#I’m gonna have to fix the stem but this is way easier than I thought it would be

[communistkenobi]

I got a little embroidery starter kit bc I wanted to teach myself how to embroider and I embroidered my first flower :)

[quixoticanarchy]

Hi can I pick ur brain about how u have some kinda control without carb counting and micro managing, so I am seriously out of control I'm often just 'hi' I hardly do anything because I seriously struggle to even think about management anymore cozz it's just sends me into a spiral where I end up a depressed mess with serious mortality issues and I think it stems from having to micro manage, if there's another way I would love to know, I've got a daughter and I wanna be here for a long time for here but if I carry on like this I'm not gonna be

Okay I can try to give an answer - first, that’s a horrible spiral to be in and i'm so sorry. I hope this response doesn’t sound fake optimistic or trite; i had to learn it all the hard way, and it is hard. But i think it’s better than the alternatives. The goal here is just, i guess, to stay alive and live your life the least painful way you can.

It’s long so I’ll list my main points/concepts and then explain them below the cut (if my phone lets me). Take what’s helpful or doable to you, leave what’s not, etc.

Perfect control is impossible

Doing a little bit is better than nothing

Learn to know yourself, your needs, your intuition

Care for yourself, don’t punish yourself

The body is not the enemy

[Caveats: i currently have access to the insulin, test strips, pump supplies, syringes, sugar, etc. that i need. If you are also struggling with getting basic supplies, that’s of course an additional level of stress because it might not be possible to give yourself the care you need. I’m also speaking as someone who’s been type 1 diabetic for 17 years; this is all just my own experience and thoughts]

1: this is of course easier said than done, but i think one step in making diabetes management less impossible and spiral-inducing is to accept that it will go wrong, and forgive yourself when it does. Really: there is no way to avoid some bad sugars and bad days. I don’t know what your access to insulin situation looks like, but it helps me yo remember blood sugars are never permanent - that's their blessing and their curse. They can be fixed. If it makes you horribly stressed or guilty or upset when you’re constantly high, i would say: try to step back. It is just a number.

I spent a long time where whenever my sugar went really high i would overcorrect on purpose with a ton of insulin, as if to punish myself by making my sugar drop as fast as possible. This of course just led to me then chasing lows instead, and it never made me less likely to go high again.

2: better to do a little bit than nothing. I know it doesn't fix the feeling of spiraling, but checking your sugar even once or twice a day is better than none. Treating a high sugar late is still better than never. Ask yourself what feels within your power. What care can you give yourself. Ymmv but again, something is better than nothing. I also believe that it becomes easier with practice.

Also, appreciate yourself for small things: if you bring your sugar from ‘hi’ down to a number reading, good job! That’s something! If at first you don’t treat a sugar but do it later - still helps! If you haven’t checked your sugar in a while and when you do, it’s high - good job for checking! The temptation to spiral is so strong, but the spiral will only ever tell you you’re wrong, you’re doing it wrong, you’re failing. That’s never helped anyone and usually isn’t even true. You’re doing what you can for today.

3: know yourself. Intuition takes practice, but this is where the getting away from micromanaging comes in. I don't think you need a food diary or a scale or an app or even a calculator (if it helps, use it, but don’t force it). I don't think you can form a better relationship with your body and its conditions by trying desperately to control it. What i do recommend is paying attention: what makes your sugars go high? What doses of insulin work for what meals or sugar levels? What doesn’t work? This is really hard to separate from the impulse to judge - feeling like you’ve messed up, you guessed wrong, you forgot, you were too tired to bother. But no rules can teach you exactly what you need. It’s incredibly subjective. The same things won’t always work, which is eternally frustrating - there is no magic formula. But you can learn to recognize what you need, in the moment, not according to ironclad rules.

When i say i don’t count carbs, this is how it looks: let’s say i have toast and eggs for breakfast. I've had toast lots of times. I know roughly how i’ll react to it. If my sugar is higher when i eat I’ll also need more insulin to deal with that. I might think: so, i gave 4 units yesterday for a similar meal and came out a little high later, and maybe my sugar is higher today than yesterday morning. Maybe today i give 5 units. I don’t use official carb ratios; I use my past experience of what usually works. I try to pay attention to how i feel in the hours after - am i thirsty? Am i tired or foggy? Shaky? I have a lot of practice at this kind of intuition, so i can make a decent guess as to whether my insulin dose was too much or too little. If it’s hard to sense where your levels are at, maybe recheck your sugar in a bit to see how it went. And I can still be wrong sometimes - that’s ok, i just respond to wherever I find myself now.

Like - it’s stressful to tell yourself you can’t eat certain foods. It’s stressful to have to do lots of math any time you eat. It’s stressful to constantly feel like you should be doing better and if you’re not, then something’s wrong with you. If you feel restricted and hounded by rules, or are angry at yourself for breaking them, it becomes harder to care for yourself.

4: care, not control. I think a lot of the stress and the fear and the depression does come from the control mindset; specifically, feeling like we’re failing at it. Control implies that there’s a right way to do something and a wrong way that will/should be punished. Care is more of a negotiation: try something. See how you respond. It builds off intuition - knowing what you need rather than trying to follow a rule or achieve a given number. A little bit of control may seem pretty worthless if your goal is total control - but a little bit of care is clearly better than no care. It’s a matter of keeping yourself alive, yes, but also trying to make that life livable. “Control” might be an impossible target; “care” isn't a target, it’s a practice, and shouldn’t be impossible.

If you ‘mess up’ or have a bad day - or lots of them - you still deserve care from yourself. Even if it feels hopeless. Even if nothing seems to be working. Even if your sugars aren't where you want them. In my experience, I feel less anger or shame or exhaustion if I change my goal from needing to control/punish/fix myself, to taking care of myself however much i can.

5: the body is not the enemy. This is just a reminder I have for myself that builds off the principle of care. I hate the idea of ‘bad diabetics.’ It’s not a moral failing to be diabetic and it’s not a moral failing to struggle with it. “Good control” and “good” numbers do not make you a more virtuous person. This is a hard thing to live with, and being tired or frustrated or feeling defeated makes sense. Why in the world shouldn’t you feel that! The idea of failing at control implies you need more control / to punish yourself to fix it - but you don’t. I don't say all this as if i'm going along happily observing every high sugar i have or being kind to myself all the time. But I’ve tried to stop seeing my body as the enemy. We might be unhappy teammates but we’re on the same team, and it’ll go better for me if i accept whatever current situation I'm in, and do what i can to make it better, without judging or hating myself in the meantime.

This is not to say it’s not hard. It’s hard and it’s overwhelming and it’s tiring. But the way that we’re told is the right way to live with it makes it harder, in my view. If you’re here and you’re trying to care for yourself - even just a little at a time - that’s something. It counts. It counts for your daughter, too. And i'm wishing you the best, and a little peace with yourself. Strength & solidarity ❤️

[squiddybeifong]

Can I ask for the batsiblings reaction to Damian pacing so much he wore a hole in the floor? Doesn't have to be a fics, maybe headcanons?

Sorry for the rather long wait. Kinda wanted to make this a fic

Here's the floor pacing fic

On Ao3 here

--

Alfred hadn’t outwardly reacted to Damian’s obvious lie as to why he had paced the floorboards uneven, but the butler absolutely took action for amending the tripping hazard in the boy’s room. With the floor repairman on the line and a measuring tape in hand nothing was amiss, of course.

Dick had already kept him up-to-date with the gossip about the two Titan birds, so Alfred hadn’t been surprised whatsoever. His position in the family meant that he’d watched the awkward budding romances of most everyone who’d called the Manor home. Damian being frustrated at his feelings for a teammate was nothing compared to a (very grown) Bruce being moody after Selina rebuffed his kiss while ‘on the clock’ or Dick’s increasingly creative attempts at sneaking around with Kori before the ‘no dating metahumans or aliens’ rule had been lifted. Honestly, watching the pun-laden flirting that Steph ladled out to both Tim and Cass on a near daily basis was more awkward than his youngest ward taking his repressed emotions out on the floors.

Unfortunately for Damian, the butler arranged for the floor repairman to show up during the day. Most notably, the repairman arrived at exactly the specified 1:35 p.m., not wanting to be late when called upon to fix anything belonging to Bruce Wayne.

Why Robin had believed that (like everyone else in Gotham) this worker would be fashionably late, he didn’t know. What Damian did know was that he hadn’t heard Grayson open the door. Nor had he heard his brother head up with Alfred and the repairman into his room. And he especially didn’t hear as Alfred slyly mentioned that he believed Dick’s gossip was coming to a head, if the worn path in the floor meant anything.

No, Damian heard none of it. Not when he was busy brushing BatCow and making sure that every square inch of the barn was properly ventilated so she couldn’t possibly overheat in the approaching summer weather. So when the youngest Bat stalked into the Manor, he’d been all but ambushed.

It didn’t take a detective to realize why he’d been pacing so much. Even without Alfred’s confirmation, it was unlike Damian to avoid going back to the Titans early if he could help it. Batman hadn’t looked up when Robin had elected to stay another week when they were in the BatCave, but his siblings sure had. And while Bruce didn’t outwardly ponder about how intense things had to be for Damian to go out of his way to avoid a certain someone, this new information had Dick positively enchanted at the prospect of his baby brother being in love.

“I’m not in love with Raven,” Damian hissed out.

Jason snickered as he reclined in his seat, his face full of mirth at the flustered crack in Damian’s voice. Cass was sitting upside down with her legs resting on the couch’s back, her smile wide as she took in her youngest brother’s irritated, embarrassed body language (nevermind the barest hint of an actual blush on his face when vehemently denying any feelings he had towards his fellow Titan).

Babs’ smile was wide and cheerful as she pointed out, “Who said anything about Raven?” Duke perked up from his spot next to Cass, immediately adding on, “Yeah, Dami. We thought you were just falling for her?”

Steph snorted, “Falling over those footprints in the floor, more like it.”

Tim laughed behind his gulp of his coffee, sleepily (and loudly) drawling out to the blonde, “A Robin and his Raven. Guess you can say they’re a real pair of lovebirds, huh?”

Damian glared at them all, fighting the urge to pinch between his eyes. Why were all the Bats at the Manor? Shouldn’t they be on patrol instead of bothering him?

Jason clicked his tongue and rested his arms on the table. He met Dick’s gaze, saw the way his older brother’s eyes brightened up with mischief and scratched at the streak of white in his hair. Deciding that messing with Damian was by far the most fun he’d have in the Manor that morning, Jason asked, “So, Lil’ D… What’re you gonna get your girlfriend? Can’t come back empty handed.”

“She’s not my--”

Babs interrupted him, nudging Tim with her elbow, “Do not tell me he wasn’t planning on getting her anything.”

Steph lazily rested on the chair’s edge. The blonde leaned over to rest against Jason’s shoulder, her fist pressed to her face. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek; it wasn’t likely she’d be much use for knowing how Raven would want to be wooed. She had heard of her but she had yet to actually meet Damian’s mystery crush, after all. She let out a hum, “What does Raven like? It’s gotta be something personal!”

Damian clicked his tongue as his siblings were suddenly oh so chatty at Spoiler’s suggestion, their unwanted ideas filling the room.

“What if he paints her something?”

“Doesn’t she like old books? Maybe one of those first editions that Alfred was thinking about donating last year?”

“Wait a sec-- Dick, isn’t she goth? B did get that set of obsidian jewelry at the last gala.”

“Hell, if we’re going that route I’m sure Selina has some nice rings somewhere--”

“Maybe something that isn’t stolen, Tim.”

“Just be honest with her.”

The room went quiet at Cass’ simple instruction. Still in her Orphan suit from her early morning patrols and reclining in her inverted spot on the couch, the brunette somehow kept a serious face as she stared at Damian upside down.

Seeing that no one was going to add-on to her suggestion, Cass blew some of her bangs out of her face and shrugged, “You like her for a reason.”

Brown eyes slyly glanced around the room, gratefully falling on Babs as she piped up, “Cass is right. I really don’t think Damian of all people would fall for someone who’s all about dating mind-games.”

Ignoring Damian’s exasperated lie of “I haven’t fallen for her!” in the background, Steph slumped down on the couch next to Duke. Her face was contemplative, “Then maybe we should invite her here?”

Dick let out an excited laugh the same time Tim clapped his hands and grinned at their resident computer whiz, “Babs could absolutely get her up to speed on patrolling Gotham for a bit, right?”

The redhead looked excited at the idea. Pushing her glasses further up her nose before they fell, Babs teasingly asked, “What is it about Gotham and bird-based superheroes?”

Duke shrugged, a hand cradling his chin in thought. “Not sure, but Dami obviously won’t confess if we’re not around to kick him into doing it.”

Jason clicked his tongue at the possibility of the youngest Bat listening to them and raised a brow Dick’s way, “Any chance at all that she’ll make the first move?”

Irritated at the topic, Damian turned on his heel and retreated to the kitchen. Ignoring the chorus of “C’mon, Dami” behind him (and planning on fighting Todd later for the childish boos that the antihero was aiming at his back), Robin set about grabbing some snacks for his pets when he heard two sets of footsteps approach.

He bit back a groan as Dick practically skipped into the room, Cass on his heels. “What now?”

Nightwing let out a laugh at his brother’s sneer, “You do know that we’re only trying to help, right?” He took a few pears from the fridge and handed them to Damian, knowing that they were BatCow’s favorite. Hearing as Cass opened the cabinet doors to find where the rawhide bones and cat treats were stored, Dick pressed on, “I know she already knows me but it might be easier introducing everyone as a segue into talking to her about other things…”

Cass let out a quiet snort at his suggestion. She shook her head and offered a better idea, “Alfred first.”

Dick tilted his head, nodding in agreement a moment later. He ignored the violent way Damian was cutting up the pears and said, “That’ll probably be for the best. Living with the Titans is one thing; we gotta ease her into our particular brand of madness.”

Tossing aside the stems and peeled off stickers, Damian sulked, “None of this is necessary.”

Cass hid her smile with her hand. Dick hummed out, “You don’t want your girlfriend to meet your family?”

“She won’t be my--” Damian couldn’t say the potential title just yet. He clicked his tongue, “Just because you all think I have feelings for her doesn’t mean she’ll reciprocate.”

The older two visibly paused at his words.

Her head tilting in concern, brown eyes studied Robin for a moment. Damian glared at Cass but she ignored him. Dick leaned against the wall, the worried furrow in his brow betraying his nonchalant stance. He spoke out the obvious, “Do you really think she’s not interested?”

“She thinks I’ve been avoiding her--”

Cass shrugged, “You have.”

Damian continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “--so I doubt any feelings she may have towards me are positive right now.”

Dick let out a hum, “You didn’t answer the question.”

Ophan’s suit somehow didn’t shine in the kitchen’s fluorescent light as she crossed her arms, “Yes or no?”

Damian bit the inside of his cheek. It was quiet in the kitchen for a moment as he thought over all the moments he and Raven had shared, the comfortable quiet pauses between crimefighting, training, and avoiding their teammates’ noise. She never seemed to dislike his company, but she was stoic enough that he could never tell if her heart leaped into her throat whenever she noticed that they were alone.

He suppressed a jump as Cass entered his personal space.

Olive eyes were reluctant as she poked his cheek. “You’re not stupid,” She figured it was progress when he didn’t try to swat her hand away, but she couldn’t keep the beam off her face at the boy’s blush. A hint of smugness crept into her voice, “So she is?”

“I don’t know.”

Cass looked to the Manor’s main entrance, knowing that in half a week’s time the entire structure would be full of lights, flowers and who knew what else B’s planners would bring. A spring gala with flowers and enough hidden corners for a pair to get lost in the crowd.

In other terms: the perfect setting for a first date.

She met Dick’s gaze and grinned at the knowing look on his face. His hair nearly fell out of its bun as he let out a whoop, wrapping an arm around Damian. Thoughts of finding Raven a gala-ready dress (and maybe a matching suit) in mind, Dick couldn’t keep the excitement out of his movements.

Ignoring the aggravated yet cautiously hopeful way Damian shrugged off his brother’s arm, Cass clasped her hands in front of her chest. “Only one way to find out.”

[jessie-writes-things]

From the Darkness | Part 1

This is a commission from the lovely @grogusmum! I'm so so so sorry for how late this is love! Life got in the way a bit. Originally I was gonna do this as one giant piece, but you've been waiting too long and so I just needed to get something out. This ended up being a bit more soft-angst rather than fluff but I tried my best to balance it out. The next part will be full-on found family fluff though! 🥰

This whole thing stemmed from that throwaway line 'I've spent much time on Tatooine' from The Marshall. Basically, I just liked the idea of Din having a somewhat secret life hidden away there. It gets explained a bit more in the second part, but that's really all the context you need right now. 😅🥰

Pairing: Din Djarin x Neutral Reader

Words: 2.5k

Genre: Found family, fluff, soft angst

Warnings: Star Wars level violence, vague mentions of PTSD/Trauma, nightmares

Summary: Din comes home to Tattooine and you spend the night on the Razor Crest.

You always heard the Razor Crest before you saw it. The loud hum of the clunky engine made you jump every single time and you had always wondered how long it would be until the ship just dropped out the sky.

Your answer came quicker than you thought. It was around midnight when the first signs came, snippets of voices fluttered by like quiet, sleep-laced whispers on the wind.

See you we do! Coming home we are!

Then came the ship barrelling onto the landing pad, and you weren’t dramatic in saying you thought the planet was about to explode; walls rumbling, ground vibrating. Peli had been prompted to spew out a few choice words, stepping outside just as you did to watch the slivers of silver moonlight spring off the ship as it finally settled down.

The landing had been…less than graceful to say the least. The engine sounded worse than you’ve ever heard. One of her feet had been ripped clear off, making her tilt to the side at an unnerving angle and you didn’t even want to think about the number of outer plates there were to replace.

What worried you more was the look of annoyance on your boss’s face, pinched and red, and you just had enough time to convince her to head back to bed, promising to deal with The Mandalorian until morning. And thank every planet in the galaxy she listened because if the Crest hadn’t woken up the neighbourhood, you knew she sure as hell would of.

There was an etiquette, you learned through years of working on the hanger; you should never enter a person’s ship first. To regulars, it was like walking into someone’s home without being invited. But so early in the morning you weren’t for niceties.

You walked up that ramp like pray on a hunt, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and you may have stumbled a bit, but it was a hunt.

The Mandalorian was clearly waiting for you, sitting in the cockpit, the baby asleep in his pod although you had no doubt he was listening to every word.

Very out of character, he was the first to speak, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t…well, it was. You were just grumpy and tired and wanted to go back to bed, ‘She looks a mess.’

‘Can you fix her?’

You had assumed her mess from the work of another bounty gone wrong, maybe Mar again but you weren’t in the right mind to ask. ‘Depends.’

‘On?’

‘What you’re about to ask me to do next.’

There was a silence, a comfortable one but silence, nevertheless. Eyes heavy, you were fading fast, head resting against the passenger seat you had claimed as your own. You weren’t too sure if you had fallen asleep or not. You closed your eyes for what felt like a moment too long and when they opened again, Din had shifted his seat to look at you.

‘We need to stay for a few days.’ His head tilted like a little puppy dog. Helmet still on, you were left trying to imagine how he looked in that moment; eyes squinted, crinkled around the sides in admiration.

Not the exact words you wanted to hear, but not surprising in the slightest.

You decided to push again, ‘Anything else?’

He was smiling, at least you were sure he was, his voice sounding a little lighter despite the artificial muffle of the modulator, ‘Come to bed?’

---

I caught a frog today. Very big frog. I wanted to show you. But ManDad was not very happy with the frog in the big ship. So I ate it, I did. Miss you lots, I did. And so did ManDad. Smiles when he thinks about you, he does. I feel the happiness. Thank you for making him happy.

---

Turns out it hadn’t been Mar that took a hit at his ship.

There had been an incident, Din told you in the quiet of darkness, arms wrapped around you, his head buried safely. Long tufts of hair tickled your jaw and chin whenever he moved or talked, about due for a haircut but that was a battle for another day.

‘Moff Gideon is dead.’ But so was Kuill, the kind Ugnaught who had helped at the start of all this mess. Whatever was left of the Empire was still after the kid and Din still needed to find the Jedi. ‘Karga’s still alive.’

‘I thought he double-crossed you?’ At some point his head had moved onto your chest, letting your fingers card through his hair. You could just about see his face in the small cracks of light, not that he needed to hide anymore, sometimes you think the dark was comforting for him.

The smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips and you really hoped it was because of your touch and not the thought of the Guild agent. Small wins and all that, you guessed. Better to have Greef around than no one at all.

‘I can’t stay long.’ His voice wavered, ever so slightly. You had become accustomed to the bittersweetness of it all, stroking the back of his neck as your heavy eyes began to droop again.

‘That’s okay.’ While it felt like a brick being thrown at your chest, you understood. Truly. The entire Empire was after the kid and, subsequently, him. Not to mention the constant battle against other hunters who had it out for his head.

Because while you knew time was finite with him, at least you had something.

---

Happy to be home we are. ManDad gets lonely sometimes. Feel it I do. I try my best to make him smile but sometimes it does not work. Make him happy, you do. A man should not be lonely for too long, he must not, for loneliness can be deadly. When I am gone, look after him you must. Promise?

---

Quiet moments in the dark were always the loudest for Grogu. Like father like son, you guessed. Neither of them liked the stillness much, both of their minds racing faster than the speed of light. It was always easier to read them in these moments. Flashes of images blended into a mosaic behind your eyes as you tried to hold down a specific part of a memory or a dream.

Some nights it was easier than others. There were times Grogu would sense you in his mind and would purposefully push an image forward, always something he thought was silly like a particularly funny looking frog or a memory of Din singing to some cheesy eighties song you had left behind on a CD during their last visit.

The colourful rhythm and syncopated beats making the walls of the Razor Crest dance along with them and you did everything not to burst out laughing in the still night, biting your lip only for a small snort to escape. Din caught on, barely opening his eyes a crack to mumble out some half-arsed are you okay before rolling over and heading back to sleep again.

It was easier to read Din when he was asleep. Not that you did it much or even intended to in the first place. But sleep tore down the walls he had spent years building up, subconsciously pushing the dreams into your mind. If Grogu’s thoughts were a lulled whisper, Din’s were white noise. Fuzzy static took up most of the space, at times slipping to let through blips of voices or a grainy picture of long past memories. They were too quick to get a full idea of what he was dreaming about.

A boy.

The pop of blasters.

A woman screaming.

One deep breath and the image faded. Din would wake for a moment, eyes closed and he’d turn back to face you. His chest shook, barely and nothing noticeable normally, but you caught it, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, and mumbling a soft it’s okay as he settled back into you.

---

Today was not so bad, it was not. But sometimes I still think about the dark place. Scary and lonely was I. For a long, long time. Then there’s light and I see ManDad for the first time. And then everything is better, it is! No longer do I need to fear the dark.

---

Like always, Grogu climbed out of his pod early morning and forced the doors of the sleeping pad open, giving him room to wiggle his way between Din and you. These were the times you’d feel the tug of his mind at the doors of yours, asking permission to be allowed in.

If your consciousness was awake enough, you’d let him, letting the Green Bean explore the distorted images of Earth and your past life. You would find him standing next to you, present you, in the middle of the dirtied street, dark and damp as rain pounded on the concrete around you, drowning out the screams of the people as they rushed by.

He’d hold his arms up, a quiet hold me please passing by and you’d take him in your arms, holding him close. Sparks of fear rolled through you, weighed down by dread and it was hard to tell if it was coming from Grogu or your past self.

Clouds filled the sky like grey shadows. It had taken you a long time to realise they weren’t normal, that the clouds were too big, were floating by too quick to be anything natural.

That had been the first time you saw them. Aliens. Or what people on Earth would think of as aliens. Tall, grey, slimy, the stuff you had only ever seen on TV and they were now shooting from the skies in streaks of red light. Streets pathed in dust that smelt like ash and day-old water.

The two of you walked through the mess like ghosts, people running left and right and through you, some in slow motion while some were ungodly in their speed. They all died in the end. Zapped out of existence by a singular lazar.

Someone yelled about children. Save the children. Spare the children. Collect the children. Round them up near the hanger, discard the ones we don’t need, you know the ones I mean, don’t talk back to me. Their voice washed over you in cold chills, sounding so far underwater that they might as well not be there at all.

A man stopped in front of you. Tall dressed in all black. A human man staring right at you. He didn’t look panicked like the rest, was calm and collected as he pulled out his gun and aimed so perfectly right at your head. You didn’t move, didn’t duck for cover as he pulled the trigger.

You should know better than to look.

There’s a woman behind you. Was a woman behind you. She’s dead when you turn around, a pile of smoking ash on the cobbled path, already being washed away by the rain.

Then there was the child, arms still stretched out to hold their mother’s hand, eyes wide in fear but they don’t cry. No matter how much their heart is racing. No matter how much they want to scream as the man grabs their arm and drags them away, throwing them in line with the rest of them, waiting for their turn to be scanned and thrown in the hanger.

They don’t scream, even when the doors slam shut and darkness is all that’s left.

---

Awake, are you? Sleep I cannot. Wonder if ManDad knows how much I love him, I do. ManDad is amazing he is. He saved me from the dark and keeps me safe, he does. Let’s me eat cookies, he does. Such lovely cookies. Try some, you must. But ManDad hurts, I feel. Feel his heavy heart, I do. So much pain and loss cause a man to be sad. Want him to be sad I do not. When I am gone, please tell him all the time that he is special, he is. Always be my buir, he will.

---

‘Buir.’ Grogu sat on your stomach, watching with wide, curious eyes as he followed your finger to where Din moved back and forth getting ready to head out. It was just some low-level bounty, armature work really, but that didn’t stop the anxiety from budding in the pit of your stomach. Distractions curved the nausea, curled up with the pod door open, blanket tucked under your chin with the residual warmth of his body still hugging you, ‘He’s your buir.’

Din hadn’t put his helmet back on yet, the roll of his eyes contrasted with the small half-smile on his lips. In the light, it was easier to see the damage he had taken during his last fight. There was only so much an ex-bounty-turned-nursing droid and some bacta spray could do. The large gash across his forehead looked painful and you made a mental note to check it over when he returned.

‘Don’t teach him that.’

‘Why not?’

There was a pause. You caught the way the small smile faltered, wavering with doubt and uncertainty and maybe a hint of sadness although that last part was hard to tell. And while the wall Din had built around himself was thick, sadness was strong enough to creep through the cracks. Even Grogu noticed, large ears pricking, head tilting in ManDad’s direction with a small coo.

‘Aliit ori'shya tal'din.’

‘You’ve been practicing.’ The words were light, a brow quirked in your direction and you knew what it meant; you’re adorable. Thank you for trying. At least he was smiling, finishing up the last buckle on his holster ‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’

Maybe you should have been more surprised by the slip of his tongue. The way he carried on getting dressed, not even pausing once at his mistake.

You had heard him say those words before a hundrad times or more. But you wondered how long he had meant those words. Months? Years? Was it a new development? Was it something he had always known?

But there was no surprise. Instead, a warmth planted itself in your chest, and it grew, branches stretching to fill every ounce of your being until it was all you could feel.

‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’ His eyes widened at your mimicked words. The pronunciation was still a bit off and sometimes the emphasis was stressed on the wrong bits, but it was nice to know you were close enough that he understood you, ‘I know what it means now. You can’t trick me anymore.’

Din picked up the helmet and put it on before you had the chance to see the full smile that bloomed, but you heard it, the hints of pure happiness shining through the modulated, ‘I was never trying to trick you.’

You fought back your own smile. The heat spreading across your cheeks told a different story though, serving as a reminder of years old built-up emotions neither of you had time to unpack at that moment.

So, you did what you both did best. You quickly changed the topic, shifting your attention back to the Green Bean plopped on your stomach, happily teething on the small silver ball he sneakily snatched from the controls. A few seconds later and his attention found yours, giving you a gleeful smile as he held out the ball as a peace offering.

‘Ba'buir.’ You pointed back at Din and Grogu laughed, ‘He’s your Ba'buir.’

But Din was already out of sight, halfway to the door when he called back, ‘He’s older than me!’

Older, I surely am. And wiser. Yet know, you do not. Be careful ManDad For space can be dark and dangerous.

The lock hissed as it opened, seemingly louder in the suddenly quiet Razor Crest, ‘Be careful.’

‘Always.’

---

buir = parent

Aliit ori'shya tal'din = "Family is more than blood."

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ="I love you."; literally: "I will know you forever."

Ba'buir = grandparent

[unsettlingconclusions]

Conversation over pizza

Pairing: Ayna Seth x F!MC (Kennedy) Genre: Fluff Rating: T Word Count: 3k+ Notes: I got inspired by @samanthadalton and @iamsimpforpoppy talking about pizza and food one day. I know this might not be a pairing of your particular interest, but I tagged you to show my appreciation for the inspiration (if you’d like me to remove it, please just let me know!). Story is not reviewed because if I stop to review I’d never post anything. Enjoy.

“So, I decided what we can do as your introduction to fine cuisine. Pizza!”

The sound of Ayna’s excitement came all the way from the kitchen to find Kennedy comfortably nestled against the cushions in Ayna’s couch. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and for once Ayna wasn’t swamped in deadlines or planning for classes, so they had been spending the past few hours curled up cuddling and watching cheesy romcoms. It was the perfect setting for peace and relaxation, and Kennedy would have voted to glue herself to the couch and to her girlfriend had it not been for the sound of grumbling stomachs. They were only human, afterall, and humans do need to eat.

“Pizza? Ayna, thank you for believing in me, but there’s no way I can get making pizza from scratch right.” Kennedy moved to the kitchen counter, voice a little less enthusiastic than her girlfriend’s.

But Ayna wasn’t to be deterred. “This one you can,” she replied, showcasing a package of frosted premade pizza dough. “Making it from scratch can be a challenge, I’ll admit. That’s why we’re gonna skip the make your own dough step.”

“But then it won’t be ‘fine cuisine’. It will just be like making a sandwich.”

“Ok, one, don’t talk like you even make sandwiches. And two, try to have some faith in me. Let’s make our own fresh tomato sauce. It makes a world of difference.”

It was a few weeks back when Ayna promised to teach Kennedy how to cook, starting with something easy, of course. This deal was brought by after a nice surprise romantic dinner Ayna had prepared for them in celebration of going public and finally being free to properly date.

“I thought you didn’t cook.”

“Usually I don’t, but I can make an exception if I feel the circumstances are special enough.”

“No, I mean, you said sometimes coffee is all you have.”

Ayna chuckles lightheartedly. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t cook, it means I unfortunately don’t have much time for it.”

“So, does that mean I’m special?” Kennedy can't help the fluttering of her heart and the wide grin from reaching her face at the thought of Ayna dedicating so much to their date.

“You’re the most special of circumstances," resting her hands on Kennedy's shoulders, Ayna gently coaxes the younger woman towards the dinner table. "Now come, before the food gets cold. I hope you enjoy it.”

Kennedy was surprised by how rich and flavorful it all tasted, and as the thick and sweet aroma filling the air lured her into a deep sense of comfort, she was amazed to keep discovering all these layers to her girlfriend.

She learned that cooking was soothing for Ayna, as it reminded the woman of her daadi, who used to say there could be no warmth of heart with an empty stomach. Kennedy was wooed through and through that night, and if cooking was an activity Ayna enjoyed, she wanted to be able to enjoy it with her. But the truth was she couldn't cook if her life dependend on it, so by the end of the night she made Ayna agree to teach her something someday.

"Why pizza? I thought we were going for something Indian."

"You're the one who said you wanted to start easy. Let's hold on the spices for now."

"Fine, I'll trust you. Teach me like I'm one of your French girls." Kennedy grinned, doing as close to a Kate Winslet impersonation as she managed.

"Preferably not naked, though," Ayna teased as she approached Kennedy with an apron, motioning for Kennedy to pass her head through it. "Tomato sauce sometimes gets a little explosive and I don't want you to get burned", she continued as she circled around Kennedy to fasten the straps behind her back.

As expected, Ayna was no less of a teacher in the kitchen than she was in the classroom. She calmly explained everything they were doing and why, from why they needed to boil water to peel off and seed the tomatoes, to how to properly cut them and remove their stem and core to make the process easier.

“We’ll just cook them for little while so the skin comes off easier.”

Once the tomatoes had been set in the boiling water, they moved onto all the other steps. "No respectable sauce lacks onion," Ayna explained, "but chopping them can be tricky. If you get too uncomfortable, tell me and I can do it by myself."

"No way, I'm having the full experience." Kennedy replied, although her eyes did make her almost regret her choice.

When the tomatoes cooked to the right point and they shocked them in iced water, Kennedy was almost amazed by how easily the skin came off.

“Nice trick,” she remarked, as she quickly took care of her task.

“Yeah it is. And it works with potatoes too.”

“You mean I don’t have to spend an hour peeling potatoes?”

“You mean you have peeled potatoes before?” Ayna raised her eyebrows in genuine curiosity.

“Mom tried taking cooking classes once and got me into it too. It didn’t go very well,” Kennedy grinned sheepishly.

“And how is it going now?”

“A lot better. It turns out I just had the wrong teacher,” this time Kennedy offered Ayna a wink and a huge smile, being then rewarded with a peck on the lips.

“Here, let’s sievel the seeds and dice them.”

When it came to dicing the tomatoes, Kennedy felt like she finally could use a more hands-on approach to compensate the fact she was losing some precious cuddling time, so she made sure Ayna would notice she was doing it the wrong way.

“You’re cutting them too big.”

"Oh no, silly me. Can you come over here and show me how to do it? I might do it better if you guide my hand,” Kennedy stated, feigning as much innocence as she could.

"You’re just baiting me."

"Is it working?"

"Yes."

Ayna came closer from behind and wrapped her arms around Kennedy, resting her hands atop the younger woman’s, guiding her movements gently. Kennedy took advantage of the moment as she could, leaning back and sinking further into Ayna’s embrace. She would definitely sign up for more cooking sessions if it involved this kind of teaching.

After many demonstrations more than it was actually necessary, Ayna rested her hands on Kennedy’s waist and moved her head to the side so her lips could softly brush against Kennedy’s ear, “Do you think you can get it right now?” She whispered.

“Y-yeah, I think,” Kennedy stuttered, tilting her head to the side to expose more of her neck.

Ayna nuzzled her nose into Kennedy’s neck for a few seconds before saying  “Good, let’s finish this.”

“Buzzkill.”

“Try hungry.”

With the ingredients now all set to go, they moved the chopped onions to a pot and let them fry for a little while. As Kennedy stirs the pot to keep the onions from burning, the sound of them sizzling mixed with its heavenly smell set such a mood of domesticity, Kennedy felt a weird sense of nostalgia for something she never really had.

“Hey, thank you for teaching me. This feels nice.”

“Of course,” Ayna smiled broadly, brushing a loose lock of Kennedy’s hair behind her ear fondly, because the truth was there was little Kennedy could ask of her that she wouldn’t give. “Here comes the tomatoes.”

A few minutes of simmering later and the sauce was ready and good to go, its bright red color contrasting with the paleness of the dough.

With Ayna’s guidance, Kennedy assembled the pizza with their homemade sauce, lots of cheese (the true secret was to use good cheese, Ayna had said) and fresh basil leaves for extra flavor, and they set it to the oven. All they had to do now was wait.

“Have you thought about what you’re gonna do now?” Ayna asked as she setted up the oven timer.

“Hmm, wait for it to bake so we can eat?”  

“I mean about Vancross. You came to help your mom with the Summit, didn’t you? To make allies?” She clarified, moving to help Kennedy out of her apron and taking her own off as well.

“Not just that. I came to study really.”

Once both were free of their aprons, Ayna started going about the kitchen, storing back everything they haven’t used. “Didn’t you tell me once you weren’t sure if going into politics was really what you wanted?”

“You remember that?” Kennedy asked surprised, the memory kind of distant. It was the first time they talked outside of the classroom.

“I remember everything about you.”

“Sappy.” It really was and Kennedy wouldn’t not remark on it, but on the inside she was very much melting. Ayna only smiled in return and raised her eyebrows, challenging Kennedy to not deviate from the subject. "But you're right. I came mostly because she wanted me to."

"Well, you seemed to thrive here, so I’m just curious as to how you feel about continuing your studies."

"I haven’t thought about it yet." Kennedy replied honestly, now sitting on a high stool by the kitchen counter, eyes fixed on Ayna, watching her move around.

"I think it suits you."

"You see me as a politician?"

"Not just in the sense you’re thinking. There’s a lot to this world that doesn’t involve you actually being a candidate and running for office." With a bottle of wine in each hand, Ayna showed both to Kennedy at the same time. "Red or white?"

"Hmm, white." To Kennedy's answer, Ayna just nodded and went for a corckscrew to open it.

"You know, I’ve been listening for so long how I should follow in my mom's footsteps that I guess I never really contemplated anything else."

"You do have a knack for making people feel at ease, and I’ve seen you do great at solving issues and leaving everyone involved satisfied. And you did great at avoiding conflict too." Ayna said as she approached with two glasses of wine, offering one to Kennedy. "Watching your debate was nice, it felt like you were in your element."

Kennedy took the offered glass and spent  a few seconds twirling the wine around it before sipping. "Yeah, I thought I’d be going through a minefield with that assignment, but working with Blaine was surprisingly easy and not that conflituous,” she said, reaching for and pulling Ayna closer to her, scooting backwards and giving Ayna more space to settle in the space between her legs.

“Hmpf, I’d rather not think of how exactly you avoided conflict with him.” Ayna retorted, gulping down a very big sip of her own glass of wine.

"What? You don’t like picturing me charming Blaine off?"

"Uh, no?" Ayna moved away swiftly, her demeanor challenging, as if saying “did you really just ask me that?”

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Is that why you love pushing my buttons?” Ayna asked narrowing her eyes.

“I mean, it can get pretty intense sometimes. Jealous you is hot,” Kennedy replied teasingly.

“So you really do just do it to get a rise out of me.” Annoyed, Ayna took a step back and started to fully distance herself from Kennedy’s reach.

“Hey, I’m sorry, ok?” Kennedy hurried to apologize, realizing she missed the mark on this one. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she added, drawing Ayna back to her. To her relief, Ayna offered no resistance, and Kennedy took advantage of it wrapping her into her arms, guiding Ayna’s head to rest on her shoulder. “It was dumb of me, I’m sorry.”

“No, I am sorry. I’m not usually jealous like this, I just— oof,” Ayna shaked her head, sighing dramatically before settling back into the comfort of her girlfriend’s arms, “I’m not used to this feeling.”

“If it makes you feel better, I promise when we were working on that debate, we were really just working on the debate.”

“Really?” Ayna lifted her head up to look at Kennedy, her own eyes holding such a look of childlike hope Kennedy just found it damn adorable.

“Yes, I swear. By then, I was already completely charmed off by a certain TA. Getting you out of my head was no easy task.”

Ayna flashed a bright smile, cheeks flushing slightly as she lowered her gaze, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“See? You can’t smile like that and expect me to not think about that all day.” Kennedy exclaimed, gently lifting Ayna’s head back again  and leaning in for a kiss.

It was supposed to be a quick reaffirming kiss only, but Kennedy decided she had spent far too long of today already not kissing her girlfriend, so she jumped off the stool to be able do it properly. She placed one hand on Ayna’s lower back and the other at the back of her head, entangling her fingers into Ayna’s locks and bringing their bodies as close as possible.

“We’re digressing,” Ayna grinned through the kiss.

“I like this subject better.” Kennedy replied quickly, just as quickly diving in for another kiss, only to be met with a smirking and uncooperative Ayna. “Nice try, but I’m not about to let our pizza burn. And I know where this will lead us."

“Would that be so bad?”

“It would if we end up setting the apartment on fire.”

Kennedy was ready to retort, or whine, to be more specific, when the oven timer set off.  “Saved by the bell.”

To follow on the theme of having the full experience, Kennedy was the one to take the pizza out, with Ayna hovering around her fearful she would burn herself.

“Relax, I got this. Go sit by the table and let me pamper you for a little bit.”

Ayna complied, albeit reluctantly, and Kennedy did the best she could cutting and serving the pizza (it shouldn’t be that difficult, right?). The looks and smell of it were incredibly promising of a good meal. The bright yellow mixed with the few golden spots of over baked cheese coupled with the contrast given by the green leaves against the red sauce certainly provided a sight for hungry eyes, and the heavenly smell of any fresh off the oven pizza certainly didn’t hurt either.

“Whoa, this turned out to be really good,” Kennedy exclaimed in between bites, munching excitedly and occasionaly closing her eyes to further appreciate it, letting out satisfied little grunts. She would never have guessed pre made frozen dough could actually turn into a perfect crunchy crust.

With a hint of amusement at Kennedy's eagerness over pizza, Ayna teased, “You sound surprised."

“Well, yeah, it had me involved."

“Hey, don’t ditch your sous chef.” Ayna said, feigning indignation. Kennedy bends over in Ayna's direction, placing a quick chaste kiss on her cheek. "You're a really great cook. Thank you for this."

The rest of the dinner went by much in the same manner. Kennedy was reveling in the fact her audience wouldn't berate her for not being the image of the prim and proper lady, and at some point she may even have indulged in foregoing the silverware and going straight for the kill with her hands. Truth be told, Ayna was delighted by the sight, and vowed to always make sure Kennedy could be whoever she wanted to be with her.

Once they were belly filled and satisfied, they moved back to the living room, glasses of wine in hand, a recently new opened bottle resting on the coffee table. The reality of it was that none wished for their night to end just yet, and they talked about as many meaningless and trivial subjects as they could think of, conversation flowing freely. But by the time their second bottle was nearly done with, Kennedy noticed Ayna was getting more and more quiet, almost as if lost in thought.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She inquired softly, nudging Ayna lightly, trying to prompt the woman to share what had her suddenly silent.

"I was just thinking about what we were talking earlier."

"We talked about many things," Kennedy replied, leaving both their glasses on the coffee table and moving back to the couch. She sprawled herself on the lenght of it, resting her head on Ayna's lap. "What has gotten you so pensive?"

"You", Ayna stated matter of factly, adjusting herself so Kennedy could fit in better. She brought both her hands to Kennedy's hair, caressing it tenderly, before continuing. “And your mom. You don’t have to antagonize her to follow your own path but you don’t need to follow in her footsteps either."

Kennedy remained silent. She didn't know exactly what to answer to that, for one, and she was sure Ayna would have more to say. She limited herself to closing her eyes, enjoying the soothing feeling of Ayna's hands on her hair.

Taking Kennedy's silence as encouragement (or at least not discouragement), Ayna added, "Sure, you’ll always face some level of scrutiny and expectations, even when she steps down from office, but you can still make choices of your own. I’m sure your mom would be supportive and proud of you.”

“You sure about that? I doubt it sometimes.”

“She may come off as distant and nonchalant, but I think it’s just because she’s really busy. She really cares about you.”

“Yeah, I know this whole mess brought us closer, but sometimes I wonder why we drifted apart in the first place. I miss her.”

"You don’t have to miss her, she’s right there. And you don’t have to hinder your future because you decided to stick yourself with the rebel role. There’s nothing wrong with changing your mind."

“I love you so much, you know that?" Kennedy inquired, a glint of admiration in her eyes as she sits herself back up to place a kiss on Ayna's lips. She then moved to take one of Ayna's hand on hers, squeezing tightly. "You say the greatest things. And you’re right. I thought at some point about leaving just so I could go against her, but truth is I kind of enjoyed this year here”.

As Kennedy was about to drop Ayna's hand, the older woman just incresead her own hold, not letting Kennedy go. “Whatever you choose, I’m sure you’re gonna do great. You’re hard working and focused, you could make anything work. And I’ll be rooting for you every step of the way.”

“Even if it means I leave Vancross?” Kennedy tilted her head to the side, an expression of incredulity and maybe disbelief on her face.

“Why not? I want you to be happy. If you realize that’s what you want, go for it. I like believing we're strong enough to survive us not being so close together all the time.”

“I like believing that too.”

“In any case, I don't think I wish Vancross to be my endgame anymore.”

“No? But you love teaching?”

“I do. But Vancross is not the only educational institution in the world. I could finish my thesis here and leave, or I could leave and finish it somewhere else. Assuming I can have a nice recommendation from here that is.”

Kennedy's expression softened considerably after that, now holding as many emotions as the number of beats per minute her racing heart is doing. It was hope, delight, caring, love. "What are you really saying?"

"I'm saying I'll go wherever you will if you'll have me."

Goddamn. With that sentence Ayna managed to increase Kennedy’s heart rate by tenfold and the younger woman loved it. She realized she hasn’t been this excited and hopeful for the future in the longest while, and she was eager to show Ayna just how much. Smiling widely she wasted no time in straddling the TA’s lap, moving her hips against Ayna’s, just to make sure her point would come across perfectly. When she felt Ayna bringing her hands against her back, letting out a low, quiet moan, Kennedy leaned in.

"Can we go back to digressing now? There’s no more pizza left to burn."

[ironxkid]

why don't you like endgame or civil war

((hoo buddy, idk what brought this up but salt under the cut!! Like... a lot of salt - specifically regarding Endgame lmao

I’m gonna start off with CACW because it’s a short response lol

I don’t like it simply because I was done with the infighting between the Avengers. The found family crumbs we were given in Endgame was something I really wanted to see, and them just... ripping them apart frustrated me lol

honestly, the movie was... fine? Idk, I found it to be a lil slow for my taste (it felt like it just dragged on when I watched it in theaters), and I just don’t care for it in general  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also, ngl, I’m really bummed that Captain America: Serpent Society was a joke announcement because that sounds dope as hell and I really wanted to see that before I realized it’d been a joke dfgjhdsfhj

but, yeah, literally just because CACW is specifically an infighting movie annoys me to no end so I just won’t watch it again dgsfjhsfdhj

now, Endgame?

fuck Endgame

I. have a lot of issues with it, all of which are major grievances throughout the fandom. I’m pissed they killed Natasha and didn’t even bother giving her a fucking funeral because, I quote from Joe Russo, “Well, Tony does not have another movie. Tony is done. And Natasha has another film. And Marvel Universe obviously does not have to move forward linearly anymore. But that character still has more screen time coming.” (see here) and that annoys the hell out of me. She’s getting another movie - great! So you killed one of the few characters doing her fucking best to keep everything together at the compound, the one who was taking charge, give her a big role, and then murk her and... give her nothing but a brief mention at the end. Like... what the fuck? Natasha deserved so much better than what she was given. Tony’s funeral could’ve (and, frankly, should’ve) been a funeral for him, Natasha, and Vision because god forbid we see anyone mourn Vision other than Wanda

(actually this post covers how Endgame fucked over the MCU women perfectly, though Wanda’s not mentioned :c )

plus... Tony’s not done lol - he’s still a massive figure in the films/shows despite RDJ not acting in them, so his character has left shockwaves that aren’t dying any time soon. Natasha... basically disappeared, and I believe she would’ve been dropped completely if it wasn’t for the fact she does have a film coming out soon. Which, frankly, seems awesome and all, but it’s a film that goes back to post-CACW pre-IW and... frankly doesn’t give me any reason to understand why that means she didn’t get a funeral. She’s not coming back in future movies/shows that are in present MCU timeline - her movie is set in the past. She could’ve gotten a decent sendoff 

now, Clint’s arc as Ronin rubs me the wrong way. I know it’s a huge thing in the comics, and it’s not him taking a different mantle that I have an issue with. It’s the fact he, a white man, went around murdering people and got off scot-free. Yes, he was targeting genuinely bad people, but... to show that, they specifically singled out Mexican cartels and the yakuza (Japanese mafia, essentially) - so, in other words, the bad guys were people of color! I feel like I don’t need to explain how fucked up that is. And, to clarify, I love Clint! Clint is honestly one of my favorite characters, and the whole thing was just handled... poorly in the film

Tony’s arc genuinely hurts. This is a man who has suffered for years and has tried to make things right, and finally got a chance to settle down. He finally retired from the Avengers, finally settled down, and had a fucking life he could enjoy despite his ghosts, and yet... His arc ends with a message of “tortured soul finally gets rest by dying”. Because, y’know, it’s great seeing yet another long-suffering character only reaching peace through death, because god forbid they let characters heal! He could’ve still caused the second Snap, and he could’ve survived. He could’ve finally been able to step away for good and focus on his family, focus on recovering, and be truly happy. What’s so wrong with letting him stay alive so he can rest and be with his family? What’s so wrong with letting a long-suffering character finally find peace after one last bang? 

plus it pisses me off that they’re now using him as a reasoning as to why bad things are still happening. Why is this person the bad guy? Because Tony Stark somehow may or may not have done something that hurt them! Even though most of that really stems from Howard or Obadiah. Tony just ends up getting the blame in their place. He’s just an easy target to use, much like the tesseract seems to be the go-to answer for why things go wrong. But this is a different train of thought

Steve’s ending pisses me off just as much as the next person lmao. You take a character who has acknowledged he no longer belongs in the past (which, funnily enough, was written by the Russos), aaaaaaand have him go back to the past while ignoring two important people in his life that were still right there. He got Bucky and Sam back, and he leaves them. His arc is ruined within a matter of minutes, and it paints a hella bad picture of him in the process. He goes back in time to stay with Peggy (which ultimately destroys her own arc, and the fact she’s a person outside of her relationship (or lack thereof) with him because, y’know, why have her be able to move on and be her own person?), and we’re supposed to believe he’s fine with everything he knows from the future? Fine with knowing Bucky’s trapped with HYDRA and is suffering as the Winter Soldier? Fine with knowing HYDRA has infested SHIELD from day one? Fine with knowing Howard and Maria are going to die? Fine with royally fucking up the timelines? We’re supposed to believe he sat back and did nothing with all of that? They could’ve had him still hand the shield over to Sam - they could’ve let Steve stay an Avenger without the mantle

also the fact the Russos said he didn’t recognize Red Skull when he returned to Vormir to return the soul stone? Like... what the fuck?? Not to mention he literally returns the stone to Vormir, which “soul for a soul”, and they didn’t bring Nat back that way??

and now onto Thor. Thor... holy fuck is this hitting something personal for me. Thor was ridden with guilt - he was furious with himself, hated himself, and blamed himself for failing to stop the Snap. He fell into a massive depression, and... was promptly danced around as laughing stock. Like, “oh! look at Thor! he’s fat and drunk because he’s depressed haha!” - like fuck off. It’s not funny in any form. His suffering was made into a joke and it pisses me off because I suffer from depression. A lot of people suffer from depression. It’s not funny. It’s fucking terrifying at times. I wasted a shit ton of money on a stupid online sim game because it was a distraction - it gave me... god, I wouldn’t even say temporary happiness, but it gave me something to temporarily help, and I still hate myself for doing it. It was a poor decision on my part, and I wish I could change it. And, during that time, I was scared because I couldn’t see myself pulling out of it. I thought I was gonna feel that way forever. I called out of work multiple times because there were days I couldn’t stop crying (something I still feel horrible for doing), I couldn’t get myself to contact any of my friends for months, and it was all because the medication I was on at the time... stopped working. Thankfully, my depression doesn’t work in a way that makes me a danger to myself, so that wasn’t an issue, but it still fucking sucked. And to see a character that I could relate to on such a personal level treated as laughing stock fucking hurt. I’m not sharing this for sympathy - I’m sharing this because it Thor’s arc hit home and it’s literally the main reason why I will not watch Endgame again

this is more of a nitpick than anything else, but... I didn’t really care for Carol in it tbh? Which is unfortunately because Captain Marvel is one of my absolute favorite movies! And I’m well aware she was introduced in Endgame while CM was being drafted, but that in itself is annoying?? Because Carol was originally going to be introduced in AoU, but was cut because it wasn’t going to introduce her character properly. And yet they decide to introduce her character in a clusterfuck of a movie before her movie is in the final stages, and proceed to release her movie first and then give a complete different characterization in her following appearance

honestly I just wanna cover this now to clarify some things regarding Carter and her backstory: the only reason I keep Endgame as is is because it felt easier for me to do so for the purpose of bending canon for specific threads. I wanted to stay as true to the given plots as possible to help with fudging of both the movies and her background, and also because I didn’t want anyone to feel like I was trying to force my own headcanons onto them, y’know? 

I’m just gonna plug this here because fuck it lol, but I did start a fix-it fic regarding Endgame that you can read here! I... probably won’t finish it tbh, and I haven’t gone over it in a hot minute so it might be riddled with errors ahah - plus I’m not sure about how I wrote the characters! I get nervous when writing canon characters because I feel like I’ll miss their characterization completely, which is actually why I,,, rarely rp canon characters dgfjhgsfdhj

also the image in the doc was created by @/archervale!! 

[eccentricextrovert]

In Defense of Jamie Wellerstein

Before I start with this post I have to preface it by saying two things. Cheating is never okay, and just because I believe that Jamie was overall the least at fault for him and Cathy’s relationship failing, it doesn’t mean that I’m not acknowledging that what he did was wrong. I’ll also be discussing this in chronological order (with the exception of goodbye until tomorrow) so if you don’t know the order I’d suggest that you look it up.

Shiksa Goddess

I’m going into this assuming you’ve at least seen the movie, so we’ll start with Shiksa Goddess. There’s two problems that a lot of people see in Shiksa Goddess. His childish demeanor, and the fact that he says “I think I could be in love with someone like you”. It’s easy to look at this line and assume that he never really loved her, which a lot of people do see it as. Something that makes just as much sense, and makes both things sound a lot better, is remembering that this is the beginning of the relationship. He’s probably not in love with her yet honestly, and yah he’s really childish and playful, but that’s because he’s deliberately trying to make her laugh. It’s exciting for him!

Moving Too Fast

I know I skipped I Can Do Better Than That but I’m discussing everything for that song under I Could Never Rescue You/ Goodbye Until Tomorrow. There isn’t any major controversies for this song that I can see so I just want to point out how much context this song gives Jamie’s character in all. He went from in the same place career wise as Cathy to suddenly successful in two seconds, and a lot of their issues stem from that problem. He calls Cathy mid song to say he’ll move in with her because that’s the logical next step. He’s in love with her, he’s now financially stable, why not move in together, right? Even though he wasn’t sure before, Jamie feels like it’s what he’s meant to do at this point, which is the case for a lot of his actions. He’s immature and a lot less experienced than Cathy when it comes to serious relationships, and he follows what’s expected of him.

Climbing Uphill

Climbing Uphill is the song that cements exactly why they don’t work, in various ways. Cathy’s extreme insecurity with herself is put on full display here, as well as her failures in her career. In no way is it her fault that she hadn’t made her big break yet, but the way she handles it is different.

Cathy sees her relationship with Jamie as a competition, at least in regards to their careers. She can’t handle that he’s already getting all of the praise for his work that she craves for hers, and she just keeps being put down at every turn.

It’s particularly telling that while he’s doing a reading of his book, all she can think about is her own insecurities. She’s at an event that’s about him and all she can focus on is how she has to be successful too, instead of taking a moment to support him. It’s something that happens a few times in the movie.

Another thing is the excerpt Jamie is reading. It’s about someone who’s so focused on what he’s doing, and trying to win, to the point where it’s suffocating, and he can’t even hear the person he’s competing with tell him “don’t let me win”. It’s an interesting parallel for Jamie and Cathy’s relationship.

The Schmuel Song

Okay so this song is really pure so there isn’t much to talk about, but it does show more about their relationship. When Cathy feels down Jamie is there to lift her up, doing whatever he can to make her smile, and telling her to quit her day job so she can focus on what she’s really passionate about. Jamie gives in the relationship, and throughout the movie Cathy just takes. It isn’t intentional, but the relationship isn’t equal.

A Summer in Ohio

Cathy defines herself by her relationship with Jamie, but resents other people doing the same. In this song she’s trying to pretend everything is okay even though she hates where she is, and she’s clinging to Jamie. Her relationship with Jamie gives her worth in her eyes, and she sees him as above her in a way, as evidenced in the lyrics: “Look at me, look at him, son of a bitch I guess I’m doing something right. I finally got something right.” She maybe miserable and stuck in Ohio, but hey, at least she’s married to Jamie. She clings onto this even further with the lyrics: “and Mrs. Jamie Wellerstein. That's me!” It’s ironic that she puts emphasis on her marriage to Jamie when all she’s done prior to this is reject the idea of just being a wife, but it makes her feel slightly better to think that at least she has him. It’s a very stark difference from Climbing Uphill.

A Miracle Would Happen

This song has been talked about to death, honestly. The only things I’d point out are that everyone has temptations, and he didn’t act on them at this point. Jamie was never prepared for people to be throwing themselves at him in any way, and he does stay faithful at this point because of his love for Cathy. He’s tempted, but he loves her and he shows it. Still a gross song though, I’ll admit it.

A Part Of That

Cathy keeps pretending everything is fine in their relationship, emphasizing further and further that she’s just happy to be in his life, when she obviously not. It’s an act. She’s unhappy that Jamie is so successful and that she really isn’t a part of that success, despite what she says, and the resentment continues to grow.

If I Didn’t Believe in You

Aaaaand here’s where I start having a lot more to say.

This is the point where it’s clear the relationship is doomed, if it wasn’t already clear before. Cathy completely shuts down here, giving up on the relationship. This song isn’t Jamie upset that Cathy won’t go to a party, it’s him frustrated because time and time again she refuses to support him in the same way he’s supported her, and though it’s the point that breaks the relationship ultimately, it’s also the point where it could’ve been salvaged.

In the song Jamie begs Cathy to just talk to him about everything, because he’s been there for her and wants to continue to be there for her.

“Is it really about a party, Cathy?

Can we please for a minute stop blaming

And say what you feel?

Is it just that you're disappointed

To be touring again for the summer?

Did you think this would all be much easier

Then it's turned out to be?

Well, then talk to me, Cathy

Talk to me

If I didn't believe in you

We'd never have gotten this far”

Jamie directly asks, even begs Cathy to just speak to him, and throughout the entire song she responds by leaving the room, walking away from him and the argument, not even speaking to him.

Jamie is desperately begging for Cathy to stay with him and just work this out, and she keeps shutting him down and shutting him out. He genuinely believes in her and in the relationship. This fight is the product of the entire musical, of every fault in their relationship, and he’s trying to say what he’s been pushing since the beginning. He believes in her. He’s been fine with giving this whole time because he knows she can be something special, but her own insecurities and doubt and jealously have been slowly eating her alive.

Every time he moves one step forward, she moves one step back. That’s the theme of their relationship. It’s everywhere, from the story structure, to the literal lyrics, to the excerpts from his book. They can’t both be happy at the same time. She’s been letting herself fall as he rises.

She may not ever say it, but all of her actions point to the conclusion he draws. She wants him to lose so that she can finally win. It’s not a conscious thought, or something she’d ever admit to herself, but it’s their dynamic. He gives and she takes. She loses and he wins.

He’s yelling, trying to reach her, but she keeps ignoring him. Even bringing up their wedding, and the promise he made to her, that they made to each other, does nothing. He begs her to put on her dress not to go to a stupid party, but so they can move past the fight. He’s the one that’s putting in the effort to fix things. Jamie is the only person who ever brings up the issues that separate them. Cathy just wants to pretend that none of their issues exist.

Nobody Needs To Know

I’m just gonna say it. I understand why Jamie cheated. I don’t condone it or agree with it, and I think the relationship should’ve ended long before this point, but his motivations weren’t inherently bad.

Jamie wanted to feel something. Cathy and Jamie’s relationship was incredibly toxic on both ends, and he was tired of switching between being iced out or having to pretend everything was fine. Jamie’s cheating is so clearly not about sex, but most people ignore that because of his earlier thoughts.

In ‘A Miracle Would Happen’ Jamie is longing to be with other women, but it’s clearly about attraction. The language he uses and the framing of all of the shots makes it clear that it’s about sex there. It’s easier to resist cause it’s just a pretty face or a nice pair of boobs.

In ‘Nobody Needs To Know’ it’s tender and remorseful. There’s not a trace of the Jamie we meet in ‘Shiksa Goddess’ who was so full of life. Jamie is tired, and he’s angry, and he just wants to feel something.

The way this song is directed is beautiful, and further helps illustrate this point.

In ‘Shiksa Goddess’ Jamie was confident, and things were fun for him. He was clearly dominant and he was constantly making jokes to lighten the mood. Everything is filmed to make things very bright. It’s clearly exciting for him.

In ‘Nobody Needs To Know’ Jamie is painfully aware at every moment that what he’s doing is wrong, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore.

His body language is consistently submissive. He’s being reassured. He needs comfort and he’s finding it in the worst place. He’s desperately clinging to any human contact, anyone that can be present, because Cathy’s stopped doing that. It isn’t even the fact that she’s physically away, but the lack of the calls that they used to have when she went to Ohio. Everything about his relationship with Cathy that he loved is gone, and he’s seeking anything he can get from anywhere he can get it.

“Cathy is waiting...

Look at us, lying here

Dreaming, pretending

I made a promise and I took a vow

I wrote a story

And we changed the ending

Cathy, just look at me now!”

He feels awful about what he’s doing and he doesn’t for a second try to justify it, acknowledging that his mistakes are deliberate now. Even just compared to other musical theatre songs about cheating (*cough* Hamilton *cough*) it’s so clearly not about the actual act. It’s interesting that Jamie is so villified, to the point where there’s articles calling him the “worst musical character ever”, when he’s so clearly remorseful.

See I’m Smiling

This is Cathy’s song to reach out to Jamie, at least in a way. She’s still pretending nothing is wrong, but she finally realized just how far they’ve drifted from each other.

The problem with Cathy is that even when she’s trying to reach out she’s still distant. I feel awful for her, but I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if she would’ve accepted his offer of coming back on Monday. Cathy cannot physically handle Jamie’s career getting in the way of things again, and it’s pretty much over from here. Ironically, this is the only time Cathy is open and honest about how she feels in the whole musical.

Cathy believes that Jamie is self absorbed, and calls him out on it, as well as his flirting. The “little girlfriends” comment is entirely justified at this point, but honestly? I wouldn’t call Jamie a selfish person. In every instance where he’s made things about him, it’s been about his career. He values his career, but he’s also been pushing Cathy towards hers.

The only instance in The Last Five Years where Jamie isn’t there for Cathy when she needs him is this, and it’s after she made it very clear that she doesn’t support his work. The only time Cathy ever took pride in Jamie was in ‘A Summer in Ohio’, which is the only time that she’s had something close to a success, and even then she hates what’s happening. Meanwhile, the only time Jamie hasn’t been there for Cathy is this. The entire movie all Jamie does is uplift Cathy to get every part of him eaten away, and this one time he chooses his career above her, and even though he tries to find a compromise she won’t listen.

Cathy is a good person, but at this point in her life a relationship with Jamie just can’t work. It’s been dragged on for too long, and if it keeps going it’ll consume both of them.

I Could Never Rescue You/ Goodbye Until Tomorrow

Jamie couldn’t face Cathy to leave her. If Jamie had tried to talk about leaving it would’ve ended up another fight that went nowhere, and another fight that nothing got done in. He still loved Cathy. If he didn’t still love her these songs wouldn’t have been combined.

Jamie left Cathy alone in a house she couldn’t afford, with nothing but a letter and his ring. It was a dick move, but it was the only way it could’ve ended. The letter was a call back to ‘I Can Do Better Than That’, and not just in the way that most people take it as. Jamie was literally saying that Cathy could do better than him, whether it be alone, or with someone else. Cathy couldn’t have continued to grow in their relationship, and neither could Jamie. They were stuck at at impasse. Their entire relationship was incredibly unhealthy and the only thing they could do was split.

Divorce is a long process. There’s countless papers to sign and lawyers to meet with, and Jamie left Cathy, not the other way around. He cheated on her and then left her. Cathy is a hundred percent getting fat alimony checks.

Jamie loved Cathy though. Jamie gave everything he had to their relationship, constantly picking Cathy up when she was down. Leaving her was probably the hardest thing Jamie did in his life, but he had to do it for both of their sakes. With Jamie gone Cathy can grow into the person she was meant to be. Neither of them will suffocate each other this way.

I just really don’t understand the people that claim that Jamie didn’t love Cathy. Everything he did was for her. He put everything he had into their relationship and got nothing out of it but being with Cathy. Even his book, the thing that drove them apart, the only thing he held above her, was dedicated to Cathy.

[gastrobrack]

Brave New World 2020 review from probably the biggest fan of the book you’ll meet in your life

(Mostly Spoiler Free) Okay so. I’ve been waiting for this show for a really long time because I absolutely love the book and it means a lot to me. My standards were admittedly pretty low because it can’t get worse than the 1998 movie, so I didn’t really mind when I saw the trailers and stuff where other people were complaining. 

TL;DR I thought the show was actually pretty enjoyable, but you have to read the book first in my opinion, or else it seems like it would be hard to follow at times. Where the show really screwed up royally was Mond’s storyline, which felt completely out of place and confusing, and when it ended up dominating the end of the final episode it just kinda ruined the story for me. The show is definitely more focused on the setting and characters than the societal predictions and themes of the novel, and for me that’s okay because we have the book to tell it better anyways.  I’d say watch it if you liked the book or are curious about it, but I don’t think it would really be enjoyable for the average viewer.

Side note: I watched this in the wee hours of the morning and some of the praise might just be the special interest talking, I’m just happy to be here and get more content

That being said, I think this show is like the Riverdale of Brave New World. However, in its defense it’s at least got the energy of the parts of Riverdale like the “epic highs and lows of high school football” and the “serial killer gene”, so it’s at least pretty funny. Personally, I knew that they would have to change a lot both to adjust for the longer runtime (around 9 hours) and to make the book enjoyable to a TV audience, because of course in the book you can have 2 chapters of exposition at the beginning and that’s not as enjoyable for a TV experience. So, let’s get into the pros and cons of the show!

PROS

-I really liked Bernard! In the book he means a lot to me personally (hell, I’m writing this while listening to my Bernard playlist) so I was of course kinda worried they might screw him up again like they did in the ‘98 movie, but I was pleasantly surprised! They did change him and divide his original personality between John and Lenina, but somehow they managed to create a new Bernard that both kept me on my toes and at the same time felt authentic and likeable! 

-Honestly, almost all the characters were done very well. They were all expanded upon in an interesting way while also staying generally pretty accurate to their book counterparts. I generally felt the same about them as I did with the novel, so I think that means they did a job well done. I think that John and Lenina were very different, but they still ultimately had the same general motivations. A lot of the cast’s interactions felt very natural, and I liked that they expanded upon Lenina and Fanny’s (or Frannie as she’s called here) friendship. 

-The show looked great, I know a lot of people really didn’t like the look of it because it wasn’t what they thought it would be when they read it, but for me that’s basically exactly what I imagined it would be. The costume designer clearly had fun making a bunch of outlandish outfits for everyone to wear and it’s all very pleasant to look at. 

-I think they did a good job fixing some of the problematic elements of the book without actually damaging the integrity of the things they were changing. For example, in the book, the savage reservation is quite literally just a native reservation, written in a way that clearly suggests Huxley didn’t really put a lot of thought into his depiction of real people. In the show, it’s a theme park where British people get to immerse themselves in the cultures of the old world, with the savages themselves being poor theme park workers reenacting events to shock and mystify the Brits. Now, admittedly, I think this makes a lot more sense as it ties into the consumerism that runs deep within their society. I know some people are mad about this because they think it’s cancel culture or something but honestly it’s not a big deal to me.

-This one might not be as important to some people, but I liked that the cast was pretty diverse, and the fact that John is the only straight one honestly made sense to me considering it would be in the World State’s best interest to encourage bisexuality amongst its citizens. Some of the characters (Helmholtz and Mond) are being played by women, and some people are kinda upset about that but I don’t really think it changed too much, although to me it is funny to think the showrunner thought he was doing something by “casting women of color to play white male characters” considering everyone I know who read the book didn’t picture either of them as white. 

-Honestly, I think the show did humor very well. It was very funny in a sort of dry way, and never felt forced or out of place. It all seemed like it naturally stemmed from the characters’ awkwardness and culture shock (on both sides) and it made me really happy as someone who loves all these characters to see them make me laugh.

CONS

-Now, I’m not usually one to complain about this too much, seeing as I love the book in a non thematic and academic context, but the message kinda got lost in all of it. I think the issues they brought up certainly were there, and could lend themselves very well to being good. The writers just focused on the entirely wrong things in the last episode, and that misguided focus completely changes the lens in which the rest of the show is retroactively viewed for me. 

-Mustapha Mond was just, where do I even begin. In the book, Mond doesn’t show up much except to provide exposition, and his position as an authoritative figure ultimately moves the plot towards the end of the novel. In the show, Mond gets this weird AI plotline that makes no sense, as in this version they have a sort of internet contact lens type system that allows them to connect to everyone else, and it is powered by said AI. The system itself doesn’t bother me as much as how poorly handled this plotline was. Not only was it completely random and was the only plotline in the show not to have some sort of roots in the events of the book, but it was extremely confusing to me. This leads into my next point, which is:

-The ending. Oh my God the ending. Now, look. I’m not gonna say much because I want this to be as spoiler free as possible, but the ending just honestly was a dumpster fire. The writers chose to focus the whole ending on the aforementioned AI plotline, despite the book providing a much more solid framework for an ending that they already seemed to be setting up. This shift in focus comes very late into the final episode, and it honestly doesn’t make any sense why the writers would really want to go this route. It feels like they were just adding things that didn’t fit into the story, and I can’t really discern why except for the possibility of setting up an unnecessary second season. I love the book, it’s my special interest, but I think I speak for everyone when I say we do not need a second season especially if its gonna be full of plotlines that make no sense and serve no purpose.  This heavily changed ending not only undermines the whole thematic purpose of the novel but honestly kind of goes actively against everything the book was trying to say in the first place. 

-They really don’t set up any of the world building, and although I caught on very quickly due to my familiarity with the book, it seems like it might get confusing for unfamiliar watchers. In the book, they explain their process for birthing and then conditioning children into their social body very in depth before they get into the actual plot and characters, and I think this show could have used some of that. Here, they talk a lot about conditioning but don’t actually explain what the conditioning is or why they have the caste system in the first place. 

-This is a minor disappointment more than anything and I didn’t actually notice till about the second episode, but there’s no more Ford talk, which is kinda disappointing cause it was pretty fun in the book. 

-Obviously it goes without saying that there’s sex in this, I mean it IS Brave New World. However, in this one, it just feels excessive and kinda just like it’s there for shock value more than anything. 

-This isn’t really a con so much as it is just a disclaimer, I know a lot of people are excited for Demi Moore as Linda and Joseph Morgan as the new character CJack60, but don’t get your hopes up too much, they don’t get to do much. If you read the book, you’d know that about Linda but I’ve seen reviewers get upset that she wasn’t in it more when she was one of the big names attached to the project. (FWIW she did a great job and I loved Linda in this whereas I didn’t in the book) As for CJack, he spends a lot of time just standing there and looking at things and doesn’t get to do much until the last 2 episodes or so. 

CONCLUSION

As someone who really loves the book’s setting and characters sometimes even more than the actual messages and predictions, I’ve always wanted an adaptation that focuses more on those elements, especially since that would make for an easier transition to the screen. Seeing this was a very nice breath of fresh air, because it embraces the inherently satirical and dare I say funny aspect of the story, as well as the characters’ individual quirks and distinct personalities. Obviously it’s not as hard hitting and important as the book, but I think those messages were better left in book form anyway. For someone like me, who loves the book with all my heart, this show honestly gave me most everything I wanted and it felt the most true to the spirit of the book’s world and characters out of any of the adaptations. I would say check out the show if you’re interested in it or enjoyed the book, but you should definitely be familiar with the book before you watch this. 

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Chasing Cars || Morgan, Remmy, & Deirdre (feat. Constance)

Morgan and Remmy go out for ice cream, but fate is cruel and so is Constance.

@deathduty, @whatsin-yourhead

CW: traffic wreckage, death

The scream cracked the air like an egg. As it spilled through the town center, Morgan froze, ears covered, bracing herself as she would against a storm. It was a sound harsher fear, fiercer than rage. It was the sound of fate and all her unfairness. When it finally passed she shivered, shaking it off her. “Yikes,” she said with nervous laughter. “Wonder who’s gonna die, huh?” Probably the old lady she’d seen passing from Regan’s apartment. Nothing to cry about, but no less chilling. Morgan wasn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to be out doing something as frivolous as getting ice cream with her friend. But getting up the energy to engage her students had been more exhausting than usual and--damnit, Constance shouldn’t get to take away ice cream on a warm spring day. She turned to Remmy. “You okay?”

Remmy was able to remove their hearing aid before the scream split their head too much, wincing only a bit as it echoed around them. They were in line for ice cream, and Remmy had brought a little container of blended brains to mix into their cup, to try it and see how it tasted. It was just supposed to be a nice afternoon, as they both just wanted some time off. And so far, it had been. But the creeping feeling inside of Remmy hadn’t gone away, for some reason. Though they weren’t usually one to ignore their instincts, they brushed the feeling off. “What, die? Oh, was that? That was a uh--” they leaned in to whisper, “banshee scream, right?” Looked around nervously, popping their hearing aid back in. Moose was quiet at their feet, despite the head tilt as the scream echoed away. If he wasn’t reacting, then it couldn’t be too bad, right? “I’m fine!” Remmy finally answered, taking another step forward in line.

“Yeah. There’s another one in town, and she doesn’t really have the hang of things like Deirdre does,” Morgan said, giving another full-body shudder. “They’re cool, in a terrifying sort of way. Whoever it is, hope it’s not something bad.” It was her turn in line for ice cream, and Morgan got herself a chocolate swirl cone, topped with a cherry. “You know, you don’t have to say you’re fine if you’re not,” she said between licks. “Everything okay at home? Or something else?”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Does Deirdre know them?” Remmy asked, watching Morgan order her cone happily, before stepping up next. They ordered a cup of vanilla with sprinkles, waiting until they were a fair distance away before pouring in the brain mush and stirring it up. Taking a bite. Not too bad. Just cold brains. “What? I-- why wouldn’t I be fine? I’m totally fine,” they said, giving a shrug. They weren’t sure what had prompted Morgan to ask that, had they been acting weird lately? They weren’t sure. They took another bite, letting it sit on their tongue this time. Moose trotted gently beside them and they took a little scoop of ice cream and let him lick it off their finger. “Everything’s fine at home. Blanche is sleeping in her bed and Nora hired someone to look after Munch. Things are pretty normal.”

“I think that’s technically classified, but what do you think?” Morgan said with a pointed look, one that went something along the lines of ‘of course she does.’ “Honestly, she’s been having a hard time about it. And it helps, being together, in the way that everything feels a little better when we’re together, but she needs other help, more time opening up to her other friends.” She tongued a chunk out of her ice cream cone and swilled up the mess with her cherry. “But we’re not here to talk about my girlfriend.” She batted her eyes at Remmy in a fake show of coyness. “You’re doing that thing where the more you insist that you’re fine the less convincing you are. And you’ve been weird the last couple time we’ve hung out, and I haven’t pushed, but--” She sighed. “If it’s not a trust thing, then what kind of thing is it? Can I at least know that?”

“What do you mean-- oh! Oh, right. Yeah.” It was like Lydia said, they were a community, the Fae. And they were careful with their identities. Remmy nodded more to themself than Morgan and took a bite. “Well, I’m glad she has you, then. She wants to take me to a cemetery soon, so I can try and talk to her then, too.” They looked over at Morgan after a moment, furrowing their brow. “Nothing’s-- nothing’s wrong. Okay? Everything is just the same as it’s always been. It’s not--” a trust thing? It...kinda was, though, wasn’t it? Ever since Morgan had pushed them away, they hadn’t quite felt the same. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t tell her about the Ring and the issues they were having with losing blocks of time to that hollow trance they equated to sleep. “It’s a nothing thing,” they finally said.

Morgan waited, still swilling her cherry over the ice cream cone while Remmy thought. For all that they insisted that she was forgiven and things could go back to the way they were before she freaked over the bootstrap worm, some wall hadn’t quite come down. And she waited patiently, and she waited not-so-patiently, but it made her cold and ill in the worst way to be right next to them and know things weren’t close to what they said they were. “Remmy, please,” she said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I care about you, you know that right? It’s clearly not a nothing thing, so--what is it?” She munched on her ice cream, brow furrowed as she tried to untangle her thoughts better. “I’d rather be honest with you than fake-happy with you. You know that, right?”

“It’s not, like, important,” Remmy said with a little force. The stirred their ice cream around, poking at a bit of brain. “It’s just-- it just is. And it’s stupid and I don’t wanna talk about it. Cause it’s not gonna help. To talk. It never helps. It just makes things worse.” Their spoon suddenly snapped, and they hadn’t even realized they’d been squeezing it. Dejected, they tossed the whole container of ice cream into the nearest trash bin and stopped walking. “Can’t we just have a nice walk?” They asked, not looking up at Morgan.

“I never said it was going to be a magic fix everything!” Morgan said. “I just think that sitting on something and pretending it isn’t there isn’t going to make anything better!” She sighed pitifully as her ice cream dripped down her hand. She’d lost the appetite for it, and it had been so sweet and satisfying only a few moments ago. She sucked her cherry off its stem and followed Remmy to the trashcan to throw hers away too. “I’d rather you be honest with me. You wouldn’t be this mad if you were fine. If I can’t help, I don’t know, let me do something! What is so bad that you can’t let me in about it?”

“It’s not-- I’m not mad,” Remmy snapped, then held themself still a moment. They needed to calm down. “I’m not mad. I’m just...I don’t know what I am, okay? I just know that, this-- this always happens. People always inevitably leave. Because I’m not, I’m not like-- interesting. Or exciting or...someone people want around. And then you, I thought you wouldn’t do that, but like….you did. And I get it, you know? I thought I was okay with it. Cause like, you had more important people in your life. So it was fine. I just wanted to help.” They flopped onto a bench, leaving room for Morgan, putting their head in their hands. “I’m not good at explaining how I feel. It just...I’m not mad.”

Morgan’s face fell as Remmy finally explained. “Oh, Rem,” she said, coming over to sit by them. “Hey--” She tugged on their shoulder and tried to get them to face her. “That wasn’t the reason I pushed you away at all. I pushed you away because you’re one of the most important people to me in this place. You were my first real friend, and you’re still my best friend, even if I’m not yours anymore. I couldn’t stomach something bad happening to you because of my curse. And it was dumb, I know now it was really, really dumb, but it seemed--the trade-off of you being still here and mad at me and maybe able to forgive me someday versus you being my friend and chopped into pieces or re-killed or tortured, or who knows what and gone--” Her voice stuck in her chest. The fear was still real, all the more so with Constance lurking who knew where, waiting to torment her some more. “It seemed worth it. You were worth it. I’d do anything for you to not be gone, and it was wrong but...but that’s what I did.”

Remmy turned to look at Morgan when she nudged their shoulder, trying to keep their expression from wavering too much. “It’s-- I mean, if it was, I-I get it, but--” But Morgan was explaining something else, instead. The words made Remmy’s heart do flips. They were important to her. The most important. Had they ever been picked first? Had they ever been the most important to someone? Remmy’s throat choked up a moment and they turned away, scrubbing a hand across their face. “I’m sorry, I’m not mad. I was never mad. I just-- it was easier, is easier, to just, to think I’m not...important. But you don’t like, you don’t have to worry about me, you know? Cause I’m like, impervious. And I-- you know I’d do anything for you, too, right? Like, anything. I don’t want you gone either. It would--” they swallowed, “it would hurt too much. I already lost so many friends, I can’t-- I don’t wanna lose you either, okay?”

“So--I’m gonna hug you. This is, like, you five-second warning so I don’t spook you, but I’m gonna hug you now okay?” Morgan’s eyes were watering from watching Remmy cry with surprise over this. She threw her arms around her friend and squeezed them tight. “Of course you’re important to me. You’d always be important. Don’t ever think you’re not--stars, Remmy, you’re the best person I know. Okay?” She wiped Remmy’s face with the back of her hand and gave them another squeeze. “And I’m gonna try. For you, and Deirdre, and me, and everyone else, I--I want us all to be good together. I don’t want to be someone who even has to think about making those choices. I just want us all to have good lives with each other. So I’m gonna figure out this whole ghost thing. And I’m not gonna do anything stupid to protect you, and I’m not gonna make you worry about losing me if I can help it.” She squeezed them again. “So uh, why don’t I get us some make-up ice cream? Maybe we can walk to the arcade before going back to the hotel? I never had enough money for video games growing up, and I never had any friends to go play those games with, so you can show me the ropes, okay?”

“I-- okay,” Remmy said quietly, leaning into the hug as Morgan wrapped her arms around them. They put their arms around her after a second and sighed. “Okay,” they said quietly, giving a little nod. “I’ll remember.” At least, they would try. They knew it would take more than just one reminder, but they would try. For Morgan, they would try. Leaning back again, they gave their best attempt at a smile. “Yeah, okay, yeah,” they agreed, “That sounds fun. I can show you all the fun old school games, like Galaga and Space Invaders. Those are my favorites. And they’re both two-player.”

Morgan beamed and gave them one more squeeze just for good measure before getting up and jogging back to the ice cream stand. “Promise you’ll remember and you got yourself a deal, Rem--no, promise you’ll remember AND you’ll tell me when you need reminding. Friends give friends reassurance whenever they need. And then: Space Invaders.” She shot Remmy a pair of finger guns: pew, pew. “What are we thinking for round two of ice cream? Maybe strawberry. Do you have any preferences?” Probably not, although it seemed nicer to ask. She took her place in the line and gave her friend a wave that said she’d be just a second.

Constance watched the little witch scamper off. Not afraid. Not repentant. Just flying off into her own little selfish world. It hadn’t been enough to hound her in public, to stalk her in her disgusting, romantic happiness, or to search for her cursed friends. It was never enough. She had given up her soul so every Bachman might understand a fraction of the pain they had caused her and it was never, never going to be enough. 

“You two look very sweet,” she said, coming near to the bench. She sat beside the witch’s friend. Looking over them, trying to see what the witch saw in them. “What does she use you for, I wonder?”

“I promise,” Remmy said softly, giving Morgan a gentle smile. “Whatever you think sounds best. I won’t be able to taste it anyway.” When Morgan scampered off, they slumped a little. They were happy to be here with her, but they wished this hadn’t all come up. Today was supposed to just be fun and easy. Suddenly, there was someone beside them. Not a real someone-- well, real in the sense of the word, but not real as in alive-- a ghost. “I-- what?” they asked, blinking. “Who- who are you? She’s not-- Morgan’s not using me. She’s-- my friend.”

Constance looked quizzically at the human--or, they couldn’t really just be human, could they? Medium, or undead, it was all the same to her. She hadn’t expected to be heard. The place where her heart should have been leapt, tingling with the spectre of warmth. She smiled at them. “My apologies, I didn’t think anyone could hear me anymore. I meant it, about you being sweet. I’ve been watching you for awhile there, I hope you don’t mind. It’s all I can do to pass the time.” That, and plan. Test the capabilities of her form. But all things in their own time. She sat atop the bench and dangled her long legs over the end. “But you’re wrong. All people like her know how to do is use. It’s in their blood.  I’d steer a little more clear of her if I were you. I might even consider doing it now.”

Remmy was confused for the moment. “I’m-- it’s, um-- okay, I guess?” They looked at her, swinging her legs, sitting on this bench as if she wasn’t see through or floating. They followed her line of sight over to Morgan, feeling that creeping feeling coming back up. “W-wait, are you-- are you Constance?” they asked suddenly, remembering Morgan had said she had escaped. “Morgan’s not-- that’s not true! Morgan is my friend, and she’s a good friend, and you should-- you should stop cursing her, or whatever! She didn’t do anything to deserve this. All she wants is to be happy. All I want is for her to be happy.”

Constance frowned in disgust. She had been loyal like that once, stupid like that once, and all it had done was bring her here, into this world that neither recognized nor cared for her existence. A world of smoke and iron and cruelty. “She doesn’t deserve you,” she said, rising up and walking backwards, lazy and ambling as she phazed through passers by. “She doesn’t deserve any of this. Whatever you are, you’re owed more than another weak, selfish Bachman girl.” Constance swelled with rage as she went on. The shine on this creature’s disbelief, their pure, foolhardy courage--no one had ever looked at her like that before. Not in her whole life. It wasn’t just. And just like that, the game wasn’t fun anymore. Constance didn’t want to see Morgan Beck merely suffer; he wanted to see her pay. 

Morgan didn’t see the brakes come loose from the ice cream stand or the lights flicker backwards from yellow to green on the crosswalk nearby. She was getting vanilla for Remmy and a scoop of strawberry for herself. Another cherry on top, with juice dripping down the side in a morbid sort of way that made her reach for her phone to send a picture of it to Deirdre. She noticed the gulls overhead, and a shiver through her body that came from the wrong direction to be from the wind. She didn’t even have time to consider what it might have been until everything happened at once. 

The cart burst into motion as if it had been pushed. The cars, starting and stopping on their brakes with confusion honked their horns, starling a boy on his skateboard, who fell and took down a large banner advertising a stargazing group with him, and just as it fell over Morgan, who batted it off her head as best she could, the ice cream cart caught one end of the string in its wheels and dragged like a bright spotted tail into the street where the cars, confident again, revved forwards, too sudden and too late to fix their mistake. 

Morgan saw the pieces in the quiet terrible moment before they came together. There was an eerie elegance to it, a sense of fingers plucking at threads with a cruel sense of humor. Morgan’s brow pinched in confusion. That can’t be right, was all she thought. “Hey, Re--” The line on the fallen banner, still trailing away, caught around her ankle. She looked down and the world broke open and her body crashed to the ground. 

There was something to be said about instinct, but Remmy couldn’t think of it. They turned on the bench as Constance stood up and started walking away, phasing right through everything in her way. Confused and slightly angered by what she was saying, Remmy stood, as if to give chase, when a chilling wind passed by. The hairs on their arms stood on end and a tingle went straight up their spine. Their head turned sharply to look back towards Morgan, as if just knowing that’s where they were supposed to be looking-- just in time to watch the cart snap. It sailed towards the street, which was furious and loud with honking and confusion and road rage. Remmy watched with mute horror as a car swerved to avoid hitting another, but it was too late. The bumper collided with the side and the two metal machines crumpled like paper. 

“Morgan…” they said, almost a whisper at first. “Morgan.” A little louder, eyes searching wildly for her. “Morgan!” There she was, she was standing, there was a banner near her. Another loud squeal of wheels. Remmy was vaulting over the bench and towards her, down the sidewalk. A car, swerving to avoid traffic, jumped the curve. No one saw it coming, not even Remmy. It all happened at once. 

“MORGA--” they tried one more time, eyes wide as the string snagged her leg. She was pulled directly towards the street, feet taken out from under her. Straight towards the wreckage, which had been shoved up from the road and onto the sidewalk by other cars attempting in fury to stop before becoming another part of the pile unsuccessfully. 

Remmy didn’t see what happened next. Just like when Deirdre had shoved them in front of that taxi, Remmy’s body bent, but did not break. But this time, the car kept going, only stopping when the metal post behind it ripped through the front end of the car, Remmy’s body stuck pressed between the fence and the destroyed bumper. Losing momentary consciousness for the first time since… Blinking, Remmy looked up. “Morgan,” they called out weakly, tears already in their eyes. They didn’t know why. “Morgan!?” a little louder, a little more alarmed. “Morgan?” There, on the ground, on the sidewalk. She was laying on her back, and something was-- oh no. 

“MORGAN!” Remmy screamed.

Morgan opened her eyes at the sound of her name. She remembered her leg falling out from under her, that she’d tried to brace herself on her arm, that her head hurt, but how-- pain throbbed inside her. She hurt. Why did she hurt this bad? What had-- Morgan tried to pick herself up. Her body made a wet, sticky sound as another jolt of pain swallowed her. She cried out, unable to swallow it back. “Oh, shit…” she whispered. There was a metal rod running through her body, pinning her chest to the ground, and a bumper trapping her lower half in place. She twitched her legs--sore, but moving. She just couldn’t get up. She was bleeding and stuck and she couldn’t get up. “R-remmy?” She called. “Remmy…” She pawed the ground in a panic, searching for her phone. Hadn’t she been holding her phone? Her fingers closed around the sharp edge of a headlight and she cried out again. “Remmy, help!”

Remmy’s ability to block out everything else except what they were focused on was astounding. They’d learned how to do it in boot camp and being in the spec ops had helped them hone it. So when people ran up to them, trying to keep them calm. They didn’t even hear them. When people started emerging from their cars and calling the police, they didn’t even notice. The driver of the car pinning them was dead, and they didn’t even know. Hearing aid destroyed, glass eye gone, they didn’t even notice. All they saw was Morgan. Metal wrapped around her like a blanket. A shard of it jutted up directly from her abdomen. They couldn’t see it, but they knew. Clawing at the car, they summoned all their strength-- but couldn’t move it. They’d just eaten-- why had they done that? They couldn’t be strong enough now. They weren’t strong enough now. Whimpering, Remmy pushed, then, against the pole. There was a ripping, a tearing-- of cloth, of skin, of muscle. They screamed, it hurt, but they had to get to Morgan. The people around them screamed as well-- “Stop it! Don’t Move! Oh MY GOD!”-- but they didn’t listen. They just needed to get to Morgan. If they could get to her, they could save her. 

With a final shove, Remmy ripped themself free, falling to the ground. Whatever was missing would grow back, and they didn’t stop to look. Dragged themself towards Morgan as fast as possible. Sirens sounded in the distance. “Morgan!” they called out, finally collapsing next to her. “Morgan, I’m-- I’m here. I’m here. I’m gonna--” they turned to look at the metal trapping her. Shoved against it, but it didn’t budge. They weren’t strong enough. Tears clouded their eyes. “I’m gonna get you outta here, okay? I’m gonna get you outta here.” Shoved against it again, crying out as bones bent. “It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be--” words falling short as they turned to look back at her, face smeared with blood and bruises and dirt. Their body quivered. “I’m gonna save you, I promise.”

“Remmy! Remmy, I can’t--” Morgan’s breath caught when she saw how badly her friend had been hurt. They were muscle and blood around their abdomen, and not much more than raw muscle around their calf. It was growing back in a way she couldn’t bear to see. She turned and tried to slide herself out from under the bumper again, but her arm caught on more glass and she screamed out. She couldn’t be trapped. She couldn’t be trapped. Deirdre hadn’t screamed for her, so she couldn’t be. “We have to figure--something out---” She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. There was something metallic in her throat, clogging her words. “We have to Remmy, okay? Please? Please okay? Maybe if you can just...clear the glass, I can--” She tried to shift, testing the idea preemptively, and upset the rod in her abdomen. The pain went through her eyes, shooting holes into her vision as she screamed. Blood puddled out from her chest, soaking through her clothes. There was still away. There had to still be a way. She settled back to where she lay, panting, gritting her teeth against the panic. “I am not dying like this,” she whispered. “I’m not. I can’t. So, do you--what do you think I can do to help?” She looked over at Remmy, eyes pleading. 

“The glass,” Remmy repeated, hanging onto every little thing they could, “I’ll clear--” they couldn’t even think in full sentences anymore, dragging themself over and scraping the glass away with bare hands, shards digging into their skin, but doing nothing to cause them pain. They looked around again. “I’ll just-- I’ll move this-- and we’ll. We can keep-- th-the-- keep it in so you don’t bleed more. No! S-stop. Stop moving. I can. I’ll fix this,” they stuttered along, kicking at the bumper that was pinning her to the ground. It barely moved. Why weren’t they strong enough? They kicked again. “It’s fine. You’re not-- don’t say that. I’m gonna-- I’m here. I’m gonna save you.” Desperation kicking in, they grabbed another piece of metal that had been lying on the ground and stuck it under the bumper. “I’m gonna try and lift this, you just-- when your legs are free, move them, okay? And then we’ll-- the ambulance will be here and they’ll get you and it’ll be okay. Okay?” 

“You are,” Morgan panted, nodding furiously. “I know you are. I know. I know. You can--” She whimpered as her body gave another shiver, upsetting everything sticking through her like so many needles in a cursed doll. She braced herself, getting her legs ready, but Remmy only moved the bumper up by a few inches, and there was hardly anywhere for her to crawl to. She managed to shift one a little, scraping herself along the pavement as she did, but the hurt was drowning her and she had to stop, gasping with sobs. 

All around her was wreckage. Blood smeared in asphalt tinted puddles, scraps of metal like teeth flung in different directions. There were other screams, other cries and shouts of anger. It had all happened so fast, a stupid, freak accident like the rest that had come before. She had just wanted to get out for a little while, to feel normal. She’d been with her best friend. She’d been safe. And she hadn’t been told this was how it ended, so it couldn’t-- And then Morgan saw a dark figure at the end of the road.

“Oh,” she whimpered. The truth hit suddenly, cold and absolute. “Oh no…No...”

She would know Deirdre anywhere, even from a distance. In her favorite plum-colored dress and her leather jacket, she was like something out of her best dreams. But there was only one reason she could know to be here, only one reason she could be rushing to her with this much purpose. The scream. “Oh, stars….” Morgan cried, mouth trembling. It was too soon. She was supposed to have at least til the fall, at least until the leaves turned, she’d never seen leaves turn in fall before. It wasn’t time, it wasn’t right. “No,” she whimpered again. “The scream. I’m--I’m--shit--I’m not gonna make it, Remmy…”

Scream? What was Morgan talking about? The thought hit Remmy like a ton of bricks. Oh, right. The scream they’d heard earlier. It hadn’t been Regan, had it? Remmy’s hands trembled. “No,” they said, shaking their head, “no, it’s not. It can’t be.” But it was, wasn’t it? The defeated look in Morgan’s eyes, her skin already so pale. Blood pooled beneath her, around her, on her. She was dying. She was dead. It didn’t matter if the ambulance was here. Morgan was dead. Remmy broke down into sobs next to her, dropping the metal rod. “No, no, no, no no.” They cried curling up next to her. “No, you can’t. You promised,” they sobbed. “You said-- you said you were going to fight and stay and get better. You said. You promised. You can’t break a promise.” It was happening all over again. Remmy was going to lose the most important people to them all over again. A great sickness began swirling inside of them, making them woozy, lightheaded. They couldn’t let Morgan die-- they’d promised Deirdre they’d keep her safe, and they couldn’t let Morgan die-- they just couldn’t. 

The realization came to them quietly as they cried next to Morgan, sick and somehow tired. They slipped their hand down to her free one clenched. They hadn’t been able to save anyone back then, but they could now. Slowly, Remmy brought Morgan’s arm up to their mouth. This time, they could save her.

Deirdre heaved. Her lungs burned twice; once with the force of the scream that she couldn’t stop from tearing apart her office building, and then with all her sprinting to the scene. She’d kicked off her heels as soon as she hit the pavement. She didn’t bother to pick off the tiny shards of glass that jutted from her hair or skin or clothing or any part of the places it struck her. She ran as fast as she could, as soon as she could, and came to find it wasn’t fast enough. The scene in front of her was exactly like her vision, bent street sign and all. And for all the death she’d seen, none of it could have prepared her for this. She wasn’t just slow, she was too late. 

“Morgan!” Deirdre screeched, dashing towards the wreckage a moment later. “Remmy--Rem--Get away from her!” Morgan wasn’t dead yet, but she would be soon, and the last thing she needed was Remmy trying to eat her. “Get---Morgan!” Deirdre ran to her girlfriend, skidding across the ground on her knees--now torn by the force of the gravel beneath her. Her hands reached for her body first, trying to stop bleeding she knew she couldn’t, the faint sting of Morgan’s blood on her bare skin. Shakily, she reached for her face, cradling it, brushing back strands of misplaced hair. “H-hey,” she swallowed thickly, unable to stop the stream of tears that lined her face. “Y-you said ‘a while’. We could have this for--” Her voice was choked by a sob. Morgan said a lot of things; that she’d stay inside, that she’d stay safe, that she’d end her curse and fight Constance. Deirdre knew this would happen, and yet-- ”It--um--it--” And yet, she wept. 

Morgan couldn’t scrounge up any bravery in the face of Deirdre’s tears. Her face crumpled in her soft hands and she pressed in with what was left of her strength. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean...for any of...I want to stay...can you…” It was getting harder to breathe. The liquid in her lungs was swallowing half her words. “Can you stay? I didn’t mean...for any of this...” Deirdre’s face blurred behind her tears but if this was it, if this was the last thing she ever knew, ever felt, maybe the universe could at least let her die held by the people that mattered to her. And if Deidre couldn’t fully forgive her, maybe she could pretend, just for now. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Deirdre repeated over and over again, growing softer with each repetition. All she wanted was more time, all she’d asked this world for was more time with Morgan. She should have known better than to hope, her mother warned her of the dangers of putting her faith in life. “Don’t be sorry,” she mumbled, pressing her forehead to Morgan’s. She tried to thumb away her tears, finding them simply replaced with more. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.” Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s, gently and gone all too quick. “Don’t speak, my love. You don’t have to speak now; I’ll stay. Rest. You can rest now.” And that was all death was, wasn’t it? The best thing it could be, even if it was taking the most precious thing Deirdre had known. She was born into this, raised to know this one truth of the world; that everything had its eventual end. Whatever good there was, it laid limp in her arms, in the slowly withering form of a woman who should have received what little kindness this world could offer. She pulled her head back just enough to offer a weak smile. “I love you.” Foolish as hope was, she hoped for once those words that never were enough, could be just that. 

Morgan’s breath wheezed, rapid as if she’d been running for miles, for as long as she could remember. Deirdre’s arms were cold as the depths of that pool in Karen’s back yard, that beckoned her to stay and be still. She opened her mouth to speak again, to explain that she had everything to be sorry for, that she would do everything the same if it was the only way to have her at all, that if they had been a twist in Constance’s curse all along it made no difference, horrible as that might sound. She tried, and coughed, wheezing and red. “S-stay…” she whined again, desperate and scared. “I..I lov..” her voice hinged and she winced. She looked at Deirdre and reached for the will to breathe and try again. The rhythm slipped further out of her grasp each time, but she tried. In. Hold. Out. Tried again. In. Hold. Out. Again. In--

Remmy had been yanked backwards before they were ready to let go, but hadn’t fought when they saw it was Deirdre. Whatever worry she had about them, it wasn’t true. But the painful desperation in her voice made them sit silently, hand still clutched in Morgan’s. They refused to let go, staring at the painful red welt growing on her arm as the two confessed their deepest sorrows to each other. Tears clouded their eyes as they watched. It was painful now, in this moment, even though it would be okay later. It still felt painful. Watching someone die. A small flash of their own raced through Remmy’s head-- laying in Darius’ arms, looking at up his face, begging him to run, to save himself-- and they felt more tears pour out of their eye, the other still clenched shut, dried, caked, dead blood on their cheek. Fresh, smeared alive blood covering their hands and shirt and chest. Morgan’s. Her hand finally went cold, her breathing stopped, and Remmy let out the stress they’d been holding, collapsing to the ground next to Deirdre and Morgan, before pushing themself back up. “Deirdre,” they said quietly, nudging her, “we have to move her.” They looked over at Deirdre, somehow still worn. “Deirdre.” But she wasn’t budging. “Deirdre, we have to move her before she wakes up.”

[purplesurveys]

725

Your name? Robyn. Age? Just turned 22. Ugh, I’ve finally reached the point where future ages – other than 30/40/50 etc – won’t be much of a milestone anymore. I can hear Monica Geller tell me, “welcome to the real world, it sucks.” Gender? Identify as female. Ethnic background? I usually just say Filipino to make it easier but technically I’m mostly Tagalog with a bit of Mangyan and Ilokano and I think Bulakeño? in me. What do you like the most about your ethnic background? It’s hard to find anything to be proud of from being Filipino sksksk I like our cuisine I guess? Especially the seafood?

The least? It’s not something I dislike directly about our own background, because what I like the least is the hundreds of years of colonization by four different nations that led to the near-complete wipeout of our native culture and the severe colonial effects that followed. The reason I find it so hard to rack my brain for stuff about our ‘ethnic background’ is because everything about it has already been penetrated by Spanish, English, Japanese, or American influence, even down to how well I can speak English right now. It’s almost impossible to look for something that’s ours. Who is your favorite golf player? I’ve never liked watching golf. Whats your favorite kind of gold? (White, Yellow, Rose, Traditional) Rose gold looks pretty. Would you rather wear turquoise pants or purple? Highkey would not wear either of these but if it came down to it, purple. Would you ever go on a jungle safari? I kind of already did. It was a lot of fun and I would rather keep going to safaris if I wanted to see wild animals as it’s a much lesser evil than zoos. If you saw a UFO what would you do? Hope my fingers are quick enough and immediately take a video. What color is your mailbox? We don’t have one. Mailmen just place it by the handle of our screen door. Are you taller than your Mom? No, I’m the smallest one in the family. Who is your meanest friend? I never really counted Patrice as a friend but she’s been the least nice acquaintance I remember having. Her attitude is actually the reason I hadn’t seen her as a friend, so that said I wouldn’t really be befriending anyone who I thought isn’t very nice. Have you ever thought about suicide? Yeah, well I’m not exactly the most mentally well person durrrr. I don’t think of it as often as I used to, but it’ll cross my mind more or less once a month. Have you ever broken a pinata? I’ve never had that experience before actually. I’ve only seen it in cartoons. Who loves Orange Soda? I don’t like soda, period. Where did you go the last time you used public transportation? I dunno if it counts because the jeep just goes around the campus hahaha but I took a jeep coming from CAL going to CMC, my home college. My dad accidentally drove the car I was gonna use that day so I had to book a Grab (our local Uber; also I can’t do public transpo for long distances hence the private car, heh) going to school, and then the campus jeeps to go from one class to another. If you were to start a band what would you name it? Never hire me to name stuff. Would you rather spend a year in the abyss or outer space? Outer space. It’s where I’ve always wanted to go anyway. I fear for my sanity if I wind up in the abyss. Do you know someone who has shot off a part of their own body? No but I know someone who had been shot (or stabbed? I can’t remember but he was attacked); it was my Kuya’s close friend. What TV shows stick out from your childhood? Mr. Bean, Pokemon, SpongeBob, Jimmy Neutron, Drake and Josh, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, That’s so Raven, to name a few. What is/was for dinner tonight? No idea yet. My dad usually whips something up at the last minute but it always turns out so so good. What’s really the best cure for a hangover? FRIED CHICKEN and I will die on this hill. Do you eat the stems of broccoli? Oooh I don’t think that’s been served to me before actually. I’m not opposed to trying them though cause broccoli’s my favorite vegetable. How many cavities do you have? I had a couple before but they’ve since been fixed at the dentist. Have you ever given money to a bum? Yes I always give them money ranging from ₱10 to ₱20, and biscuits if I have some in my bag, if they knock on my window. If you found 100 dollars on the floor of a church what would ya do with it? If I found it in a church I’d absolutely run the fuck away with the money lmao. Is your head a fun place to be in? I’m a bit of a workaholic and am always thinking about the next thing to accomplish, so tbh I imagine it looking like Spongebob’s brain HAHAHAHA as in exactly this shot

What is your favorite word? Poignant to me sounds and looks the way it means, which is so satisfying. Why is going to poop such a social taboo? We covered a bit of this in my anthropology class last semester and our prof shared a theory that says our body is in and of itself clean but once substances exit the body they’re seen as impure and already dirty - which is why we’ll have no problem talking about the circulatory system but many tend to faint if they cut their finger too much and see blood leaking out of them. Same explanation goes with poop, saliva, sweat, etc. I’m too lazy to check my notes if every bit of this is accurate, but the impure/dirty is the one I remember to be correct. Who is your worst enemy? Don’t really like the idea of enemies per se but after Marielle betrayed my trust twice I vowed to never speak with her again, and I never have. When was the last time you passed gas? I don’t like farting. If I feel one coming I suppress it on purpose. Do you eat raw hot dogs? No, that sounds so nasty. Do you ever speak out loud what you should be typing? Eh, sometimes and only if I’m by myself. It’s not a habit though. Do you own a squirt gun? We call them a water gun here but it used to be one of my favorite toys from childhood. I don’t own one anymore as I largely don’t need them. Do you like the Subway $5 footlong? I don’t really eat Subway. What is the last thing you ate with Marshmallow in it? Hate marshmallows. I always remove it if it had been added to the food I’m eating. Would you rather live in a shack on the beach or a mansion in Ohio? I love you beach, but I’m taking the damn mansion lol. Do you believe that zombies could really invade the Earth? I don’t think zombies could ever surface naturally but at some point in the distant future, when technology and human knowledge advance enough and if someone was ambitious enough to use such knowledge for the worse, I feel like some chemical or substance causing someone to become a zombie could be made. Idk, people have come up with crazy shit from science that were initially thought to be impossible so for me I’m not ruling out zombies or at least a milder version of them haha. If you were to buy a boat what would you name it? Margo, as an homage to Margo Martindale’s role from BoJack Horseman. Who is your internet provider? PLDT. What has the tv show two and a half men taught you? Nothing, because I’ve never watched an episode. What’s something you’re not supposed to be doing right now? Not thinking about my unfinished thesis. I should definitely be thinking about it right now lol. What’s hotter topless or pantless? A bit TMI considering the time ksksks but topless for me. What would you do if you found a four leaf clover? I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean (but I wanna say it means good luck?) so maybe I’ll just take a photo of it heh. Miami Dolphins or NY Jets? I don’t even know what sport these teams belong to. What is your favorite kind of instant popcorn? I don’t like popcorn, so it’s a pass for me. Do you pay attention to the expiration dates on food? Yeah I check on them quite often since I once had a terrible experience drinking spoiled milk; but I’ve also been told by my dad that the expiration dates don’t necessarily mean spoilage and molds and all that nasty crap, and that the date just means by when the product’s quality will slowly start to decrease, like if chips start to get tougher to chew or if a chocolate bar becomes less sweet. It’s a source of relief, but I’m still paranoid about expiration dates overall. What ringtone is on your phone? Just the ones Apple provides. What odd thing do you wish you were doing right now? Driving in circles around the village just to enjoy the outside world :( Are you a smoker? Socially. How do you feel about not being able to smoke in a lot of bars? I don’t mind it. I’m not desperate to smoke ever.

[evanescentform]

Anybody Want A Piece of Popcorn? | Shiloh & Nadia

Shiloh wasn’t sure how to prepare her house. She said cats were okay so that meant Jiji could stay and not be stuck in her parents’ home. Drinks? Shiloh had some alcohol chilled just in case. She didn’t drink soda so it would literally only be water or gatorade. She hoped Nadia liked either of them. Or brought her own! Shiloh had said she could bring whatever she liked. Shiloh knew she liked her popcorn with certain toppings that might not be what she liked. Either way, they could figure this out when they were both in the room. The TV was already set up on YouTube whenever they were ready to start the movie. While she was fixing up the couch, there was a knock at her door. Jiji moved between her legs. “It’s a friend, Jiji boy. Be cool.” She said and then walked over to her door, opening it, giving Nadia a small wave and letting her step inside. “It’s nice to meet you in person.”

So, Nadia had never actually done this before. Just, like, gone over to someone’s house to hang out and watch a movie. Suffice to say, she didn’t quite know what to do, and she’d sat in her car for about five minutes outside Shiloh’s house planning out what she was going to say. It wasn’t weird! Being prepared was important, and knowing what to say was even more so. Being prepared was one of the ways that Nadia had always used to try and combat anxiety; it was much, much easier to go into a situation if things were planned out. So, grabbing the box of popcorn and a pack of Milk Duds that she’d gotten to go along with it, she headed to the door and knocked. She smiled when Shiloh introduced herself, taking in the other woman’s soft accent. “It’s nice to meet you, too! So, I brought, like, a thing of the microwave popcorn? Because I didn’t know how much, and I was going to bring wine, but I didn’t know if you drank because some people don’t and,” she was going off script. She scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah.” She looked down and saw a cat, most likely Shiloh’s, and she relaxed a little. Cats were much easier than words. “Cute cat.”

Shiloh chuckled at the box of popcorn before taking it off her hands. “That’s a lot of popcorn, but it’s fine. More for us right.” She opened the box to pull out the packets of popcorn. “I do drink. I have some alcohol in the fridge. I have a few beers and some wine, so go ahead and grab whatever you’d like.” Shiloh motioned to the fridge as she started to open a packet of popcorn. The crinkling caught her cat’s attention and he jumped onto the island. She glanced over at Nadia. “Oh yeah, that’s Jiji. He’s a little shy but food tends to make him bold.” She held out the bag of popcorn kernels to him. He gave it a sniff. “Oh, sorry, it’s a habit.” She let out a little nervous laugh. “I let him sniff whatever is in my hands. He doesn’t get a taste, but I encourage his curiosity.” She shrugged after, knowing it probably sounded weird. She put the first packet in the microwave and turned it on as she moved to open the next one. It was fair that they’d have their own popcorn right?

Nadia felt her brain short circuit at the thought that she’d brought too much popcorn, but Shiloh seemed to think that it was more humorous than anything, so she let herself relax a bit. “I also brought Milk Duds? I usually don’t eat them, but they’re, like, a classic movie candy. And they pair well with popcorn.” She went over to the fridge to grab a beer. Was this, like, a thing? She had no idea how to act in another person’s home in this capacity. As she opened it and grabbed one, she looked back at Shiloh. “Would you like one, too?” She watched as the other woman let Jiji sniff the popcorn bag. It was cute. She smiled. “Don’t apologize. He’s adorable. And you could’ve told me that it was, like, proper animal care to let them do that, and I’d have taken your word for it. I never had pets. Wanted them. Was actually going to get a puppy with my college roommate, but things have a way of not working out. He’s precious, though, and it’s cool that you encourage him.”

“What are milk duds? I’ve never had them if I’m being honest.” Shiloh pulled one of the popcorn bags out, giving it a little shake before putting the other one in. “Oh and yes, please I wouldn’t mind a beer.” Shiloh thought about the milk duds. Milk candy? Milk chocolate. Ooh, American chocolate is so sweet, her mother loved it. She was willing to try it. Shiloh looked over at Jiji who was sitting up on the counter, but his head was lowered, his eyes on Nadia. He seemed to be okay with her presence for now but who’s to say something won’t make him run off. “Oh, I’m sorry you couldn’t get a puppy. I never had a pet before I moved here. He just showed up on our doorstep one day and we were like okay why not! Sometimes he goes into my parents house just over there but if I’m home, he stays here.” The microwave beeped and Shiloh went to grab some big bowls to pour them in. “So do you eat your popcorn with the milk duds?”

“Milk Duds are like… little balls of caramel wrapped in milk chocolate,” Nadia said as she grabbed Shiloh a beer. She twisted the caps off the glass bottles like she’d been doing since she was in college and set one of them on the counter for Shiloh. Since she was kind of close to him, she looked over at Jiji and gently held her drink out for him to see if he wanted to sniff it. “Oh, it’s fine. She moved away, and I was kind of a mess in college, so I couldn’t have taken care of a puppy by myself. Jiji’s adorable though, and it’s kind of sweet that he was the one that picked you.” She remembered the Milk Duds again. “Oh, right, I mean, it’s kind of an acquired taste, but I like mixing them in with popcorn. It’s kind of a weird but good sweet and salty combination. You’re welcome to try it.”

Shiloh watched as Nadia offered Jiji a beer. She didn’t dare move, seeing Jiji move his head back as Nadia neared but seemed to let his curiosity get the best of him and he took a sniff, even giving the cool bottle a lick. “Look at this alcoholic,” Shiloh joked and continued pouring the popcorn into two bowls. She handed one to Nadia, exchanging it for the beer. “How long ago was this?” She asked, not sure how old Nadia was. Shiloh was bad with guessing ages. “It’s not really weird. Sweet and salty is really good. You might find mine kind of weird.” Shiloh chuckled as she reached into her pantry and grabbed a bottle of seasoning. “It’s seaweed and fish flakes and salty and really good. A friend of mine got me into it when I lived in Japan. You’re welcome to try it as well.”

Nadia laughed at Shiloh calling Jiji an alcoholic, trying to imagine the poor cat drunk. It seemed so silly. She popped a piece of popcorn in her mouth, trying to think about how long it had been since she and Brooke had talked about getting a dog. It was a couple of months into the start of the blackouts, rather infrequent at the time. Probably the beginning of junior year? Maybe the end of sophomore year. Then she had to actually remember how old she was. “Oh, about seven-ish years ago. Feels like it wasn’t that long ago, though.” She scrunched up her nose at the mention of fish. “Fish and I are not friends, but I’ll definitely take your word for it.” She shook a handful of Milk Duds out of the package and ate a few.

“Oh no, but it’s so good!” Shiloh didn’t know how someone could not like fish but she accepted it albeit a little sad. “Well, if you want to try it you can.” Shiloh said as she started to shake the seasoning onto the popcorn. Jiji seemed more interested and walked to the edge of the island trying to get close to her popcorn. “Hey,” she said and turned around. “This isn’t for you.” She looked over at Nadia, smiling. Jiji was going to make everyone find out that Shiloh feeds her cat people food and that’s why he’s so large. “I feed him and he still acts like he hasn’t eaten all day. Can you believe it?”

Nadia didn’t exactly want to admit that most of her hatred for fish stemmed from being bullheaded as a child, so she went for the safer option. “I have been personally victimized by creatures of the seafood variety. It’s gonna sound kind of dumb, but between being chased by giant lobsters and almost getting a concussion from falling fish, I don’t think I could eat anything fish related without feeling an unholy rage.” Not that Nadia even believed she was capable of such anger, but seafood also reminded her of her dad, who wanted it whenever they got the chance, even though that wasn’t often in hotter-and-drier-than-hell Arizona. She laughed at Shiloh and Jiji, though, enjoying their antics. “He’s incredible. I’d probably spoil him if he looked at me like that.”

Shiloh chuckled at Nadia’s reasoning but felt bad for doing so. “Oh god, if anything you should take great satisfaction that you’re eating the fish that have bothered you for so long!” At least, that’s how Shiloh kind of felt, but she didn’t want to say, a bit embarrassed by that. Still, she respected Nadia’s preference. She wouldn’t make her eat fish if she didn’t want to. It was just a slight bummer, since she enjoyed seafood. “Phew, I’m glad you understand. He’s so freaking cute - he looks at me and I can’t help but give him a bit of what I’m eating. It’s a real problem.” She said as she took a popcorn and gave it to him. Happy with his prize, Jiji took it and ran off the table. “But he gets his exercise. Goes outside. That should be good, right?” Shiloh said, laughing as she finished, knowing it wasn’t exactly best to have a cat go outside. “Anyway, we should probably watch the movie, yeah?” She began to walk over to her couch, popcorn and beer in hand.

As they watched the movie, Nadia let herself relax and enjoy herself. Shiloh was wonderful and kind and good with animals, and she was funny, and she’d invited a stranger to come watch a movie that she’d never seen just because it seemed interesting? Nadia tried not to talk during the movie (she’d always hated when people did that), but she definitely mouthed along with the words. When they finished, she helped Shiloh clean up, and, before she headed out, she stopped at the door. “Hey, I had, like, a really good time. We should do this again. Next time, my place? With a movie that you pick? You can even bring Jiji, if you’d like. I kind of adore him.” She tried not to come off as nervous as she felt. Since coming to White Crest (since realizing that life was too short to spend it hiding behind a book), she was trying so hard to make friends, and she liked Shiloh. She wanted them to hang out again. 

The movie was great; Shiloh couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. Definitely one of the top movies out there. She asked a few questions but hoped it wasn’t annoying. It was so cute to see Nadia recite the lines to the movie at times. She was thankful Nadia helped her clean even if it wasn’t a lot. Mainly Jiji asking for popcorn and then leaving pieces on the floor. He was a messy eater. Shiloh nodded and gave a smile. “Yeah for sure, sounds fun.” She looked down at the cat who appeared to be interested in moving between her legs before making a dash for the outside since the door was open. “I guess he wanted to get a head start.” She chuckled and looked back to Nadia, knowing he’ll come in time. “Have a good night.”

[show-me-your-rocks]

I grew up in what I thought was a normal house and maybe it was. But after self exploration and my wife and some shows helping me to see how I’ve been broken over the years, I’m seeing what I experienced probably wasn’t normal. I’m journaling as a form of free therapy.

My first memory was from daycare when I was 3. I remember watching Rugrats, one of my favorite shows when I was little, and another kid came up from behind me and pushed me over. I fell forward. This seems like a good analogy for my life. I’m standing there minding my own business and an external force comes and messes that up. That’s probably normal to think you did nothing wrong when you actually did do something wrong and you just don’t know what it was yet.

I grew up with my mom and dad, older brother, and a house full of plants and animals. My mom and dad met in college and were at least in love at first. By the time I can remember anything about them, all I can remember is hatred for each other. That’s probably normal. They did sleep in the same bed when I was young but then I remember my dad moving to the couch and then eventually another room because of his snoring, from what I could gather. I rarely remember them either saying they loved each other or kissing. My mom would tell me she loved me all the time and my dad would do it if prompted. My mom would also tell me all the time that she was divorcing my dad as soon as I graduated high school. I was around 7 when I first remember her saying this to me. Imagine hearing almost all your life that your parents hated each other and that your mom wanted to leave. I can imagine a lot of parents have the same feelings for each other as mine did but it felt kinda crazy that my mom would dump this on a first grader. I didn’t know what to do with it. As far as I remember I just said ok like it was normal. What else do you say to that?

My dad was there but not really. I was supposed to be a girl and so was my older brother actually. Can you imagine not feeling wanted but the guy is there everyday to give you that vibe? I was nothing like him in his eyes. I don’t look like him (thank god) but I’m tall and built like him. I got his damn crazy eyebrows which are a painful reminder we’re related. I was into cars and it took me a while to get into football which was one of his passions. We didn’t watch them together. I hated him almost my whole life and I felt the same from him. He saw me as a competitor for my mom’s attention and acted like a child. Other family members saw this like my wonderful great aunt who was basically my grandmother.

She was the only one who I saw frequently and gave me that kind of love. She was such a wonderful and loving figure in my life and always made me feel like I was so special and a joy to be around. It was never a chore to drive the couple hours to go see her a few times a year. She died a few years ago on Mother’s Day of all days. It took me a long time to delete the last voicemail I had from her which was her calling me to wish me happy birthday.

My brother was almost a decade older than me and was the troublesome older child. He paved the way for me to not get in trouble but I was also nothing like him growing up so my mom saw no reason to put the same kind of rules on me that they needed with him. At times he served this kind of hybrid brother and dad taking me to football and baseball games. We always had kind of a weird relationship and I remember my mom telling me that some psychologist said that we were essentially only children. I don’t know where she heard that but she doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to take her kids to therapy.

So to recapture all that’s happened so far. I have a dad who doesn’t really want me and makes it pretty well known and he also competes with his own son for attention, a mom who dumps too much on her own son and is a bit much with the attention at times, and a brother who doesn’t even really register as a brother, but sometimes as a father.

Put that together with someone who was tall and big and I never really grew up defending myself, so guess what I don’t do? Yup, I let people walk all over me and use a lot of patience even though my wife says I shouldn’t because people don’t deserve it. Imagine that episode of SpongeBob where Plankton teaches him to stand up for himself. I’m SB and my wife is Plankton. Another kid’s show character I identify with is Steven Universe. In SU Future there’s an episode where he tells the gems they think he’s some great person who got better and he’s only gotten worse and he’s a fraud and a monster. I cried because of how real that felt to me. My wife thinks I’m like him because he’s wonderful and does nice things for people all the time and I see the comparison in that I’m silly and don’t think things through and mess things up and make things worse trying to fix them.

I feel like such an imposter all the time. I’m a husband, father, and I have a PhD. None of these feel real to me and though I hear from others, especially my wife, that I’m great, I’m not. She says I’m a great husband but I fuck up all the time and I try to do better but I’m a shit listener and it infuriates her. Simple things I just cannot do it seems. As a dad I do stuff for my daughter. I change diapers all the time and do bath time by myself sometimes. But I feel like I’m not there enough for her in other ways when she needs me. I’m really good at doing the stupid stuff that doesn’t matter a whole lot but I feel like if I’m called up to the plate I strike out. I have a PhD but I barely have any publications and do so little I feel like a failure. I just got hired to this big director job doing some cool things in a few months and I pulled the wool over there eyes. I have some good ideas but they’ll see I am a fraud soon and I worry what will happen then.

These kinds of thoughts lead me to suicidal thoughts. They mainly stem from the fact I don’t love myself. My wife and I watch RuPauls Dragrace and the end of the show always ends with RuPaul asking if you can’t love yourself how in the hell you gonna love somebody else and I don’t love myself but I love my wife and daughter and our pets so much. I remember driving home from work once and I was at a red light and I had a thought for how to deal with some students and I thought hey that’s a good idea, it might work. Then I thought no it won’t, it’s a stupid idea and you’re an idiot. Then I thought what is it like to love yourself and I cried. I’ve also had the thought of killing myself so I can get rid of my own debt and my wife and daughter can live off the insurance money. She doesn’t want me to and I get that but it seemed like a good idea for a time. Now it’s not so much of a pay out and not as worth it. Sometimes I’ll be driving along and I just get the urge to drive off the road and crash into a tree. Don’t know if that’s normal or not.

I didn’t mention my mom, dad, or brother in that list of people I love so much and that’s also the reason I didn’t say family. They were toxic and I cut them off for my daughter’s sake but I’m seeing some benefits myself. Right after my daughter was born my parents invited themselves (this was a point of contention) to come see her. I didn’t really want them to come but they did. We got into a fight because my daughter was weeks old and we weren’t leaving the house but for essentials. They wanted to take my car out (they flew in) and go get food even though I told them we weren’t leaving the house and I got food for them. They didn’t care about seeing my daughter at all and complained that I was helping her and my wife who had a rough recovery and they didn’t come all the way down to not see me. (?!?!) That blew up and they said they wanted nothing to do with my daughter and it would be a cold day in hell before they came to see me again. It was okay for me because I only ever talked to them on the phone on Sundays and I dreaded that call. It was freeing once we were sure they were gone. They flew out two days after the fight when they found a hotel and left. My wife almost had a nervous breakdown from dealing with them and the stress of a new baby so I was relieved when she ate for the first time in four days.

My brother was kind of caught in the middle and I felt bad for him but he took their side so I ended our relationship too. I have essentially no blood relatives who want to talk to me. That’s fine. Family isn’t just blood to me. I have some amazing best friends who take their places. One who is also a new father and I’ve know for over 15 years is a brother to me. Another who I’ve known for over 5 years and is another brother to me. Although I did only learn he was gay a few years ago. He hid it because he’s afraid of people knowing and holding that against him for jobs. Even though it’s academia and PhDs who are more liberal, it’s the south and it scares him. I feel so bad for him. He’s such an amazing guy and I love his fiancé. It’s funny because my wife said she could leave me for him if I treated her bad because he does love her but guess what, that plan won’t work. I might also kinda look like his fiancé but that’s beside the point. Surround yourself with people who make your life easier, not harder.

[badcowboy69]

Homeward Bound part 4

Yeesh...long time no write on the continuation to this saga. The story continues on Travis’ trip back to his parents’ ranch in Arizona where he tries to find any lost memories and most importantly tries to reconnect with his family.

@fuzzyelves it’s about time, huh? lol  Hopefully part 5 won’t take as long.  Previous chapters can be found in my #writings section.  Enjoy!

Placed under the cut due to length.

“Here’s to the rest of this visit going easier,” Travis muttered with a pessimistic tone in his voice while pouring a small portion of moonshine.  He toasted no one in particular then downed the liquor in one gulp.  With the very condensed tale of the past years over with, Travis felt slightly at ease.  Slightly.  He even dared to admit that he was starting to feel curious about what stories his parents had to share about his forgotten past.  Setting the jar down on the coffee table, Travis gave Riley a nod indicating to follow him and together they headed towards the bathroom.

After both men washed the day’s sweat and desert dust off their faces, necks, and arms, they proceeded back down the hall to the door that Mrs. Blackfox indicated was to Travis’ room.  However, instead of charging right in, Travis simply stood in front of the door, his hand hovering scant inches away from the worn, brass door knob.  

“Are you ok?”  Riley asked.  “I’m sure this is going to be overwhelming.  Just take your time and…”

“Ain’t that.  Lookit this,” Travis grunted, pointing at a bouquet of dried sunflowers tacked to the door.  “Thought she said this is supposed to be my room, but what’s with the flowers?  I might not remember much of anything on my past, but I know hanging flowers on my door ain’t something I’d ever do.”

Riley frowned deeply and uncomfortably ran his fingers through his red hair.  “Well,” he started slowly, trying to carefully choose his words.  “I’m not sure what traditions or cultures are out here, let alone fully in the wasteland these days, but back in my time something like this meant the person had...ummm...passed away.  It’s a memorial of sorts.”

“Buncha shit,” Travis snorted and smacked the door making Riley quirk an eyebrow.  However, Travis didn’t explain his remark.  In the back of his mind he knew all the years of torture his parents must have went through thinking he was dead was his own fault.  He knew all he had to do was ask Mister House for help or even simply get on his motorcycle drive to Hackberry, but fear of rejection always held him back.  Regardless of his memories being lost or not, the last thing he wanted to do was try to connect to where he might not be welcome or wanted.

Riley sighed heavily and felt his shoulders slump seeing that Travis’ dour mood was starting to return.  He hated seeing him like this and hoped that Travis would relax and cheer up or, even better, find a forgotten memory soon.  There was nothing he could say or do at this moment to help as this was something Travis had to overcome on his own.  Taking a quick look around, Riley spotted a few frames on the wall near the door.  Hoping to break the tension and distract Travis from the flowers, Riley offered, “Check out these photos, Travis.  Do any of these spark anything for you?” 

Without even turning to look at the pictures, Travis replied with disinterest, “Ain’t got the foggiest.”

The response was almost what Riley anticipated, but he still tried.  “Your folks seem to really like photographs.  Maybe during this reunion they can add some new pictures to their collection.  I’m also willing to bet they’d love to see those pictures you have back in the Lucky 38 showcasing your adventures through the years.  I’m sure they’d especially love the ones of you performing on stage at the Tops.  I know those are my personal favorites.”

“Maybe.”  Travis stared intently at the dried flowers on his door and twitched his moustache in annoyance.  He reached to remove them as he wasn’t “dead” anymore, but immediately changed his mind.  Although this was his room and he could probably do whatever he wished, Travis felt the removal of the flowers should be decided by his folks.  This may be his home, but being absent for so many years he felt he had to earn his place again.  Taking a deep breath and twisting the knob, Travis exclaimed, “Here goes nothing!”

The door opened with a soft whine to an average sized room.  The room was dim, but the afternoon sun managed to peek through the sides and small holes of a worn, red drape covering the single window.  Travis slowly made his way to it across the wooden floor which gave the occasional creek under his boot heels.  Leaning over a desk and carefully taking the drape, he pushed it aside allowing the sunlight to enter.  He blinked his eyes from the sudden brightness and once adjusted, Travis saw that the room faced a large corral.  He frowned seeing it was empty and briefly wondered where all the livestock could be.  Furrowing his brow, he continued to gaze at the vast property that made up the ranch while an odd sensation of longing slowly spread through him.  He wasn’t sure if it was his broken brain trying to connect back to his forgotten past or something else.  Either way, he felt an unfamiliar calm and the ends of his moustache slowly lifted into a wistful smile.

On the right past the corral, he spotted his father and two men out in the distance rolling what appeared to be wooden barrels towards the barn.  All three men seemed to be laboring hard over their work indicating that whatever was inside of the barrels was very heavy.  Travis wondered if it was alcohol of some sort in the barrels and that momentary distraction suddenly pulled him out of the previous longing.  He returned back to the present with a disappointed sigh.  I sure could use a drink about now.

Seeing Travis had come out of his momentary fog, Riley smiled and gestured towards the small, makeshift bookcase he was standing in front of.  An assortment of different Nuka Cola, Sunset Sarsaparilla, and other types of bottles were arranged neatly on it.  Aside from a light covering of dust, they were all in decent condition.  “Look, Travis, it seems like you were a collector of bottles like you are now,” Riley commented, hoping that finding a small connection like this would help trigger something for his man’s destroyed memories.

Travis stepped to Riley’s side and looked over the bottles with mild interest.  “Dang, some of these I don’t even have back in Vegas.  Pretty cool.”  

Unfortunately, the spark Travis seemed to have got from seeing the bottle collection was temporary and it vanished as quickly as it came.  He flicked his fingers against a glowing Nuka Cola Quantum before turning away and drifting towards the center of the room.  Hooking his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, Travis slowly turned in a full circle as if trying to take in everything all at once in hopes he would find something familiar to him.  However, as he expected, he recognized absolutely nothing.  Still, he was slightly determined to find something and figured the best place to start would be his bed.  After all, there’s nothing more personal than that little bit of space.

The neatly made, full sized bed was in the corner against the wall.  It had faded, red patterned sheets and a folded patchwork quilt rested at the foot.  A rag doll of an animal that seemed to resemble a pre-war bison was laying against the pillows.  Over the headboard hung a dreamcatcher made from dried vines and adorned with feathers and colorful beads.  Next to the bed was a nightstand with an oil lamp, harmonica, a book about Native Americans that has seen better days, and a small frame with a photo inside of a teenage Travis and his father holding up two large fish, obviously proud of their catches. 

Travis sat on the bed, snatched up the frame and stared at the photo, his brow furrowed in concentration.  “Reckon we ate good that night,” he said glumly as nothing in the photograph triggered any bit of memory.  As he set the frame back on the nightstand, his eyes caught sight of a guitar wedged between the bed and the wall.  Reaching over the bed, Travis grabbed hold of the instrument’s neck and freed it.  He held it against him and gave a few strums, wincing at how out of tune it was.  “Shit, gonna have to fix that later if we stick around,” he mumbled more to himself than anything.     

Setting the guitar against the nightstand, Travis stood and chose the desk that was directly in front of the window as his next focal point.  The desk was made of wood and both it and its chair had seen better days.  The desk was far from organized and it made Riley smirk seeing that not much has changed with Travis in that aspect.  The desks back at the Lucky 38 were neat for the most part, but every now and then they could be found with stacks of papers and jalapeno stems scattered about.  Here, instead of papers and peppers, was a thick homemade journal open to a random page and a tipped over soup can with its contents of pencils strewn about.   

Reaching for the chair, Travis noticed there was a gun belt and holster draped over it, but no gun.  Taking a quick look around he found the pistol in question, half-buried under the papers on the desk.  He carefully brushed them aside to discover a .375 revolver and gun cleaning kit.  Disinterested, Travis placed the papers back over the gun then turned his attention to a crude wood carving of a yao guai.  Arching a curious eyebrow, he examined it with mild interest noticing the few chips and gouges in the wood betraying the creator’s inexperience.  “Wonder if I made these?  I mean, it sorta looks like my carving style, but ain’t as good...kinda rough and not too detailed.”

“It’s still very nice and maybe they have been recently learning how to carve.  Certainly much better than anything I could ever do.”  Riley took the yao guai from Travis and looked it over for any identification of the artist like initials or a date.  “Maybe whoever made this was your inspiration of sorts for you to do your own creations?”

Travis took the figure from Riley’s outstretched hand while his shoulders suddenly slumped.  “I reckon,” he responded softly.  He set the figure down and noticed the initials TB that were carved deeply into the wood of the desktop.  He smiled wistfully and traced over the letters with his finger.  “I mean I wish I could remember at least one damn thing around here.  Bad enough my folks are off the list, but if I could find only one thing I can remember growing up in this place…just one...”

“I understand, but the day is still young.  Don’t be discouraged.  Something might crop up when you least expect it and if not, that’s ok too,” Riley said gently while reaching for the worn book on the nightstand and carefully flipping through its pages.   

“I reckon,” Travis repeated and slowly made his way to the closet on the opposite side of the room.  He stood in front of the door and looked over the variety of cowboy pictures that were tacked all over it.  The pictures were from pre-war magazines or books and showcased cowboys in all sorts of situations and scenes either in shootouts, riding the range, or participating in a rodeo.  Some were even from advertisements promoting clothing and farming equipment.  However, the vast majority of cutouts were of shirtless cowboys striking seductive, sultry poses.  Travis smirked, “Man, if my folks don’t know I’m a confirmed bachelor, they’re really clueless.”  

Riley looked up and saw the pictures Travis was directing the comment about.  “Not necessarily. Some people can be very well aware of that fact, just...might not like to acknowledge it, unfortunately.”

Travis frowned and rolled his eyes.  “Well, gee, that’s encouraging.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t…”

“Don’t worry about it, Riles.  I get what ‘cha mean.”  Travis did his best to flash his partner a smile then opened the closet door.  As expected it was filled with a variety of plaid and solid colored shirts as well as plenty of jeans.  Resting on the floor were a few pairs of worn and dusty cowboy boots as well as random leather gloves and a few coiled ropes.  Travis pulled out a blue shirt and placed it against himself as if checking the size before returning it.  He continued to sift through the clothes, but like everything else, nothing seemed familiar to him.  Besides the bed, clothing would be the most intimate connection a person might have with something, but none of the articles sparked any recollection.  This is getting ridiculous, he glumly thought while shutting the door with a frustrated sigh.

Glancing around the room to see if there was anything he might have overlooked, Travis spotted a shelf he hasn’t yet examined.  It was adorned with an assortment of neatly arranged trinkets, but what really caught his attention was hanging above it.  The item in question was a long spear made out of a tree branch.  It was adorned with feathers and beads and its pointed rock tip was attached with leather straps and a strip of gray fur.  He stared at it for long moments wondering what the story was behind it.  He saw plenty of spears used by Tribals in parts of Utah and this one looked similar to them.  It got him thinking if he was truly a descendant of Tribals or even pre-war Native Americans.  He had his suspicions and hopes, but nothing was ever validated.   

Not wanting to strain his frazzled brain on thoughts about his heritage until he could speak to his parents about it, Travis focused on the items on the shelf instead.  Aside from random things such as a few nice rocks and a large pine cone, there was also a carving of a coyote and a two mason jars filled with bottle caps and marbles respectively.  However, a framed photo of a teenage Travis holding a baby animal of some kind caught and held his attention.  He stared intently at the picture for a long time, more intrigued as to what kind of creature he had rather than if the picture sparked any sort of memory or not.  The animal looked similar to the horses he’s seen in pre-war books and magazines or even the toy, Giddyup Buttercup, except this was a real being.

Noticing Travis had found something of apparent interest, Riley looked up from the book.  He could see the concentration on his partner’s face and it made him fidget in hopes that maybe Travis finally recognized something.  “What has your intense attention, babe?” Riley asked while returning the book to the nightstand then joining Travis at the shelf.

Travis gave him a side glance while nodding towards the photo.  “Check it out.  What kind of critter is that?  I mean, it looks like a pre-war...ummm….horse.  At first I thought it was one of those Buttercup toys, but this looks like the real deal.”

When Riley saw the animal in question he couldn’t believe his eyes.  He adjusted his glasses and peered closer for a better look at the photo in disbelief.  “I’ll be damned.  If I didn’t know any better I’d swear that is a horse, but from what I’ve gathered they’re long gone.  Well, at least in Boston anyway.  Travis, think back during your time at the Big Circle for that brahmin drive.  Do you remember anything like this?  I mean, you can’t exactly herd cattle on foot...at least I wouldn’t think it’d be too practical.  You and the other cowboys had to have a mount of some sort.”  Riley felt excitement rising inside of him over the possibility of horses in the Mojave. 

Sadly shaking his head no, Travis picked up a carving that was resting against the picture frame. This one resembled the animal in the photograph, but apparently as an adult.  Travis stared at it for long moments while tracing over it with his finger, admiring the craftsmanship and details.   “The few random things I remember about Big Circle, these critters ain’t one of them,” he said sorrowfully.  Suddenly furrowing his brow in frustration, Travis walked back to the bed and dropped heavily on it, still clutching the wooden horse.  He rubbed his face with a groan before resting his elbows on his knees.   Shifting his gaze up to his partner, Travis twitched his moustache and gave a weak laugh while shaking the carving.  “Ya know, had this been any ole room I would be fascinated by all of this stuff...especially the animal in the photo.  But knowing this is all my stuff and not having any recollection of it...well...it’s...it’s kinda surreal.  Does that even make sense?”

Taking a seat at Travis’ side, Riley put his arm around his shoulders and pressed an affectionate kiss on his cheek.  “Yes, it does, babe.”

“At least I got some cool stuff,”  Travis weakly laughed, leaned against Riley and closed his tired eyes.  “All this stuff and especially the photos don’t mean anything to me.  Not a damn thing.  It’s so weird seeing me doing shit in pictures, but have no memories of it.  Ain’t just surreal, it’s downright frustrating.” “Well, like I said, maybe something random will crop up for you when you least expect it.  Don’t try to force it.” Riley hoped he sounded encouraging, but deep down he knew he really couldn’t offer much.  This was all something Travis had to figure out and discover on his own.

Travis glumly nodded against him and felt Riley press a kiss on top of his head.  Pulling back, Travis nuzzled against his neck, placing a few kisses on the freckled skin.  “Thanks, Riles.  This all feels so hopeless, but I’ll try and not give up.”  

Riley heard the tiredness and frustration in his partner’s voice and his heart sank.  Had they been anyplace else but here, he would have laid back on the bed pulling Travis against him and would do his best to dole out comfort with his hands and mouth.  However, that was not an option at this point and time and instead he put his fingers under the whiskered chin of Travis and tilted his face towards him.  “That’s all you can do.  Like I’ve said earlier, you aren’t facing this alone,”  Riley said gently then pressed his lips against his partner’s.  “You have my full support in all of this and I’ll respect and honor any decision you make on how to keep moving forward here.” 

“Dang, I love you so much,” Travis smiled gratefully and returned the kiss while wrapping his arms tightly around him.  “I really cain’t wait to get outta here later and show you just how much.”  

Riley playfully nudged him and chuckled.  “There will be plenty of time for that.  I only hope there’ll be a nice, clean place in town for us to stay.” “If not, we got the camping gear.  That’s good enough for me anyways, you know that.”  Travis snickered seeing Riley flinch over the mention of camping.  “You know you love it!”

“If I wanted to get hot and sweaty at night, I’d much prefer to do it in our bedroom with you back at the Lucky 38,” Riley scoffed earning a frisky nip on his neck from his partner.  “Oh, you’re so lucky we’re not somewhere more private or I’d have to have you put your mouth to better use than that.”

Travis’ moustache lifted to a grin and Riley noticed a small spark of mischief in his crystal blue eyes.  Even though he knew Travis was caught up in the moment and the emotions were probably fleeting right now, it was still good seeing him in better spirits than the frustrated, somber mess he’s been since they arrived at the ranch.

As Riley bowed his head down to press a gentle kiss on Travis’ lips, a sharp knock at the door caused both men to jump and instantly scoot away from each other on opposite ends of the bed.  Riley found himself blushing fiercely from almost being caught and he immediately turned away, grabbing for the Native American book as a distraction.  

Although not as embarrassed, Travis still felt awkward and he cleared his throat to try and compose himself.  Grabbing the wood carving, Travis glanced at Riley to make sure he was ready before calling out, “C-come in!”

The door opened and a smiling Mrs. Blackfox stepped in.  “Dinner’s about up.  It’s your favorite, fried prairie fowl and maize,” she directed at Travis while her eyes caught the wood carving he was clutching.  “That right there…” she began, but stopped as she felt a sudden wash of emotions going through her.  “Do...do you remember that at all?” Tracy reached for the carving and held it lovingly while her finger traced over the animal’s ears and snout.  Travis shook his head no making his mother sigh softly.  “This was the last thing you did the night before you left for that New Vegas delivery.  You were so proud of this and it was the best one you made since you began learning the craft.”  She looked around the room and gave a nod to nowhere in general.  “All the figures in here and the few that are out around the house were done by you.  Each one you tried harder and harder to perfect, but this one...this was a true labor of love.”  Sighing, she handed the figure back to Travis and mustered up a supportive smile.  “Reckon that’s a story for later.  Now then, come and eat before your father inhales everything.” 

Travis sighed as he watched her go then dropped his gaze downwards to the carving.  He stared at it for long minutes, suddenly feeling rather sentimental over what his mother said about it being the last thing he did before his fateful journey to New Vegas.  He bit his lower lip as he felt tears wanting to build up in his eyes.  Furrowing his brow, Travis set the figure on the nightstand and snorted.  “Let’s make tracks...I’m gonna pass out from starvation.”

to be continued...

[riverforasong]

Climbing Through the Wall

TW: Self Harm, Weight issues, and family instability, oh and nudity, I guess. It’s a non-fiction thing so if that’s not your bag, thanks for coming anyway!

It’s never really been a secret, per se, but I’ve only just now started to freely admit to people that I’m a nudist. Be it out of fear of how people would react, or embarrassment stemming from a, now that I think of it, weirdly conservative upbringing, I never talked about it. I would drop hints here and there, but never much explicit, even with super close friends it remained a non-topic, despite the fact that it was, and is, a very big part, and honestly, fundamental part of my life. Hell, I’m literally naked right now (Probably, depending on when you’re reading this and what time of day it is, I could be at the store or at work or something, but it’s like a solid 90 percent chance). When the topic does come up, especially with people just learning about it for the first time, I get a lot of questions about it, which is absolutely to be expected, and I don’t mind it one bit, mostly because I love talking about this kinda stuff. One of the questions that always trips me up a little bit though, is “Why?” Why choose to go naked all the time? Which seems like an easy answer, being naked is awesome, it’s more comfortable, it releases stress, and makes it easier to sleep, and it honestly baffles me why anyone would choose to wear clothes if they didn’t absolutely have to. For me at least, it’s the only time I’m ever really comfortable, clothes and I just never really gelled. But it wasn’t until recently, and I’m talking within the last 3 months recently that I realized how important it was to me, and the recovery of my self image. My self esteem has always been low, and a lot of that stems from how I physically look, but it goes even deeper than that. From here on out this story gets kind of intense,TW: Self Harm, Weight issues, and family instability, oh, and nudity I guess, but you should have figured that out by now,  so if you’re not into that, maybe skip to the last paragraph? Or you could bail out here, the whole gist of it is being naked makes you feel better about yourself, you and your friends should give it a try sometimes. Got it? Good, and here we go.

I’ve always been the fat kid, right from the get go, in school that’s how I was pegged. Like a lot of fat kids, we learned to be the funny one in the group, because humour is a damn fine way to mask any and all insecurities you’re hiding within yourself. I’d always told myself that it doesn’t bother me, people are gonna say what they say and you can eiher take it personally, or let it roll off your back and make a joke about it, and that’s what I always did. Or at the very least, tried to do. It worked, or so I thought, but I’d be lying to you right now if I said it never got to me. Late night when no one was listening, it would replay over and over in my head, about how that’s the only thing people ever see in me. That’s always going to be their first impression. I will never be loved if I look like this. Now this is a batshit crazy way of thinking in retrospect, but that’s how m'brain works when it’s back on it’s bullshit. Later in life, what I now know to be an anxiety issue and mental illness, went unchecked for too long. In my family, I always had to be the level headed one, parenting the parents so to speak. My brother had sever Social Anxiety Disorder and would lash out in increasingly terrible ways that he can talk about in his own damn story, but my parents were not… I dunno, mature enough? No that seems silly, equipped to? Equipped to take care of this in the way it needed to be. Yelling begat more yelling, violence begat more violence, you see how things roll. I would always have to step in and make sure things don’t escalate any further than they already had. Taking pieces of myself and shoving them in the holes of the levee to make sure the whole place doesn’t flood. It would work, things would calm down and merrily we’d roll along until the next disaster hit. This worked for them. It didn’t however, work for me. Being the person who took care of these issues took a toll on me that I didn’t expect. See, I was just as sad and angry as everyone else, but I couldn’t express it in any way, because I needed to fix the issues before they became worse, but unlike everyone else, I had no one to check on me. No one to make sure that I was doing okay enough to function, which as it turned out, I was not. The anger and the sadness and the overall  negative emotion swelled inside of me and remained bottled up until it could no longer stay. I began to cut myself to release it. I couldn’t find someone to help, and I couldn’t take it out on anyone else, so I took it out on the person who mattered least in the house, myself.

Still with me? If so, here’s a puppy.

Cutting may have relieved the emotional pain and stress I was feeling, but it also left something in it’s wake. Big, obvious, ugly, red scars. Crisscrossing my arms and legs. New ones would pop up every couple of days or so. A couple people would ask about it, I’d tell them it was my cat, which if you knew my cat made sense, ‘cause that little thing’s kind of a bastard, and the situation would be left alone. This went on for a while, longer than I’d like to admit, but the important thing was I got help. Help from friends who are truly invaluable to me in ways I could not possibly convey because I don’t know that many words. I’d love to say it got better immediately, and I never even thought about doing it again, but shiiiit, you know that’s not how life works. I still struggle with it to this day. I was however, on the road to healing, both physically and mentally. The problem remained though, these scars would be with me forever. You can still see them if you look close enough at my arms, and it’s been a solid ten years or so since the first major incidents. Now, as someone who already had a pretty low vision of himself, this did not help at all. I hated going outside, I hated putting myself out there in the world. I hated what people might think, might say, might point out. It was an awful ouroboros of thoughts leading to actions leading to thoughts leading to actions. I was disgusted with who I was and what I looked like. From the fat, to the scars, to the fact that I thought my head was too big, and my feet too small. Now, as a guy, you don’t know that you get to feel this way. We don’t talk about how men can obsess over their looks and how it makes them feel as much as we really do. There’s not a lot of self help books for that kind of situation, or if there is, I sure didn’t find any. Mostly 'cause I didn’t look that hard, mostly because I was afraid to ask for help, mostly because I didn’t know I was allowed too. There’s that ouroboros again.

This is where the whole nudist thing kicks in. See, my whole life, I always kinda hated clothes, getting dressed, shopping for them, gah, I just hate it. I was always more comfortable naked than anyway else. My parents on the other hand, wanted no part of anything like that. I remember as a 4 year old getting told I was too old to walk around without being fully dressed. Socks, Pants, Underwear, Shirt, the whole 9 yards. I remember bring up the subject to my mom, who was so horrified at the concept of me being a nudist she actually started yelling despite herself. We once watched a documentary where one of the characters was raise in a nudist family, there weren’t even on screen, and my parents would rally against them, talking about how it’s sick and why have these people no shame? I always gave a half-harted  affirmation, but on the inside, it was killing me. I never drank, did drugs, had underage, unprotected sex, got into fights, that wasn’t really my thing. My rebellion was being naked. Naked inside, outside, sometimes with friends, sometimes in public, for as long as humanly possible, down to the last millisecond I could. But during the rough patch, I hated how I looked so much I stayed covered up, to a ridiculous degree. I’m talking long sleeve shirts in summertime, wearing shorts in the bathtub kind of covering. It was a mess. I figured the whole thing was a phase and it was time to outgrow it. It was time to repress some feelings and urges, and get back shoving my emotions and feelings of inadequacy back down my own throat.

I know it was a stupid idea. I’m also in the future.

This went on for a while, although I can’t remember how long. I felt miserable, and couldn’t figure out why. I kept wearing increasingly baggy clothes to hide what I though deserved to be hid. But I wasn’t getting any better internally, it just looked like it. I didn’t feel any better about the way I looked, I just stopped looking. I don’t know what changed, eventually. Something did though. Maybe I just cracked through the shell I had formed around myself. But for the life of me, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I may have hated the way I looked, but I hated clothes more, I guess.

When you’re naked for a long amount of time, a few things happen. At first, you’re highly aware and tactile about every single thing around you. You’re aware of every imperfection on your body, from love handles, to acne, to scars, to weird ingrown hairs, to what you need to shave, to how dry your knees are. Everything, Every. Damn. Thing. And then? You forget about it. You focus on something else, you watch TV, you play video games, you clean the house, you check your garden, whatever it is, and you forget about what little things bug you about you. When you do it over and over again, that first part where you obsess about everything becomes shorter, and shorter, until it eventually disappears altogether. Nudity helped me come to peace with who I am, and what I look like. I may not like a lot of the things about me. But I don’t obsess, it doesn’t ruin me, it doesn’t encapsulate all I am anymore. The biggest change was seeing it happen to other people, the first time I ever went to a nude event, it was the Portland Naked Bike Ride in 2016, and you realize how diverse we all really are. I saw fat people, skinny people, trans-gendered people, men, women, children of all shapes, sizes and colours hanging out and talking to people. I was horrified about what they would think about me when I came walking in, but no one batted an eye. We talked, we laughed, we shared stories and jokes and videos about whatever. I finally realized that the only person saying these terrible things about me and they way I looked, was me.

Whenever I finally tell people that I’m a nudist, I get one of two reactions. One is always someone showing a ton of interest, but not wanting to admit it, so they ask a lot of questions, but try to do it superstitiously, and two, people who say stuff like “That’s so cool, but I could never do it myself,” and that one always bums me out. We have taught people from the time that they’re born to the time they die, that being naked is a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad thing, and is only to be reserved for taking a shower no longer than ten minutes, and having sex in the missionary position only for the purposes of procreation after marriage, and for the love of all that is holy never speak of it, or practice it outside of these two times. It’s terrible to shame someone for something so simple and natural and helpful. To tell people right out of the gate that their body is shameful and should be hidden away because “No one wants to see that.” We kick their self esteem in the chest before it even has a chance to get started

I’m getting kind of soapbox-y and that’s not the point I’m trying to make. The point is, I fully believe that nudism saved my perception of myself, and I feel like people need to give it a chance. Separate it from it’s sexual connotation and invite your friends over for a naked movie night or something like that. I even ran a naked DND session once, and it went over like gangbusters. It helps folks who t think they’ll be uncomfortable for the first time focus on something else, and realize life is just that much better. Getting people naked and watching their faces go from assuming it’s going to be awkward to genuine fun and comfort is one of my favourite feelings in the world, because we stop putting so much pressure on ourselves and what we wear and what we look like, when no one has anything to hide..

[githvyrik]

this is just gonna he a random word dump because I wanna get some Thoughts out so like basically consider each paragraph as sort of having its own Point also I’m aware that none of these ideas are exactly original or insightful nor are they good and full essays but I just wanna rant

like rly I just wish we lived in a society world where it was seen as totally normal to question your own gender and sexuality because like. it totally is normal to, a lot of people aren’t cishet, but it’s not seen as normal and that’s the thing. like a lot of the time it’s framed as “oh I just KNEW” but that isnt the case for everybody and I wish people were able to like actually explore themselves without the stigma around that bc tbh even in some lgbt spaces I’ve seen it criticized to be unsure of yourself and also to express your sexuality or especially gender in a way that doesn’t fit with like societal ideals (truscum come to mind) and I know the obvious answer is that we have to fix it but that’s gonna take a long long time and I do want it to be so much easier for people in the future but for now a lot of ppl are still screwed over and might live their whole lives without ever knowing who they really are because of societal pressure. and also I wish ppl would recognize it’s okay to question your gender and/or sexuality even if you eventually come to realize that you’re actually cis/het because that often leaves you with a better understanding of yourself and of other people so really it should be a scenario where you don’t lose but the fact of the matter is that since society hates lgbt ppl most ppl probably won’t even try it!!!

also I wish that more cishet ppl knew they’re allowed to be gnc. obviously cishet gnc ppl are not my priority for that, I will always protect and support gnc lgbt ppl above them (particularly gnc trans ppl), but I think a lot of cishets would be more comfortable with themselves if they recognized they were allowed to be more feminine if they’re men or masculine if they’re women and like I think a lot more women allow themselves to recognize this but are still scared to actually fully express it because of societal pressure, and men are a lot more nervous because being seen as feminine is still a bad thing and feminine men are just seen as funny and silly and for entertainment which stems from like. sexism and transmisogyny and racism all that fun shit. and in my experience a lot less cishet ppl are gnc than lgbt ppl but I can’t tell if that’s just like a thing that happens naturally or if it’s just a societal thing or both. AND THIS IS NOT TO SAY THAT CISHET PPL ARENT PERPETUATING THIS SHIT, THEY ARE THE BIGGEST CONTRIBUTORS TO THE ISSUE AND TBH A LOT OF CIS PPL IN GENERAL. idk not to further speak about Gender Roles but I genuinely think a lot more ppl would be happier if they were allowed to actually explore their relationship to their gender and like present more masculine (if theyre female-aligned) or feminine (if they’re male-aligned) rather than just like accepting it.

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 53 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 3,665

Logan wedges his finger in the impossibly tight space between his neck and the collar of his shirt. Is it normal to be this nervous? He’s just waiting for coffee in front of a museum. It’s not like it’s a date or anything. Of course, that negates Logan’s decision to wear a nicer tie than normal. He could always claim it was laundry day, but laundry day is Sunday, so everything is clean for the upcoming week. Not that Cadmium would know that. Would he? Is he even going to show up? Just because Logan specifically requested Cadmium as his fetch kid, that doesn’t guarantee he’ll get him. Being the creator doesn’t mean pulling every string, but it’s not like it even matters, because Logan doesn’t really care if it’s Cadmium or not, no siree, pure apathy here all the way.

He loosens his collar again, then fidgets with his tie for a few minutes. Covered in a gentle plaid of purple and blue, it’s the only pop of color he allowed himself over a dark grey shirt and khakis. Will Cadmium think Logan is trying too hard to mimic his color scheme from the park? Cadmium will probably hate it, will say Logan’s just some weird guy from a museum tour, that he’s nothing more than his little eccentricities, a light piece of entertainment and nothing more, that—

“It’s not very often that I get special requests for a personal fetch quest fulfillment, you know.” Logan sees Cadmium’s shadow before gathering the courage to meet his eyes, clearing his throat and giving his collar one last tug. “Of course, I thought it couldn’t’ve possibly been you, since I know how much you love my usual drink. Here’s your fancy pants latte with all the fix-ins.” Cadmium thrusts a styrofoam tray at Logan, angling the smaller drink for easier access. His other hand remains behind his back.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, um, right, let me just finalize the—”

Cadmium waves off Logan’s attempts to pay him back for the order. “I stole both your drinks last time, call it even.” His face flushes a soft pink as he seems to realize something. “You, um—you did get the delight one for me, right? I’d hate to just assume—”

“Yeah, no, for sure, that’s all yours. If you want it, I mean.” Logan finally takes his drink in both hands, rocking back and forth on his feet and laughing uncomfortably. Cadmium echoes the sound, looking anywhere but at Logan, who takes the opportunity to admire Cadmium’s outfit. Under the green cardigan from the first time Logan saw him, Cadmium wears a pale grey T-shirt with a pastel alien across the front, paired with skinny jeans that proudly bear no holes. Possibly a first, as far as Logan’s seen. Logan opens his mouth to say something—compliment the outfit, mention the matching shirt colors, something , but Cadmium beats him to the punch.

“Oh! I, ah, I actually did bring something. For you, I mean. If that’s okay, I mean, like, I brought it because I assumed the coffees were, well, you know, so I, um, I just, yeah, you know? I mean, here you go.” Cadmium pulls his other arm out from behind his back, revealing a single red rose in front of an even redder face. “I don’t, like, know anything specific about the color meanings of flowers or whatever, but I thought maybe, I mean, if you didn’t—”

“It’s great,” Logan interrupts, gingerly accepting the flower. “It’s really, really nice.” Cadmium huffs what Logan can only hope is a sigh of relief. “Um, shall we?” Logan gestures toward the entrance doors with his coffee hand, poking out his other elbow—far enough for Cadmium to link in his own if he were comfortable with that, close enough to himself that it could be mistaken for a casually awkward pose. Hopefully.

“Well, how about that?” a familiar voice says at the entrance. Patton scratches the back of his neck with one hand, flicking his wrist to check an imaginary watch with the other. “I never expected to see the famed Virgil here on a day that doesn’t start with ‘T,’ much less with a suitor on his arm!” Cadmium yanks his hand quickly away from the crook of Logan’s elbow, his eyes brimming with panic. Logan busies himself with looking absolutely anywhere else. “So, which of you’s paying for this little date?”

Logan trips over himself to protest how it’s not a date, but once again, Cadmium beats him to the punch, all the panic gone from his face. Or maybe Logan was only imagining it to begin with. Cadmium slips his arm back into Logan’s. “My little nerd here will be paying, as I already did him the honor of getting us drinks. Logan, pay the nice man.” Too numb to do much of anything else, Logan switches his rose to his coffee hand and passes Patton the first bill he finds in his pocket—a gently crumpled twenty.

Patton trades it for a ten and waves them in, laughing to himself. “I’m surprised at you, Virgil. I would’ve thought you’d try to argue that free admission days begin with ‘T,’ and ‘today’ starts with a T, or something like that.”

“Gotta keep ’em on their toes,” Cadmium calls over his shoulder, tugging a dumbfounded Logan inside. Once they’ve burst into the cool air conditioning of the lobby, Cadmium takes a long drink from his cup and stares at Logan. “So I guess that secret’s out, huh?”

“I’ll still call you Cadmium, if you prefer.”

“Nah, nah, it’s out, it’s too late, it’s fine. You were probably gonna find out eventually, right? Plus, I mean, it’s not like you can just walk around calling me a bone-strengthener forever.”

“That’s calcium.”

“Close enough.”

“I mean, not really close at all. Cadmium is usually found in batteries, and—”

“Close enough. Gimme that rose for a sec, would you?”

Logan hands it over and patiently waits for his feet to catch up with his mind as Cadmium—well, Virgil—walks away, fiddling with the stem of the flower. “What’re you—”

“Shh, just hold on. Walk next to me and pretend I just said something really funny.”

Albeit in a confused manner, Logan complies, bumping shoulders with Virgil. “Why did you—”

“One of your coworkers over there, from that first fetch quest at your office.” Logan tracks the angle of Virgil’s jerked chin to see Roman glancing sidelong at them. “Okay, hand out.” Virgil slips the rose—now fashioned into a thorny bracelet—over Logan’s wrist, careful to keep the sleeve between the thorns and his skin. “Here, try to look lovestruck or something.”

“I don’t—”

“Come on, we can pretend we’re on a date, it’ll be fun.” Logan (surprising no one) doesn’t know what to do, so he just stares at the rose. “It’ll screw with your coworker so bad, c’mon.” Taking Logan by the rose-adorned hand, Virgil drags him out of the lobby and into the room opposite from where they first met—well, first made eye contact, anyway, but who’s keeping track? (Logan. Logan is keeping track.) It’s probably just his imagination, but Logan can almost feel Roman’s eyes burning holes into his back.

“Alright, my dude, my guy, my home slice of pineapple and cheese,” Cadmium— Virgil , Logan reminds himself, that’s going to take some getting used to —says . “Walk me through the deeper meaning of this statue here.”

Logan adjusts his glasses, then adjusts them again. It’s admittedly weirder than he expected, being on the other side of this whole tour business. “Right, yes, um, see here, how it’s got blue coloring—”

“Paint,” Virgil corrects.

“Right, so it’s got blue paint along where the front of its teeth should be, and on the CMYK spectrum, blue—”

“Cyan.”

“Is opposite yellow, which represents the sun, and since they don’t have white or yellow on their teeth, but instead yellow’s opposite, it’s implying the absence of sun in their life, which leads to a lack of Vitamin D, the lack of which is a common catalyst for bone pain and muscle weakness. Many people break bones earlier in their life due to being more adventurous, so the artist is lamenting the loss of child-like wonder throughout adulthood by displaying the lack of it in their muse’s smile.”

Virgil rubs the flats of his knuckles along his chin, nodding slowly. “You took more leaps than I’d recommend for a first timer, but it wasn’t entirely terrible.” He angles his head across the room to where a couple of children are complaining loudly about their boredom to an unimpressed chaperone. “Let me show you how it’s done. Don’t take notes, that’s intellectual plagiarism.”

Virgil strolls to the painting just beside the one cluttered with children, folding his hands behind his back and rocking on the balls of his feet. A dumbfounded Logan follows close behind. “You know, Logan,” he says in a much louder voice than necessary, “I always knew it was the adults that were wrong.” The kids seem vaguely disinterested at best, but Virgil continues undeterred. Lots of practice, Logan supposes. “I mean, forcing them to do boring stuff like chores and homework when they have the audacity to do this kind of nonsense for fun?” The kids hardly bother to hide it as they turn to listen. However bored they might be, Virgil’s nonsense is surely more interesting than a soccer mom on her phone.

Logan loses the conversation thread almost as soon as he picks it up, but he’s pretty sure Virgil hits some objectively irrational points, including (but not limited to, because Virgil is apparently nothing if not limitless) nature, sticky glitter, scissors, trampolines, cats, a family-friendly version of a particular being in possession of three separate mammary glands from a particular sixth location with a four mile disaster zone radius, and key lime pie.

Once Virgil finally, finally, finally stops—for a breath or dramatic effect, Logan couldn’t say—he looks expectantly at the kids. Wide eyed and mouths agape, they simply stare at him, waiting for more. Virgil nudges Logan’s shoulder, gesturing vaguely at the mom that is still paying approximately zero iotas of attention. Logan, understandably bewildered and running low on improv-based creativity, crouches down to balance on the balls of his feet, levels his eyes with theirs.

“Do you know how he knows all that?” The smaller one—a girl of a slight build with braids shooting out the sides of her skull—shakes her head slowly. The boy—her brother, probably—just stares back at Logan. Logan leans in closer, willing a mischievous glint into his eyes as he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “It’s ’cause he’s from Neptune.”

The girl nudges the boy, her braids whapping against her face. “That means he’s an alien!” As his face explodes into a grin, the boy knocks his head against the woman’s leg.

“Mom, mom, that guy’s an alien! He told me so!”

“That’s very nice, Virgil. Is this your way of saying you want to see a different exhibit?” As the mom tugs the still stunned kids away, Logan straightens and glances at his companion.

“What’re the odds, huh? Heck of a coincidence.”

“No such thing as coincidences,” Virgil replies. “Just cloning experiments gone wrong.”

“That is quite possibly the most upsetting thing I’ve ever heard out of your mouth that wasn’t part of a tour.”

“How upsetting are my tours?”

“You did find a way to argue that Julius Caesar was responsible for the decrease in skittle flavored chapsticks.”

“One of my best rabbit holes, if I do say so myself.” Virgil glances back toward the lobby and shrugs off his cardigan.

“What’re you—”

“Patton and your coworker dude are both looking over here. Put this on and try to look cute.”

“Try?” Logan pretends not to feel just a little wounded by the implication that he doesn’t already look good and slips the cardigan on over his shirt. Well, he tries to—the bulky sleeves do a remarkable job of getting in the way and preventing literally any leeway past his elbows.

Virgil considers him for a moment before taking the cardigan back. “Got anything on under that shirt?”

“Yeah, an undershirt, but—”

“Sweater off. I’ll hold your bracelet. Quickly, boys, museum’s not open forever.” Logan complies, more out of fear than anything else, and wonders if anyone else has ever gone from ‘fine’ to ‘deeply uncomfortable’ in an art museum before. Mercifully, Virgil is quick as a whip in slipping the cardigan over his bare arms. Logan wonders whether it would be weird to comment on the complete lack of an outstanding smell to mark it as Virgil’s. Rather than supplement the question with evidence, he just watches as Virgil takes his discarded sweater and tugs it over his head.

“Check it out, sweater swap! Here, give me your tie, I want to play with it.” Hardly waiting for permission (which Logan would’ve given anyway), Virgil undoes the tie—a full windsor, if anyone’s curious, which Virgil isn’t and wasn’t—and fashions it into a bracelet. He holds it up to Logan’s rose bracelet and grins. “Matchy matchy?”

Logan huffs a laugh. “Matchy matchy.”

With that fascinating wardrobe change out of the way, Virgil leads Logan into the next room, asking for various opinions about various artworks as he goes. “I’m going to pretend I don’t know you stalk my tours when I tell you this, but the next room has, like, amazing lighting. There’s this pink and orange mosaic that shines on the floor where—”

True to form, Logan loses track of Virgil’s words as his attention turns to the feel of the cardigan against his skin. He only really finds his way back to the physical plane when he feels Virgil’s hand leave his arm.

“Okay,” Virgil says, “stay right there, put your hand on your hip and strike—yes! That’s it, hold it right there.” Virgil switches from framing Logan’s silhouette with his thumbs and index fingers to snapping pictures with his phone. “Look at the second to last painting on the east wall. No, the east wall—okay, that’s south, one more try—hold it! The light here is perfect , Logan, hold still! Oh, perfection.”

Logan wonders idly whether he looks as ridiculous as he feels. Probably. As he drops the pose and joins Virgil in pretending to terrorize a statue for the amusement of more children, he opens the camera on his own phone. Two can play this game, it’s just that Logan can play it better. At least, provided Virgil doesn’t know he’s playing.

At every chance he gets, Logan snaps a candid of Virgil, doing a very poor job of hiding it. Maybe Virgil’s just pretending not to notice. It doesn’t really matter, anyway, since Virgil stops basically every ten feet to demand Logan use the full potential of the environment. Where Virgil’s shots are all artsy and dramatic and well lit, Logan’s are blurry and consist largely of Virgil fidgeting with the tie wrapped around his wrist. Logan can almost see the headlines now— Bigfoot: Spotted en Route to a Job Interview at the Museum!

“Oh my goodness, you two are so cute!” a little old lady exclaims, shuffling over with a pale pink purse clutched to her chest. To Logan’s relief, she interrupts Virgil from noticing Logan taking a picture of how the filtered light washes golden dust over the sleeves of the grey sweater bunched up to his elbows. Pure luck, nothing more. “Are you on a date? Do you boys want me to take a picture for you?” Logan hides his phone as Virgil glances at him suspiciously in response to the mention of a picture being taken. Perhaps not Logan’s best move, but at least he got a good shot out of it.

“That would be wonderful, actually, thank you so much!” Virgil says, stepping beside her. “Okay, so you just press this button here, and—ope, that was a selfie, whoops! Okay, and just—yep, that’s it, and just press the white button!” The lady grins as she holds up the phone between two quivering hands, waiting for Virgil to finish fixing Logan’s sleeves. Once he’s finally content, he wraps an arm around Logan’s waist and hugs him to his side, resting his head atop Logan’s hair. They both flash bright smiles as Logan leans into the embrace, kind of surprised that he doesn’t have to fake the happy expression. The weight on his head is admittedly pretty alien, but by no means unwelcome.

“Alrighty, I think I got it! I might’ve taken too many, though,” the impromptu paparazzi says.

“Nonsense, I’m sure they’re perfect.” Virgil flutters his hands as if to shoo away the preposterous notion, chattering politely as they look through the pictures. Logan busies himself with staring at a painting to keep anyone from noticing how beet red his face is.

“How long have you two been together? It looked like you were still getting to know each other, what with all your picture taking!”

“Ha, yeah, we just met pretty recently, actually! I do tours here sometimes, mostly at a cheaper rate for high schoolers on field trips.”

The lady places a dainty hand over her lips, her eyebrows shooting up. “My word , are you the famous Ya Boi Virgil? My grandson raves about you, he swears you’re the only thing that kept him from failing his art history final!”

Virgil ducks his head, catching Logan’s eye and grinning. “Oh, please, he had it in him the whole time, I’m sure.”

The lady pats his elbow affectionately and sets her sights on Logan. “You better hold onto this boy tight, before someone else snatches him up, y’hear?”

Logan is taken aback, to say the least. “I, uh, yeah. Yes. Um, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.” Nodding like she’s satisfied that Logan can hold onto Virgil long enough to last, she gives both boys a little wave and disappears in the direction of the lobby. Logan sidles up to his companion. “Ya Boy Virgil?”

“Boi, with an I,” Virgil corrects. “‘Mister’ is too official for someone of my caliber, so I modified it to suit my standards. My job here is unofficial, so my title might as well be the same, right?”

“Yeah, speaking of which, what is your job? I mean, do you just talk at teenagers for a living, or what?”

“I don’t know, it just kinda happened out of nowhere, y’know?” Virgil moves on to the next room, still scrolling through the pictures. “I’ve been coming here ever since I was little, and I was basically a talking fixture that would history rant at anyone who would listen. The mid-higher ups just kind of unofficially brought me on board and started advertising my tours to schools, since I was already an unpaid tour guide, so I might as well have been bringing in revenue, y’know? I just do Tuesdays and Thursdays because I don’t love charging kids, but sometimes they’ll give me tips, so I get more than just fun out of it.”

Logan nods, trying to reconcile this information with how he’d been raised—attend college, get a job in a competitive field, rise through the ranks, reach the top, then quit and take half the company with you to start your own business. The real company you’d take along was literally the friends you made along the way. “Does that really net you enough to live off of?”

Virgil seems to stiffen at that, and Logan immediately wishes he were off being the only population on Neptune right now. “The fetch quests help, but I do well enough. Thanks for the assumption that I can’t keep my own life in order, though, I really love being looked at as a child. Because of course anyone without a steady nine to five job must be missing some crucial key necessary for surviving adulthood.”

“I—I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“M-mm,” Virgil interrupts, shaking his head. The seconds of silence stretch on, but Logan doesn’t dare speak again. Finally Virgil continues, “It’s fine. I’ve just had a lot of people get on my case about this stuff, and I didn’t really consider it to be first date discussion territory.” Logan nods, an almost imperceptible dip of his chin as he waits for the tension in the air to suffocate him. At Virgil’s continued silence, it becomes increasingly clear that he won’t be speaking first. Logan exhales.

“I really am sorry.”

Virgil stops walking.

“I promise you, it’s fine,” he says, turning to face Logan. “Not even a thing, as long as you don’t bring it up again. I am perfectly alright, see?” He peels his lips back from his teeth in what might be callously called a smile to prove his point.

“Okay, well, um, I’ve got a topic change for you. We’re at the end of the museum.” Logan gestures to the lobby, where Roman is still loitering. Weird. “I, uh, am I going to see you again? Er, can I?”

Virgil hesitates, then holds out his hand. Logan stares at it. “Phone?”

“Oh. Oh!” Logan unlocks his phone and hands it over, watching Virgil add himself to the contacts list—‘Cadmium,’ followed by a battery emoji.

“And to answer your question, yes, we have to see each other again.” Virgil holds up the tie looped around his wrist. “You’ve still got my headphones and that cardigan, so I’m holding your tie hostage until both items are back in my possession.” With that, Virgil spins on his heel and walks out the front door, waving to Patton as he goes. Patton barely acknowledges it, too absorbed in conversation with Roman, who’s pretending not to stare at Logan. Logan doesn’t notice, his eyes focused on how Virgil’s silhouette is imprinted in the ghost of the sunspots in his eyes.