence you quietly begged for, “I love you.”

There’s more to unpack there. More than just familial love, more than just two friends that love each other without conditions. But tonight is not the night, and you both see that it is enough. There will be other nights to dig your claws in and to dissect what those three little words mean between you two. There will be other nights to consider how your other friends don’t have a permanent spare toothbrush on your bathroom counter or a space for their takeout in your fridge. But not tonight.

For tonight, this was enough. The quiet, and the warmth, the being was enough.

“I love you,” he emphasizes the last word, leaning down and his lips grazing your temple.

You notice the way he leaves off the too. He’d love you, even if you didn’t love him. You’d love him, even if he didn’t love you. Unconditional, no strings attached. A warmth you do not have to fight to earn. A rarity you never encountered before, and may never encounter again, but you have for tonight and for as long as he chooses to stick around.

Your shovel sits abandoned in a shed in the distance. Your fingernails are clean of the dirt. The graveyard, it seems, would go another night without its robber.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #yeah the archer has a chokehold on me #idk man this is scary to post a put... a lot of myself in here #my bad #3k celebration

2K notes · View notes

vickysaurus · 11 months ago

Text

(Image, as well as much of my information, from Carboniferous Giants and Mass Extinction by George R. McGhee Jr.)

Take a look at this tree. On a scale of 1 to 10, how weird do you think it is?

You quite possibly just gave it a 3 or a 4 or something. Sure, it's a little odd, but does look vaguely normal, right? A friend of mine guessed it was some sort of baobab when I showed him the image.

This is, in fact Lepidodendron, an ancient tree from the Carboniferous, and by modern tree standards it is absolutely bizarre. Its closest surviving relatives, quillworts and clubmosses, only grow to a height of a few centimetres, yet Lepidodendron were giants that shot up to 50 metres tall... Briefly, before dispersing their spores and completely dying off.

(Lycopodium and Spinulum, modern relatives of Lepidodendron, photos by Bernd Haynold and Pete Pattavina)

You see, Lepidondron lived like a gigantic dandelion. For most of its life, it was a stumpy little thing that stuck close to the ground. Just an odd scaly green stump with some long leaves poking out. The green scales its bark consisted of were the place it conducted its photosynthesis, and thus basically did the work of leaves. The Lepidodendron would stay like this for a couple years, slowly expanding its roots and getting ready for the next step. But its roots would grow mostly horizontally, down not so much! And part of why is that even they had the scaly leaf-like photosynthetic bark. That's right, even their roots could - and to some extend needed to - photosynthesise!

(Fossil Lepidodendron bark in the National Museum of Brazil, photo by Dornicke; a fossilised relative of Lepidodendron with some of its roots visible, photo by Michael C. Rygel)

So why would you ever try to photosynthesise with your roots of all things as a plant? Surely it would make much more sense to just transport the sugars created in other parts there than to have your roots be so shallow that bits of them can catch a little light and make it in situ? Sure, if you're capable of that! This is what modern trees do, but they have two separate vascular tissues they use for transport: xylem, which moves water from the roots to the rest of the plant, and phloem, which moves sugars and other photosynthetic products from the leaves to the rest of the plant. Unfortunately for Lepidodendron, it only had xylem, no phloem, so its sugars were only ever going to move as far as they could diffuse, so every part of the tree needed to have at least a little photosynthesis happening, even the roots.

This truly gets ridiculous when the Lepidodendron decides after a few years of charging up that it's time to reproduce. That's when the weird green stump we have so far starts shooting up, up, up, very quickly, all the way until an enormous 40 or 50 metres in height. Now, modern trees grow this large by being supported by a sturdy wooden core, but that's not what Lepidodendron did. To hold up the entire tree, it relies entirely on its outer bark thickening as it grows. In mechanical terms, it was little more than a huge hollow pole, probably creaking and swaying terribly in the wind. Although I have not been able to confirm this in the literature so far, I suspect that between the shallow roots and the whole thing being held up by its bark, you could probably total a Lepidodendron with a good kick.

Now remember, all this growth is happening without phloem, so the entire length of that stem has to not just be sturdy enough to keep the tree standing, but it also has to keep doing photosynthesis to feed itself. When it reaches its full height, the top of the tree finally starts sprouting branches and small leaves, leaving it looking like the picture at the start. But those are not what it's all about for the tree: the cones that develop among them are. At a height of 50 metres, the spores produced by the cones can very easily be picked up by the wind and blown far, far away. Being spores, rather than seeds as modern trees have, they have no supplies built in whatsoever, so they need to get lucky to land in a spot that has immediate access to water. Luckily, there are a lot of those in the vast Carboniferous swamps, and with the trees doing so much work to spread the spores very widely, some of them are sure to find good spots. And then, with the spores dispersed, the tree is done for. The entire thing, which has just grown to the skies, dies off and soon comes crashing down.

So how weird is this tree? I'd call it a perfect 10.

#lepidodendron #lycopodiopsid #plant #carboniferous #palaeoblr #vicky's vritings

138 notes · View notes

uramitashi · 3 months ago

Text

radfem got an hate i never fully understood, as an outsider. i was pretty much a libfem following the stream, so i just justified it with "oh, they are probably hostile towards trans people". still i was weirded out by the comparison to nazis, the kill threats and the desire to assault them.

i got into radical feminism for two reasons:

• the whole concept of women oppression was understimated in any other social group. growing up i independently realized that sexism and misogyny were pervasive AND the root of all human misery in a way or another. they shaped wars, greed, and ALL kind of crimes in a way or another. it weirded me out that no one mentioned it ever, nor did anyone notice how fucked up gender roles were; in fact, i was disappointed in liberal feminism for starting to justify them and even encourage them. women and girls around me were becoming more hyperfeminine than ever, with all the anxiety this kind of focus meant. i wanted to rip out my gender from my body and exist outside of it. a libfem friend of mine asked me "maybe you're non binary?"

i was disenchanted.

• the whole male sexuality expression was fucked up. first I thought I was angry at porn, but surprisingly I wasn't. the problem felt deeper. after some reasoning I realized - men felt sexually entitled and compulsively stimulated by women's body. It wasn't about porn per se. it was about the fact that a photo of me in a bikini could become a screenshot men could sexualise and masturbate to - something that wasn't porn but could be sexualised anyway. female sexual objectification, the hypersexualisation of women's body made me angry in a visceral, primitive way.

non-feminists could not even grasp the topic. liberal feminists were very supportive of the topic, considering it a sexually progressive stance and indirectly calling me a "conservative prude" (i am anti religion and very leftist and those friends knew). that made me angrier! because how can you suggest sex work is an ok thing to do, if it's not equal among the genders? why do women not buy sex? why don't men beautify themselves to be bought? all those questions could have been answered with gender essentialism and the reinforcement of toxic gender roles, so i never tried to argue with them again. It felt pointless; liberal feminism became empty in my eyes.

i noticed something, while becoming a radfem. i noticed it in the news, in my real life circles, while studying surveys and browsing socials - people despised radfems more than they despised nazis, or communists, or each other. it dawned on me that radical feminisms was in fact just Feminism with the capital F, like normal textbook Feminism, and that everything else (liberal feminism, proletariat feminism etc.) was its sibling or child. but radical feminism, from a historical point of view, was just the core ideals of feminism. and I realized people hate it so much even today because its opposition to the status quo rises uncomfortable questions, which in this day and age are too much of a taboo to even elaborate them properly. to put it bluntly, people hate radical feminism because misogyny is blatant, pervasive and unquestioned. women are properties - whether private or public. No one discusses it. men are entitled to sex - what, you want to ban porn? Christian prude bitch. oh you don't want an hourglass figure and an obsession with beauty that you need to constantly validate with male attention? then you are invisible in society.

Choice feminism is only popular because it allows women to choose the patriarchal option, therefore not representing a problem for the status quo. that's what it all boils to: women can choose to be whatever they want, as long as they are fuckable.

but those people aren't your friends. the male friends who call (all) feminists "annoying bitches who need to be fucked so hard they forget how to whine" don't see you as human. the girls in your class who strictly adhere to hyperfemininity are only going to be seen as fleshlights and trophies for men to collect and trashtalk about with other males - they gain no power from their gender role. The people who defend sex workers' existence don't give a fuck about those women as human beings but just as spank banks. In fact they hate them with every fiber of their being, and they can't even justify the reason.

all this to say that no political current has bought me so much sense of community and intellectual enrichment as radical feminism. realizing how unfairly hated it is, made it much clear to me why i need it.

it is a cruel world.

#radfem #radical feminist community #Radical feminism #radblr #radical feminist safe #radical feminists do interact

43 notes · View notes

the-travelling-bitch · 2 years ago

Note

BRO IS IT JUST ME BUT I WANT TO DRY HUMP RIN SO BAD OMG. Pls make one 😭. Why the hell Rin thighs look so ehem,... Attractive. I'm so concerned of what effect Rin had on me 😬

i can assure you, you’re definitely not the only one; those training suits simultaneously leave nothing to the imagination and have my imagination racing,,, like how

[gn!reader]

It started out as an innocent little peck in passing, just wanting to show your boyfriend a little love as he relaxed on your shared bed. Apparently Rin needed a bit more of a pick-me-up though after a gruelling day of practice, so he latches his arms around your waist to pull you onto the mattress with him.

Between the heavy kisses that turn more heated by the second and Rin’s hand settling at the small of your back while the other angles your face to his liking, who could blame you for the rising need churning in your stomach? Especially when your boyfriend lets out a deep groan when you pull at his dark roots?

Without so much as a second thought, your hips start rocking over the taut muscles; tentative at first, until the material of his sweats pressed against you just right and you break the kiss to moan against his spit-slicked lips.

“Feeling a little needy, darling?” He’s not trying to tease you, you know that but the way the words roll so smoothly off his tongue has you grinding down harder. You almost manage to suppress your whimper at the big hands splaying on your hips, fingers digging into the plush of your ass as Rin helps you move along his thigh. “It’s okay, baby. Does that feel good?”

Cerulean eyes study the way you bite your lip and your brows knit together as you grab onto his shoulders for support to keep you upright. The muscles in his arms flex as he encourages you to keep rolling your hips into him despite the sporadic twitch of your thighs.

“Fuck, Rin, I—“ you breathe into the air of your bedroom as your legs close around his.

“Need a little more help, huh?” One of his hands leaves your backside to press the pad of his fingers into your most sensitive spot and your whole body jerks at the bolt it sends up your spine. If your underwear wasn’t ruined before, it certainly is now and even more so with what you feel is to come.

Rin’s voice sounds a lot clearer with his lips right next to your ear despite the the low whisper in which he speaks “I know you’re close, so be good and tell me who has you acting this needy when you cum for me, alright?”

With the fervorous nod of your head, he presses down just a little harder while simultaneously jolting his leg up, making you topple over the edge with a cry of his name, your fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders and leaving little crescents behind.

Before you can completely calm down, you feel your world spinning and you find yourself on your back looking up into your boyfriend’s lidded eyes. Letting your hips go in favour of pushing up your thighs and spreading your legs for him, you watch him settle between them, his clothed cock resting against your soaked underwear.

Throwing your head back into the pillows at the overstimulation as you feel his throbbing cock grind along your sensitive core, twitching helplessly in his hold. A mean little laugh brings your attention back to Rin, who’s fixed you with a raised brow.

“What? You didn’t think you’re the only one who deserves a turn, did you? Or are you really that spoiled?”

#˗ˏˋ– signed by holly #love how we’re all equally feral over these characters’ thighs #to be fair they are great #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock smut #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk smut #rin x reader #rin x you #rin smut #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #itoshi rin smut #blue lock rin #blue lock headcanons

489 notes · View notes

magicalonsomanydances · 2 months ago

Text

Back again to rank my latest feelings for the F1 Grid

Carlos Sainz Jr. - this will never change I will love him until I die I do not care what car he drives he will be my fav top step or DNF. I am the definition of ride or die when it comes to this absolutely pure wholesome hottie whose character somehow manages to outshine his good looks which is saying something given he literally looks like a fairytale prince

Fernando Alonso - can't have sweet without the spicy and I love this filterless agent of chaos whose persistence and ability to outperform his car throughout his career have made him the legend that he is

George Russell - a wholesome little crumpet who I would die for. He's so sweet and sincere while simultaneously being posh and classy. I love it all the more because his background is pretty working class

Esteban Ocon - speaking of working class gotta round out my trio of drivers with humble origins with the one who worked his way up on the sacrifice and belief of his family. Ocon is a working class hero and I will be an Estie Bestie perpetually unless he fucks up Ollie. This is his last chance to not lash out at a teammate because he'll clearly have the position of seniority at Haas next year so no reasons to fight Ollie Bear. If he hurts Ollie I may have to give him up but it will be painful and I will cry about it.

Oscar Piastri - I love pastries and Oscar is no exception. He's absolutely showing all the potential to be a legend of his generation. He's the second coming of Kimi Raikkonen and I'm here for it. Also much like Carlos and George he has absolutely impeccable gentleman vibes and because he's Aussie it comes across even a little more down to earth, like if he cycled past while you were having a flat tire or something he'd stop and try to help

Ollie Bearman - yes I know technically he isn't on the grid but like I lost Logan this week so let me have this. He's a sweet wholesome little nugget who I would die for. Just a little floof. And he's a promising little floof too!

Charles Leclerc - the more I watch this sport the more I realize that the Leclerc haters are insane when they say he's only popular because he's attractive and drives a Ferrari. The man is a bloody good race car driver and that's enough as is. His looks and his loyalty to the prancing horse are just bonuses.

Sergio Perez - help me Sergio Kenobi you're my only hope SO PLEASE START CLOSING THAT GAP BETWEEN YOU AND MAX it's embarrassing and I do NOT need him losing that seat because then who will I root for as a "home" driver. I've lost Logan, if I lose you too Checo I will have to switch to a different continent because I REFUSE to support the Canadian Nepo Baby who's wasting a perfectly good seat that someone else could be making much better use of

Max Verstappen - my brother in trauma. I swear I have the most sibling-core feelings for Max. As in I love and support him but also can't stand to see him win all the time. I cannot compliment him without adding some spice of insult to the compliment. We're two traumatized kids from different families with hard ass dads. Hence why on a personal level Max is probably like #3 for me. I'm very emotionally attached to that Dutch menace but I don't want to see him win more than 3 or 4 races a year

Daniel Ricciardo - if I lose Checo I will be claiming the man whose speech to his younger self wakes me up every morning as my home racer because good lawd he loves Texas lol. And who can have a top ten of drivers and NOT include the ray of fucking sunshine that is Danny Ric. He just fills the world with joy and tomfoolery

40 notes · View notes

thatonebirdwrites · 27 days ago

Text

Heroic

Lena Kieran Walsh knew her plan was perhaps the most ridiculous and ludicrous plan of all time. Yet her mother's last wish before her death had been, "become a menace to our enemies."

Lena, in tears, holding her mother's hands, vowed, "I will. Be at peace, Mammy." Her mother exhaled few ragged breaths with a faint smile before she slipped away. As if she'd only needed Lena's vow to finally let herself go.

The funeral had been a quiet affair, mostly due to her mother's instructions. Lena invited those on her mother's list, but she also added Sam Arias and her daughter, Jack Spheer, and Andrea Rojas -- her friend group to help support her.

They stood on the Cliffs of Moher that day, and as requested by her mother, she spread her ashes amongst the dirt by that trail and planted the oak. It had taken a week to get permission for the planting due to the area being a park, but the week had given Lena time to secure the ingredients for one last spell.

Lena herself didn't believe in magic per se. She was a scientist to her core, preferring to study biology and physics at the university, her thesis on the use of nanotechnology to target and destroy cancer cells. A project she shared with Jack and Sam. As much as university had set her apart from her mother’s lessons, she still remembered the old ways.

Traditions taught from mother to daughter, magic and stories that mustn’t be forgotten. Her Mammy was a self-professed druid within a larger druidic coven. She'd been highly regarded in the community as the caretaker of Ireland's history and myths, and Lena had been expected to take her place until she’d flounced off to uni.

But that day, she asked Sam to hold her brolly, it being a soft day, the mists from the heavy clouds like pinpricks against her cheeks. She knelt in the dirt and unstoppered the growing potion, one she’d carefully made per her Mammy’s instructions. Sung the magical words and focused all her mind and heart on imbuing it with her love for her Mammy.

That day, on the Cliffs of Moher, Lena poured the potion into the roots of the oak and sung the activation song. Her voice clear and precise, the melody soothing with little runs, and her eyes closed to keep herself from weeping. Tears would shatter her voice, and she needed to this perfect.

She could do no less for her Mammy.

Later Jack, Andrea, and Sam would swear the tree had grown during that moment, but Lena had her eyes closed and missed it. Lena expected the coven’s agreements that growth occurred, but Jack, Sam, and Andrea? They’re the pragmatics and realists of the group.

In the following months, she’d think of that day often, while she quietly worked through her mother's grimoire. Partly to better understand but also to continue her legacy in a way, and that was what gave her the idea.

Her mother referenced several artifacts that had been stolen from Haitian tribes, who had contacted her out of concern the magic within them was being misused. Her mother's cancer had prevented her from doing much more than attempt wards on the exhibits in London to prevent misuse.

But Lena had a better idea.

Why not steal from the colonizers who ransacked countries, starved populations into submission or outright killed them? Lena knew the stories of her people well. Her mother had taught her of the potato famine, which had been caused by the British literally poisoning the fields. The trauma of that colonization never left her people, and she let the rage from those injustices fuel her plan.

The Haitian tribes would see their lost artifacts returned, and Lena would wear the color of blood as a symbol of the dead left in the wake of the colonizers. Yes, if she planned well, she could leave her mark, and live up to her promise to her Mammy.

"Lena," Sam argued, "You can't do this alone. Let me help."

"I don't want to risk you," Lena protested. "You have a daughter."

"And the risk to you?" Sam crossed her arms and frowned. "You're family, Lena. And we help family always. So if you're going to do this stunt, then let me be your getaway driver."

“She has a point.” Andrea sipped her scotch from where she sat next to Lena’s bar. She leaned against it, both elbows on the counter, while her hand swirled the scotch. “This is a grave risk. Besides, it’ll be way more fun with friends, Lena.” She smirked. “I am an excellent—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Lena pointed her finger at Andrea in warning. Her ex-girlfriend smirked in response and leaned against Sam’s side. The two had become nearly inseparable since meeting, and Lena didn’t mind if it meant less jokes about her own sex life.

Jack, who had stayed silent up to that point, chuckled. "Luv, they’re right. Doing this alone? It's a bit much. You need a team. I'll see if I can rig up a program to keep the cameras off your movements."

Lena already had done some preliminary hacking to see the extent of the security, but now that Jack had mentioned it, having someone to control the cameras would be immensely helpful. And Sam was an excellent driver and had a pilot's license, mostly because Lena had needed a buddy to get through the lessons.

"Fine. You all can help." She made a show of rolling her eyes and sounding put out, but secretly she was thrilled that her closest friends had her back.

Sam turned onto Mare Street in London, and slowed to a stop near 11 Mare Street. She parked with a frown. "Lena, are you sure this is it?"

Lena stared at the rather small storefront. Victor Wynd Museum of Curiosities was emblazoned above the more stately letters of The Last Tuesday Society. The window overflowed with a grotesque display of shrunken heads, skeletons, and voodoo dolls. No wonder Mammy's Voodoo friends contacted her for help. This place stank of exploitation of their craft.

"Yup. It's smaller than expected."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam leaned over her steering wheel. "There's a cocktail menu posted on the door."

“What? Are they drinking out of the skulls?” Andrea quipped, a hint of disgust in her voice.

Anger seared through Lena's veins. "Of course. Typical British."

"Hey!" Jack protested from the back seat, where he sat with a laptop. His fingers danced across the keys. "I am mildly offended, Luv."

"Jack, you're more Scottish-Indian than British-Indian," Lena drawled.

“Still. Till the Scots gain our independence, we do not drink from skulls.” He sniffed dramatically, but she knew he wasn't really bothered. "Their security is a load of tosh."

"Considering how tiny this storefront is, I'm not surprised," Sam said. "So, uh, what's the best way to do this?"

“Too distracted to hear Lena’s hours long presentation?” Andrea teased, which elicited a glare from her girlfriend.

“The placement of your hands is the villain here,” Sam shot back, her cheeks reddening.

Andrea raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. “We all need exercise sometimes.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Stop acting the maggot you two.” She nods toward the museum-cocktail lounge. “Three am is the goal since they close around midnight. Jack, focus on taking over their security feeds. I'll have a program ready. It'll erase itself within twenty minutes. If I'm not out by then, all of you leg it. If I’m caught, I’m caught, but I won’t have you three joining me."

"That's kind of tight," Sam said, uneasy. "And we can’t just leave you, Lena."

Lena sighed. "I mean it, Sam. This isn’t some grand heroic moment. It’s breaking and entering.”

“I beg to differ,” Jack said. “Heroic is indeed what this is. Lost artifacts returned to their homes? A modern day Robin Hood.”

Lena smiled and shook her head. “Look, I get in, procure the stolen artifacts, and get out. No sight-seeing or distractions. Twenty is plenty.” She turned to glare at Andrea. “Can’t trust you not to lob the gob with Sam, so you’re the lookout.”

Andrea smirked. “Fine. I’ll wear all black.”

“Good. Do that ridiculous whistle if you see any Garda.” In reply, Andrea gave Lena fingerguns. “Sam, use your electric car. The idling’s as silent as a grave.”

Sam nodded. “Can do.”

“Now remember,” Lena narrowed her eyes at Andrea but glanced at the other two in the car for good measure. “We’re scouting now. No getting banjaxed. I need you all as sprightly as a wagtail.”

“Being a craic vacuum today?” Andrea quipped.

“No more dossing around, Andi,” Lena said exasperated. She used that saying once about Sam being too uptight, and Andrea adopted i almost immediately to Lena's annoyance. “Or you’re sitting the rest out.”

“Wait, there’s more planned?” Andrea grinned. “Mina, you’re holding back.”

“Shut it. We have a job to do. Now let’s get cracking.” Lena opened the door and wished she wasn’t about to sully herself in the most exploitive, macabre cocktail lounge she'd ever seen.

The moment she stepped inside, she wished she hadn’t, as the jampacked walls full of macabre exhibits and the strange musky scent almost had her walking right back out.

But no, she needed reconnaissance. Locate exactly where to enter, nab the target, and exit. Surely her ancestors and the ancestors of her mother's friends will forgive her for having a short drink next to a taxidermy lion on a table made from a sarcophagus.

She needed the ancestors protection for this, not their fury. Besides, the cocktails turned out to be manky as hell.

Dressed in a red cloak, wide-brimmed hat, gloves, and boots, Lena felt a trifle ridiculous but also proud of herself. Time to finally live up to her vow, to do what her mother could not, and bring home what was stolen.

From their reconnaissance, she marked several windows large enough for her to slip through. All required a climb. It hadn’t taken her long to make a device to shoot the rope into the wood of the window. Climbing had been a bit stressful, but she’d made it. Below she could see Andi, leaning against a wall as she watched the road. Jack was still in the car with Sam, the program churning through the security.

It took three tries with her tools to unlock the window and push it open. The stench hit her first. She pulled up her scarf to wrap around her face. For feck’s sake, did the owner store poop here? She dropped into the attic and to her horror there was indeed poop here. Several glass jars labeled with celebrity names and dates sat in a container to her right.

It gave her an idea however. She gathered a few and carefully made her way down the rickety ladder to the main floor. In the bar area, she set up each of the jars and uncapped them. Two she dumped their contents in front of the main office.

She tiptoed out of the bar and gingerly entered some of the exhibits. She couldn’t take it all — her bag couldn’t carry it for one nor would the rope hold that much weight — but the staggering amount of human remains on display twisted her stomach with rage.

Maybe she could come back and steal it all, but for now she focused on the Voodoo poppets. They were arranged in rows three exhibits down the hall in front of a macabre set of shrunken heads, African Masks — the designs reminding her of the Igbo people actually — and several skulls.

She bowed her head and murmured the words she’d heard her mother say many a time, “Tagaim chun tú a thabhairt abhaile. Bí ar a suaimhneas.” Irish for ‘I come to bring you home, be at peace.’ Then one by one she wrapped them in the silk the Haitians had sent her mother for this, and tucked them in her bag.

A quick sweep of the other exhibits found her three more poppets, and a search of the attic another six. Her twenty minutes neared completion, so she scurried through the window, slid down the rope, and tapped the button on her belt. The bolt blew apart in a rain of metal, the rope dropping like a flying a snake.

She whistled to Andrea, and the two legged it to Sam’s car. As soon as they tumbled into the backseat, Sam slid out of park and the car silently pulled away from the curb.

"Five minutes to spare," Jack said with a wink. "Nicely done."

"I'll do better next time," Lena leaned back and patted her bag. "Mam's friends will be relieved to have these home again."

"Here you are, being the hero of our time," Andi said with a grin and poke of her elbow in Lena's side. "You need a name though." She looked over Lena's outfit. "Why red?"

"Carmen is the hue actually." Lena laid her hand on her bag and thought of her Mammy, how the cancer had slowly eaten away her life. How hard she'd worked toward causes of liberation. "I promised Mam I'd become a menace to my enemies. I wear the color of anger and blood."

"Right, and whose gonna know that?" Jack pointed out.

Lena smiled. "Oh, the world will know soon enough."

Three hundred Euros later and two days of searching flights, Lena was on her way to the Haiti, her prize carefully hidden in her carry-on luggage. As she watched Ireland fade from view, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. She’d done it.

She’d rescued priceless artifacts, and now they were going home. Smiling, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Already plans formed of improved methods of infiltration. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it well.

#supercorp #lena luthor #Sam Arias #Jack Spheer #Andrea Rojas #Lena's gang of thieves #Lena grew up Irish so she would likely speak more Irish slang and idioms when she feeling safe with friends #Carmen Sandiego AU #What starts Lena's thieving #Also this museum actually exists in London and its grotesque #there's even jars of celebrity poop in this place and yes you can drink cocktails on a sarcophagus table or by a taxidermy lion #The pics of the floor to ceiling shrunken heads and poppets and other stolen artifacts is kind of sickening #So of course Lena will target it to do some good ole returning to their original culture #I'll likely edit this and clean it up once I gather the fragments of this AU and weave it into a larger tale

19 notes · View notes