#So that we can experience some fraction of the life and works of people otherwise lost to us

[cellarspider]

2/30: Prometheus attempts to establish themes

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Several minutes into Prometheus, we have had no dialog, and we are going to wish that it stayed that way.

This is by little fault of the actors themselves. They all put in solid work. Many of the problems come from the writing, and others from the mismatch between their characterization what we’d call “informed traits”: What the movie tells us we should know about these characters. 

Elizabeth Shaw and Charlie Holloway are archaeologists. We see them with a dig team on the Isle of Skye, where they have just discovered their latest piece of evidence towards a radical theory. They have noticed something astounding that nobody else has dared to consider: evidence of alien contact with Earth, recorded in the art of disparate cultures from around the world. We, the audience, already know that they’re right. 

And we, the audience, know that the History Channel has had kooks on it for ages, ranting about Ancient Aliens. We’ve all seen the meme guy.

Okay. Let's try to meet this movie where it wants to be, thematically. These are its first two scenes, it's still establishing its direction, and nothing openly egregious has happened yet. We will ignore nitpicky stuff, like the fact that this previously undiscovered dig site is right next to a well-known tourist spot on Skye with 400 reviews on Google Maps.

This movie is establishing an existential premise for its themes. It implies aliens had some hand in shaping not just our culture, but our evolution. The questions it invites at this time are equally existential: why would they do that? What was their purpose here? What was their purpose for us? Why did they stop contacting Earth?

Whether life has a purpose is one of the core debates of philosophy and religion. This movie is beginning with the premise that terrestrial life does have a purpose, implied by the deliberate sacrifice of a thinking being to shape it. This supposition could create a more focused exploration of one possibility, within its narrative space.

I think it fails to deliver on this. The writing specifically fails to deliver on this, which will become apparent once we have more dialog. But there is also an issue with the framing of this premise, which the movie ultimately does not manage to avoid. An issue of cultural context.

Because this is where I, as somebody with a background in history, start to brace. The idea of extraterrestrials visiting ancient peoples is a discredited mid-20th century theory, which stems from ignorance of the historical record, and assumption of ignorance and incapability of ancient peoples to achieve great things, particularly outside of the cultures placed in the prized pedigree of European civilization. 

Such theorists look at the Great Pyramid of Giza and scoff at the idea that it could have been made without outside help, completely unaware of the century of more experimental pyramid-building that had preceded it, and the fact that we have written records that help us chart the progress of Egyptian mathematics for six hundred years prior to its construction.

They point to the Ramayana–likely written down around the same time that the Ancient Greeks were getting along just fine without aliens–and they say that the flying castles and chariots described in the text must’ve been aliens, who were mistaken for gods, and technological achievements such as rust-resistant iron must have been alien-made. Never mind that the period had a lively scholarly culture that was incorporating ideas from their Greek and Egyptian counterparts, and the people of the Indus Valley built well-planned metropolises with the world’s first known urban sanitation systems three thousand years before that.

They think the Moai of Rapanui, some of which were being erected while Shakespeare was writing his plays, were erected with the help of aliens. The actual answer, as usual, seems to be much more interesting: the Moai walked there:.

This is what ideas of ancient aliens are culturally tied to. You throw this into a movie, and even with the foreknowledge that they’re going to be proven right, I start out skeptical of these people from moment one. I was less likely to give them the benefit of the doubt, and less able to suspend my disbelief around them specifically. This will not get easier as we go.

Which is unfortunate, because most of the next scene is back to being phenomenal, and managed to bounce me back into going along with their premise.

...A side note as we close this out: Getting way too deep into the weeds here, but the art style of the cave paintings is worth mentioning. It appears to be a mashup of two famous cave’s painting styles: The animals are near-replicas of those famously seen in Chauvet (35,000 years old), and the humans and attendant dots are somewhat similar to Lascaux (17,000 years old), both caves in France. Here's an excellent little video from Tom Scott about the former, and the way that you can go see the cave paintings without endangering the site itself. There's a similar museum for Lascaux, shown below!

I say the human figures are somewhat similar to Lascaux, but I can’t find a match for the style anywhere. The closest I can find is from Tassili n’Ajjer in Algeria (6000 BC) or the Cave of Beasts in the Gilf Kebir mountains in Egypt (5000+ BC). This is because depictions of humanoid figures in european cave art are rare–ranging from a single bird-head figure in Lascaux, to the possible hoax at La Marche. 

This produces an interesting implication, if we take the movie’s premise at face value. If humanoid figures were avoided as subjects for cave art for thousands of years, their inclusion here is especially significant. Perhaps indicating that the alien visitors instructed that some visual representation of this scene to be made, or did so themselves. Thus, it is slotted in amongst the pre-existing animal art, creating a culture clash.

…However, cave lions never made it as far north as Skye. Their known northern range tapped out at about London. While it’s certainly possible that people could’ve traveled that far during this period, local animals tend to be the focus of cave paintings. So we’re getting the visual sense that a French stone age painter was doing a residency at Skye. Amusing, but odd.

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Citations for alt text ramblings:

1. https://www.isleofskye.com/skye-guide/top-ten-skye-walks/old-man-of-storr

2. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chariots_of_the_Gods%3F

3. https://www.usinflationcalculator.com/

4. https://kdp.amazon.com/en_US/royalty-calculator

5. https://search.worldcat.org/title/7625265

[buysomecheese]

Having thoughts about the concepts of common sense, learned behaviors, and cultural norms; how different cultures, I’m sure, have varied definitions of each, and how even within any culture the definitions can be different based on generation, socio-economic status, and minority group (gender/sex, sexuality, race, ethnicity, neurotype, etc.)

A few articles (like the fun almost Buzzfeed type ones) gave examples of ‘common sense’ such as ‘‘don’t touch a hot stove’’ or “don’t walk in front of a car”- which are all technically learned behaviors. ‘Common sense’ feels like something that should be innate but a lot of the examples aren’t. Yes, keeping oneself out of danger is innate and a natural-instinct, but we’re not born knowing the specifics of that in this modern world. We don’t automatically know that getting hit by a car is fatal, or the way heat works and can be painful.

A lot of the other ‘common sense’ examples had to do with like “dressing formal at a job interview” and “knowing when to go to a doctor”, which are definitely very culturally-based. Even within different local communities, I’ve heard people in more rural places won’t go to the doctor until a limb is falling off or something, simply because it’s not convenient or worth it otherwise. Hell, it might be ‘common sense’ for someone who’s been verbally abused to understand love in contexts of insults, and that could be paralleled by so many other hyper-specific situations surrounding the way that a child grew up!

So if all ‘common sense’ is a learned behavior, and is so dependent on the backgrounds and experiences and teachers one has had in their life, why is it such a widely used concept? Clearly there’s no way to generalize it on a grand scale, not enough for it to be accurate or valid, just in a way that’s easy for people who would be inconvenienced by the questioning of their mindset.

And why would it be assumed that the only way to amass ‘common sense’ is through worldly experiences? Why would it be assumed that reading something from someone else’s perspective, even from a fictional standpoint, would not help broaden your own perspective? I was a constant reader in my childhood and that is where I learned/solidified a good portion of my empathy and morals. Honestly, I wish I would’ve read more varied books to expose myself to more perspectives, because I tend to stick with YA realistic fiction or fantasy, and there are a lot of overused tropes and plot lines in those genres.

But in comparing myself to someone who’s lived, say, 40 some years longer than I have but has read a fraction of the books, who surrounds herself with the same types of people over and over again when I actively seek out situations where I’ll be interacting with new demographics, who just accepts ‘social norms’ as the way they were when she was my age as opposed to trying to understand the way things are now, I would say I could be considered on the same level of ‘common sense’. I don’t care that your “IQ” is higher, in general that is a bullshit arbitrary system that just gives a sense of elitism to some, I know how to debate points and research as well as you. I know how to ask and talk to other people almost as well as you. I may not know as much about how the bank works but if I decided to, I could learn the whole history and create my own understanding that would make much more sense to anyone who asks me to explain instead of the “that’s just how it is” gospel you spew.

[crazy-pages]

Yeah I'd also like to elaborate on this, just to make it very clear how sick the system is.

The fundamental concept of capitalism (as in a system oriented around capital, as in liquid money or large valuable assets) is that providing someone's endeavor with capital, with the understanding the capital may be lost or otherwise not returned, is a risk. It's a very important risk for large highly integrated societies though.

When you've got tens of thousands of people living in "small cities", it's kind of impossible to just hold capital in the commons and rely on peer relations and social expectations to ensure that this is distributed fairly and no one abuses it. There are of course all their ways to hold capital in the commons, many governments operate banks, libraries, public transit, disaster relief aid, etc. But of course these are not simple structures and the risks of direct centralized control are non-negligible. Saying that the government should control all capital and distribute it as the people need does not actually ensure that will happen.

Capitalism proposes a simple and straightforward solution to this. If somebody thinks they can make productive use of capital which they don't have, they can go to large coordinated institutions (banks) or those with surplus, and ask for some of their capital, with the understanding that they will pay them back later for that capital and then some if their venture is successful. This incentivizes people with surplus to put it to productive use, in a way that's a net gain. This also gets applied to concepts like housing or guarding against catastrophy. If you can't build a house yourself but need one now, maybe you can pay some amount more than its value at a later date to use it now. Maybe over your lifetime you can pay a bit more than you'd statistically pay for medical care or disaster relief, in exchange for access to relief capital in times of need.

And like that it doesn't sound bad. Okay cool, you give me capital and I pay you back later, and then we're square.

Except this is where the capitalist says, "Hahaha, what? Are no kidding me? No I give you the capital and then you pay me back forever."

Wait.

What?

Where the fuck was that in the premise of capitalism? The fuck? I thought this was about paying down the risk associated with bad capital investments?! Surely those risks are finite???

The capitalist laughs more. "Oh sorry, risk? No absolutely not. See the complex machinery of the commons we're ostensibly making unnecessary? We're going to demand that insure us so we actually can't experience serious losses."

The fuck?!?!

It's a magic trick. One moment you're nodding along to the explanation of mutual benefit for someone being payed back for a loan. And even if you might prefer other systems, you can still acknowledge there's at least some logic to it. Because the concept of fair finite recompense for risk is reasonable.

And the next moment it's an eternal debt. Suddenly this isn't giving someone a loan so they can open a corner store, then shaking hands when they're successful and square up with a little extra. It's becoming a shareholder of a corner store and then owning a portion of its profits as dividends forever. Sometimes the value of the labor being bartered doesn't even belong to the person doing the bartering. A CEO sells shareholders dividends, a permanent right to a fraction of the labor of people who never voted for the CEO and never agreed to give them any rights over their labor except implicitly in where they chose to work (just as peasants once implicitly 'chose' which lords to give taxes and levies to by where they chose to live).

Suddenly It's not a mortgage, paying a bit extra to get access to a large discrete object of value before you've produced that much value in your own life. Suddenly it's rent. An exchange of money which will never convert ownership to you no matter how much you pay. An eternal indebtedness for a finite investment by the capital owner.

Suddenly the amount owed is a percentage, while the amount given remains finite and bounded. And the profits earned by capitalism are the right to make more capital investments. To own an even greater fraction of the pie. A right safeguarded and insured by the very commons which apparently can't be used to grant housing, which can only give limited loans with countless strings to very specific parties.

But where in all of the justifications of capitalism, the mutual net gain, the risk, where in all of that did the concept of trading a permanent fraction of your labor for a finite investment come from? How is that allowed?! How is that not outright forbidden in the same way it's not legal to have someone sign away their human rights? How?!

(The historical answer is simple: The inventors of the modern capitalist market were French nobility looking for a way to maintain noble privilege and taxes in a world that was increasingly hostile to monarchy.)

But the practical answer is even simpler. Desperation and concentration of power. People who need capital, whether that's a business loan or a need for housing, aren't in much of position to withhold that need. People with surplus are by definition in a position to withhold that surplus though. And it's fundamentally easier to organize a few people with a lot, than a lot of people with a little.

Capitalism is rotten to its core because what it is does not even follow from its premise. The concept does not have to be based on infinite growth. The idea of fair exchange of additional later repayment for present risk is not inherently bad. It doesn't have to include infinite eternal repayment that's compounded forever by the profits of that eternal repayment.

But it's impossible to extricate from the on-the-ground reality of the system. Which is that capitalism is a replacement for good complicated democratic stewardship of the commons by an exchange negotiated between those who have resources and those who do not. And those who do not have resources and do not have the safety net of a commons will never be able to negotiate fairly with those who have surplus. It's just not possible!

There's nothing innately wrong with finitely bounded additional payments in exchange for the risk of investment. But there is something fundamentally wrong with it being the foundation of how you negotiate your society's commons. Because if it is, then you have no way of preventing it from becoming something much much worse.

[edwardgdunn]

That Sure Is A Pretty Trap

“We have to sell everything we own. It’s the only way,” I said.

My wife and I looked around our home, at all the beautiful things we spent a lifetime accumulating. When a moment like this hits you, it is a psychological and spiritual wrestling match in your head. You find out very quickly just how much of your identity is entangled with your stuff, with your ego. It is a litmus test of sorts.

I was raised in a family that placed an absolute premium on financial and career success. My grandfather had been born and raised in a tiny, east Texas town, in a shack with a dirt floor. He wasn’t born in a hospital but outdoors under a tree. Once grown and married, in order to be able to pay the rent, the family had moved constantly. My father never attended the same school more than a single year until high school. But eventually my grandfather, with his eighth grade education and armed with knowledge accumulated over years working as a laborer at oil refineries along the Gulf coast, had invented a technology that would revolutionize refining industry. The company he built grew to have offices all over the world. When he reached semi-retirement age, my father, now college educated, took the reigns and the company continued to grow to dizzying heights.

They made sure the success was outwardly visible. There were two large cattle farms, mansions, airplanes, yachts, a collection of classic and exotic cars, expensive jewelry, global travel, all the trappings were there.

But even as a young boy and eventually a young man, it didn’t seem to me that the two men were especially happy. Sure, they were able to enjoy things that only a tiny fraction of people on the planet will ever experience, but it didn’t look like true, sustained happiness – not to me anyway.

Eventually, some 40 years after its founding, and after my grandfather’s passing, the company failed and was shuttered owing to a global downturn in the refining industry. My parents were forced to sell their home, the farms, the airplanes, the cars, most of the trappings of luxury, and would never again achieve the stratospheric financial success that had defined most of their adult lives.

I saw what this did to my father. I watched, helplessly, as he spent the last 20 years of his life watching partisan cable “news” shows for hours on end every day, becoming more and more angry. That’s when I knew that as a boy, I had been mostly right when I suspected that the happiness I saw was driven by something that was unsustainable – something that could be taken away in an instant.

This same belief in the power of wealth, that success and status will make you happy was, of course, deeply programmed into my mind. I believed that not only was this the path to happiness, but that it was the path to gaining my father’s ultimate approval. It took me years to realize, to learn, otherwise.

Looking around our house these past few weeks, looking at all our “stuff”, my wife and I are been remarkably at peace with our decision to sell and donate all of it. We have made a decision to move to a new country and taking it all with us is simply an impossibility. We have come to understand that it is experiences shared with loved ones, peace of mind, simplicity of lifestyle, and living in the moment that are the cornerstones of true, sustained happiness – the kind of happiness that no amount of stuff can ever provide for long. So, we will turn the page, embark on a new chapter, and fill our hearts and memories instead of our houses and bank accounts.

My father passed away three years ago and I miss him terribly. Somewhere, somehow, I suspect he is proud that I figured out how to spring the door on the trap and am finally learning to live free – truly free.

Check out the Happiness 2.0 Podcast — https://podcast.edwardgdunn.com/

Happiness 2.0 Blog — https://edwardgdunn.com/blog

[amor-immortalem]

An Alternate Path

Genre: Angst

A/N: Originally this was supposed to be a two-part mini fic but people asked about a part three. I wasn’t sure where else to exactly go from there since the end of the second part felt so final for me. But then, inspired by a comment on the 2nd part, I began to think about how it would have gone if Arella hadn’t been revived with Mammon’s blood. Think of this as the bad end to the AU. This is the final part.

obviously spoilers for the lesson 16 incident and for lesson 50 (i think… correct me if Im wrong)

Replaced part 1

The Good/True End

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He sits in his room starting at the dried blood on his hands, heart aching from the loss of his mate. It had only been mere hours since Barbatos had taken her body to prepare for funeral rites but to the Avatar of Greed, it had felt like centuries. Why? He’s asked himself this question over and over. Why didn’t you check on her sooner? Why didn’t you call or text? Why didn’t you notice? Why didn’t you feel something was wrong through your pact?

As much as he wants to, Mammon has no more tears left to cry. His human is gone, never to return and it was the fault of him and his brother. He should have been there sooner. Should have reminded her how much he cared. Should have done a lot of things. He had every opportunity to, but he squandered all of it.

He rakes his hands through his hair as they whys replay in his head. The demon doesn’t have an answer for them- none that would satisfy them, at least. He lets out a yell as grief turns to rage and nothing of value is spared from his violence. Items and trinkets knock from their shelves, furniture overturned, by time the second-born was done, his room looked like a war zone.

It’s only then that Mammon collapses to his knees and lets out a broken wail as he can hear the restless cawing of his crows outside.

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Levi is alone in his room, having shut himself away hours ago. Laying in his bathtub bed, the Avatar of Envy loses himself to his thoughts and the view of the water above him. He can’t help but think about what would have happened if he had put his foot down when Asmo approached him to recruit him in helping his little matchmaking plan for Melissa and Satan.

And then his thoughts focus in on the other human. If she had never come, if they had never welcomed her into their lives through the exchange programme... Arella would still be alive. She’d still be sitting here, playing video games and helping him decide which anime he should choose to watch when there was a conflict of time slots. They’d still be talking about their Husbandos and Waifus just as they always had. But she’s not here. She never will be anymore. All because he didn’t have the spine to act like the older brother and tell Asmo no. Because he allowed his younger brother to monopolize his time.

His best friend is gone and he was part of the problem that led up to that. Levi has never felt so much self-hatred before and, just like with Lilith, he doesn’t know how to come to terms with the loss of another person so dear to him. For now, he’ll just lay here and waste away like the filthy, yucky otaku he is, wishing there was a way he could go back and undo it all or hoping that this was all just some horrible nightmare that his brain has conjured up.

“She’ll be back in the morning... right? She’s just sleeping over at the castle, right?!”

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Beel just eats. He eats and eats and eats to make the pain go away but just like his endless hunger, the pain never stops. He feels so empty inside that the only other option is to gorge himself until he physically can’t hold it anymore and vomits before he goes back for more until the cycle repeats and he runs out of food. The loss of their favorite human is killing him now- the grief of it squeezing his heart like an anaconda.

If he would have just gone to invite her to that new café she had wanted to visit with him only an hour sooner, this could have been stopped. But he didn’t. He didn’t and that’s what cuts deepest. He should have noticed when she stopped coming to dinner, or skipping breakfast, or not joining the student council for lunch day after day. He should have realized something was wrong then. But he chose to ignore it, thinking it was just one of those ‘moods’ Arella had told him about human women experiencing at certain times of the month. He thought he was helping by giving her space these last few weeks but Beel knows now that he was dead wrong.

Who would be his food buddy now? Who would let him drag them all over town in order to try out restaurant after restaurant, café and café? Sure, he had Belphie to take with him but his younger twin never really showed the same excitement when it came to trying out all the different food and drink options on the menu. The demon doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tear drops hit his hands. She only needed one of them to take a moment to see her and none of them could be bothered do just that.

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Belphegor only wants to sleep. He wants to sleep and never wake up again. In his dreams is where Arella is, happy, smiling, laughing. That laugh will haunt his waking moments forever as he realizes that for the second time, the Avatar of Sloth has caused her death. Belphie was only one of two brothers who rejected Asmo when they asked him to help with that damn plan of his. It had been too long since he and Arella had napped together after school or plotted something with Satan as part of the Anti-Lucifer league. How he missed those days.

He can feel the tears pool in his eyes as he curls up into a ball on the bed in the attic. He wonders if he had just stayed up here forever instead of trying to trick Arella into setting him free, would this hole in his chest disappear? As he buries his face into the body pillow Arella had gifted him for his birthday this year, he cries himself to sleep- indulges himself in all the good memories they had made together after she had forgiven him for everything he had done to her.

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Asmodeus is lost. They stare and stare at their skincare products trying to will themself to start their nightly skincare routine. How could they have been so foolish? The passage of time is so different to humans than it is to demons. They had only meant to take a month to match Satan and Melissa up so how had it turned to eleven already?! The Avatar of Lust wants to scream. Both at themself and no one at all. Hot tears still sting their eyes as they shapeshift. They change and they change and they change forms- any number of features forming and then shifting away as they try to find a look that they won’t recognize themself in but it doesn’t work. Asmo’s not able to look themself in the mirror for the rest of the night as they just crash down on their bed. They want to mark up their beautiful body into some hideous to match the feelings crushing their heart. Asmo wants to do something- anything- to themself to experience even a fraction of the pain Arella must have felt but all the demon feels now is just hollowness.

Their phone is vibrating on the bed next to them- a call from Solomon. No doubt he could feel Asmo’s distress through the pact they share but the Avatar of Lust is too tired from hours of ugly crying and most certainly not in the mood to speak to anyone- pact master or otherwise. The phone goes unanswered.

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Satan has his head buried in the books. He’s been at this for hours- there must be a way to bring her back to them! Melissa is with him, bringing whatever books he asks for in his search as she too is eager to bring the lost human back to this plane of existence. There was so much they wanted to do with her. From watching cheesy mystery dramas together to forming a small book club consisting of just the three of them, none of that would come to pass now.

As book after book turns up dead ends, the demon just buries his head in his hands. It feels pointless now. Who was he to play God with life and death? The thought of never seeing his friend alive once more is enough to break the Avatar of Wrath as his shoulders shake with violent sobs. He wants to go on a rampage- destroy the whole city but what would that fix? It certainly wouldn’t bring her back.

As the demon continues to cry, Melissa only wraps her arms around him and he returns the gesture. She runs her fingers through his blonde hair in an effort to calm him and it seems to work, if only for a little while. She pulls a chair up to sit next to him as she holds his hand in hers.

“Tell me about your favorite memories with her,” They girl begins, “We can’t undo what was done, but we can keep her memory alive by sharing the good times.”

And so, they talk late into the night, Satan smiling at all the memories of Arella that he holds close to his heart.

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“Hi this is Arella! I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now but leave a message after the beep.... Beeeeeeeeeep”

The sound of his brother’s laughter followed by Mammon calling Arella a dork in the background can be heard at the end of the greeting on her D.D.D.’s voicemail. The Avatar of Pride can only smile with tear-stained cheeks. He was beyond intoxicated, having just finished his fourth bottle of demonus for the night. He can feel the anguish his brothers have been going through all night and it only makes his sorrow deeper.

When Arella first arrived, all Lucifer cared about was keeping her alive long enough to make it through the year. She was unimportant to him outside of the viability of the exchange programme. Back then, he would have laughed at himself for the state he was in currently. She was just a human. Why did it matter if she lived or died if it didn’t affect the exchange programme?

But she wasn’t just a human. She was their human. She was special to him. And now she was gone. There was no second chance. There would be no merging of timelines to keep her alive. Fate was cruel, but sometimes Diavolo could be crueler.

Lucifer knew his longtime friend had a reason for this. He was teaching the brothers a lesson with her death. As much as it hurt now to lose another part of this family, things would get easier as the years went on regardless of how horribly they all would miss her. This was a lesson he and his brothers would not soon forget.

Cracking open his fifth bottle of demonus, the first-born scrolls through devilgram, saving pictures on her profile to be used in the memorial service. One of Arella with each of his brothers and himself and multiple pictures she’d taken with all eight of them from their adventures throughout the years that they’d all been together.

He lets his mind wander back over the last eleven months. All the red flags he had missed with his rose-colored glasses. They all made sense to him now. All the time she spent isolating herself from them, skipping meals, leaving either incredibly early for school or incredibly late for school. She was trying to get them to notice her over Melissa. He regrets their last interaction from a few months back. The way there had clearly been something wrong, yet he chose to lecture her about attending RAD on time as to not disgrace Diavolo. How he wishes he could take it back.

As the only brother save for Belphegor not conscripted to help Asmo in his ridiculous plan, Lucifer should have been the first to reach out to her. He may have been buried under paperwork, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t just sit and talk while he worked. He regrets not calling or checking up on her.

A video plays on her devilgram. It was from one of the nights they had spent up in the human world last summer.

“Awww, come one, Lucifer. It won’t be that bad. We’ll have those flowers from the fairy rings and make it back in one piece. I promise to keep Mammon under control so we won’t cause any trouble.”

The Avatar of Pride clicks out of the app as he feels more tears gather in his eyes. He can’t do this right now. Not tonight.

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Her service was beautiful- Or at least that’s what Lucifer tells Mammon as he and the rest of their brothers return home. Mammon wanted to go, he really did, but with it only being a few days removed from her death, the second-born couldn’t bring himself to go. It wasn’t because he didn’t love her or didn’t want to celebrate his mate’s life but it was still far too painful for him.

Part of him was still in denial over it too. Somehow, he’d managed to convince himself that she wasn’t gone. She was just stuck up in the human world and had forgotten her D.D.D here so he couldn’t call her. The logical side of him knew it wasn’t the case and every time he was reminded of it, it threw the Avatar of Greed into a deeper pit of despair. He’d spent some nights since she’d passed alone, crying himself to sleep begging for his human to come back to him others he would just lie awake, tracing over where her mark from their pact had been etched into his chest, set right over his heart.

Suddenly years have gone by now. His brothers have made peace with her passing but Mammon cannot. Visiting her grave never helps to ease the pain either, but still he goes. If Arella’s spirit still lingers, no doubt she would be upset if he didn’t go. It would only serve to prove her dying thoughts true when they couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Hey, Treasure... Miss me?” There’s no one here but Mammon and a tombstone. “I miss you... everyday... So much changes every year... Both Asmo, Levi, ‘n Satan got kids now... little girls for them and Levi has a boy...” He pauses to take a shuddering breath as the cold wind blows. “Can ya believe it? The first kids born ta this family and their both girls and then we got a boy... sweet little things too- alla ‘em.  I wish ya coulda been there ta meet them... Actually, looking at my brothers with their kids, it makes me wonder what ours woulda been like, ya know? And I wish none of this woulda happened... you deserved so much better than me ‘n I knew that. We all knew that. But ya chose me anyway and look where it got ya... Six feet under... If I could go back and do it all over again I would. I woulda told ya what was goin’ on. I woulda spent more time with ya. I woulda... woulda proposed... made sure you knew how much I loved ya everyday... I know ya probably can’t hear me, but I’m so sorry... for everything! I love you so much that I can’t move on and I won’t. If I die single then that’s fine by me.”

As he cries, thinking he’s alone, Arella watches from her seat on her tombstone. None of the brothers knew it but she’d been watching all this time. It wasn’t until she passed that she realized how deep their feelings ran and part of her wishes she would have waited just a bit longer before leaving for the human world that night.

She tries her best to let them know she’s there- that she loves them and is watching over them with Lilith, but she’s not strong enough to do more than move small objects around. She hopes that they’d notice but they never do.

As she hops off of her tombstone, Arella crouches down next to her mate. The best she can do for him is conjure a warm breeze as her spirit leans over to press a kiss that he’ll never feel to his cheek. Upon the breeze, he can hear a soft whisper of a reply.

“I love you too.”

And it's that reply that reassures him she’s there and she always will be. He hopes maybe in another life they’ll meet again and get to have the happy ending they never got to have in this one.

------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @gayassfuckinghomosexual @joyvlee

find more on my masterlist

[godshideouscreation]

What do you consider to be an inappropriate age gap between ADULT romantic partners?

I ask because I'm in my 40s and I just found out the college classmate I have been chatting with is at least 20 years younger than me (they're at least 20).

-Spot

Even though legally there's nothing wrong with a 20-year-old dating a 40-year-old, I am just not a fan of age gap relationships myself. So I don't know that you're going to find the answer you're looking for with me.

There is always going to be something about the power dynamic. There's also going to be a certain amount of people in both of y'all's lives who are disapproving of a relationship with an age gap that big. I remember when my sister-in-law (who is the same age as me) announced that she was dating somebody 10 years older than her, I was probably the only one who really wasn't freaking out about it because I didn't think 10 years was that big of a deal, they are both adults. I tried to get to know this person before forming opinions about them. Even though they have a fair amount in common, when they had been together for about a year I started really noticing that the exchange of power had shifted. For somebody who I had always seen as being fiercely independent I started noticing that she constantly leaned on the approval or word of her partner constantly rather than relying on her own judgement. I can't say if it was this person specifically or the age gap specifically but I had seen how she acted with two or three boyfriends before that and really had never seen her that way before. I'm still not a super big fan of him or their relationship to this day. But because she's an adult, I respect her choices.

When I was 19 years old I went on a date with a co-worker who is 30 thinking that we had a lot in common and I really liked him. After that one single day I realized we pretty much had nothing in common other than a few pieces of media that we both enjoyed, and the fact that we both smoked weed. We were at entirely different spots in our life. He was wanting to get married and settle down to have kids and at 19 years old I didn't even think I wanted to get married. Like ever. Thankfully my coworker got the same vibes out of the day as I did and we agreed to just be friends at work and otherwise. Even though I may have been an adult legally, we were worlds apart.

Now do I think you have to date somebody exactly your own age? No, there's a 3-year gap between my partner and I now. I think life experience can be a big factor in this as well. If somebody with a little life experience starts dating somebody with a lot of life experience they might realize that they are worlds apart as well. But I do think large age gaps can be detrimental to the relationship. I'm now only a year and some change away from being as old as my co-worker was when they went on the date with me, I can't imagine anything on this earth that would make me want to go out with a 19-year-old and I mean it. I can only think that my coworker must have been blinded by my dazzling charm and good looks at the time. 😂 I don't know that I would partner myself with somebody even under the age of 25. I would not want to date someone who had been through a fraction of what I'd been through. Who only understood a fraction of the pain, loss, love, friendships, and joy I'd experienced. So I can't really tell you what's wrong or right for you but, I wouldn't do it personally because I wouldn't see someone that young as a potential romantic partner in the first place. I need something more than just good looks to go on. Because eventually all of our looks will fade. 🤷‍♀️

I'm almost certain somebody on Tumblr will be upset that I've said all this, if you are a legal adult in an age gap relationship, that's fine. I don't care. But I wouldn't do it myself and don't see what people get so excited about in it.

[svucarisiaddict]

Can you do a series where mike Dodds is sargeant or lieutenant and there’s a secretary at the precinct that likes him and they get together? If you can’t then it’s fine. I absolutely love your writing about mike dodds!!! It gives me life tbh.

Taking a deep breath, you exited the elevator and walked down the hallway to the squad room. Manhattan SVU was your new assignment. Hopefully, it was your last. For the last couple of years, you had been bounced around from borough to borough. Now, thankfully, VA’s had been recruited that each unit in every borough had its own.

Your heels clicked on the dark, shiny floors as you balanced a box and briefcase in each arm. Manhattan was one of the more updated precincts with sleek design, dark wood, and finished floors. You took in the faces of officers killed in action, receiving commendations, promotions, and the current squad, some of them familiar as you walked down the hall.

Olivia and Fin, both of whom you knew well, were still there, they were lifers in SVU. Amanda, Sonny, was familiar with the other faces, but you had only worked with them a couple of times.

“Y/N! I heard you were joining us.” Fin was the first to greet you. He took the box from our arms and hugged you. It wasn’t well known, but Fin gave the best hugs.

“It’s great to have a home finally,” you replied as you hugged him back. Your eyes went to Olivia’s office when Fin released you. “Things sure have changed around here: and not just the remodel.”

Fin followed your line of sight. “Mike Dodds,” he answered your unasked question. “He’s the commanding officer while Olivia is out.”

“The chief’s son?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “And why isn’t it you in that office?”

Fin chuckled. “Don’t have the qualifications,” he replied. “I know. I know,” he said when he saw the look on your face. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you.”

Sonny and Amanda smiled and waved from their desks as you walked by. You returned the gesture. It was nice to be with a friendly squad that would appreciate what you could do for the vics and the detectives.

Mike stood as you and Fin came into the office. He was much taller than you expected, not one dark hair out of place, beautiful eyes and he had a muscular build. He was handsome and had a warm presence.

“This is our new victim advocate, Y/F/N Y/L/N,” Fin said as an introduction. “She’s one of the best.”

Mike proffered his hand for you to shake. “Lieutenant Michael Dodds. Nice to meet you Miss Y/L/N,” he said. His hands dwarfed yours. The handshake was firm but warm. “It’s nice to have someone with your experience that will be here for the long haul.”

“Please, call me Y/F/N,” you said. “I insist. And it’s nice to have a home finally.”

“Then call me Mike. I insist,” he replied, with a gorgeous smile on his face.

You released his hand, feeling your cheeks heat. Your eyes slid over to Fin. He had a smirk on his face and was trying to look interested in what was in the box he was still holding for you.

“Have you been shown where you’ll be sitting?” Mike asked. He rounded the large, oak desk to stand beside you. Even in heels, Mike was taller than you by 6 inches at least. He was standing close enough that you could smell his cologne, but it wasn’t overpowering.

“I was about to do that,” Fin said. “Got you a prime spot. Close to the coffee maker.”

“Great,” you said, turning to leave the office.

Mike stepped forward, taking the box from Fin. “Let me.”

Fin handed over the box. “Got a lot of paperwork anyway,” he replied with a grin.

After getting settled, you grabbed a cup of coffee and started going over open investigations. The number of cases was astonishing, and that was a fraction of the actual numbers. Vics were so hesitant to come forward because they were afraid of repercussions that no one would believe their story, or they felt like it was their fault because they were drinking or what they were wearing. Part of your job was to convince them otherwise.

Your gaze drifted to Mike’s office. He was on the phone in what appeared to be a heated conversation. After hanging up the phone, he raked his fingers through his hair. His eyes met yours through the window. Mike gave you a sad smile, then fixed his hair.

The rest of the day was uneventful. There were no new cases which was an anomaly, but welcome. The extra time also allowed you to reach out to a handful of vics and meet with the detectives.

The following weeks brought a hefty caseload and closer working and personal relationships with the other detectives. There was one person that you felt closer to, though, Mike. Most evenings, the only ones still in the office were the two of you.

People slowly left for the day, leaving you, Mike, and a couple of uniformed officers behind. He ventured from his office just a handful of times that day. Now he was leaning back in his desk chair with his hands resting on his head. You pushed away from your desk, making your way to Mike’s office.

“Wanna talk about it?” you asked, leaning against the doorway. There had been many times you wanted to talk to Mike but didn’t want to overstep any personal or professional boundaries.

Mike sat upright when he heard your voice. “I thought everyone went home already,” he replied, ignoring your question.

“Nope. Me and you again. Seems like you’re stuck with me a lot,” you stated, taking the seat across the desk from him.

Mike smiled a genuine smile. “I don’t mind being stuck with you,” he said.

His smile made you smile. “Don’t know about you, but I’m famished, and it has been a long week. I could really use a drink.”

Mike’s eyes met yours, and he sighed. He was quiet for a few moments. “A drink sounds good, but I'm not sure I'd be very good company.”

“Here’s how I see it, Mike. Either we stay here, work late and be all sad, or we can get out of this place, have some hot wings, drink some beers, and have a laugh or two. I know a great karaoke bar,” you said with a grin.

Mike chuckled. “Can you sing?” he asked.

“Nope! That’s why it’s so much fun,” you exclaimed.

Mike stood, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “I’ll buy the first round.”

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 2: Casual Friday the 13th

Previous Chapter - AO3 Link - MSR, rated E

He gives himself a pep talk on the way to work the next morning. It feels ridiculous.

Just ask her out, he thinks. Be casual. Invite her to grab a drink, act like you’re going whether she joins you or not. It’s just Scully.

That’s some bullshit; she’s not just anything to him. She’s everything.

Also he doesn’t go to bars much, and never alone, so he’s not sure how subtle this will be.

He pushes the thoughts out of his head until they’re leaving the office at the end of the day, gathering their things and donning winter layers.

“Buy you a drink, Agent Scully?” he tosses out casually, taking her coat from the rack.

“Hm, what’s the occasion?” she asks.

“Friday the thirteenth; I’m testing my luck,” he replies, holding her coat open for her.

She slips her arms into the sleeves. “I guess one wouldn’t hurt,” she decides.

Huh. That was surprisingly easy.

He chalks it up to beginner’s luck and ushers her out the door with a hand on her back.

They end up at Casey’s Bar because it’s close to the Hoover Building, and neither of them had wanted to walk too far through the cold February night. Mulder’s a little nervous, but not enough to let it show. At the risk of being overconfident, he thinks it’s actually going pretty well. This outing is markedly different from every first date he’s had in the past. There’s no need for small talk with Scully, no pressure to act more gregarious or charming than he naturally is. Scully herself is a refreshing presence, like a crisp spring breeze. Cool without being austere, gentle and yet invigorating.

Also she doesn’t know it’s a date, so there’s that.

They perch at the far end of the counter and shoot the shit, talk about work. She orders a draught beer, and seeing the large glass in her little hand makes his stomach flutter nonsensically. He orders one too, just to keep pace with her, though he suspects she could drink him under the table if the occasion ever arose. The thought is strangely erotic.

Mulder watches her full pink lips press against the edge of her glass and he clears his throat awkwardly. Down, boy. He scrambles for a diversion.

“Any special plans for tomorrow night?” he asks, taking a foamy swallow of beer.

“What’s- oh.” Scully sets down her glass. “No, not this year,” she says softly.

He suddenly feels like a prick.

“You?” she asks, because she’s a polite human being.

Diffuse the moment, buddy. “I’ve got a pretty hot date, actually.”

Her shoulders stiffen momentarily. Interesting. “Oh?” she says lightly.

“Yeah, the boys invited me over to pick apart some found footage they stumbled upon. Frohike’s making chili.”

Scully’s face breaks into a smile, and he feels a wash of relief. She shakes her head. “You know, for about two seconds I thought you might actually have a life. It was a surreal experience.”

“I have a life, Scully,” he insists. It’s you. Aliens, conspiracy, and you.

“Mhm,” she hums, licking a bit of stray foam off her upper lip, causing a twinge south of his belt buckle. “Mulder, can I ask you a highly personal question?”

He coughs awkwardly. “No guarantees that I’ll answer, but sure. Hit me.”

She suddenly seems nervous. “Well… we’ve known each other for five years now, and we spend a lot of time together. I’ve met your mother, your friends. And in all that time, I’ve not known you to go on a single date.”

Besides this one, he thinks. “And?” he prompts.

She absently wipes her finger through the condensation on her glass. “Well, I can’t figure out why not. Your - preferences - are quite evident, and I’m sure finding a willing partner would be fairly easy for you, at least for… casual encounters.”

I don’t want casual encounters, he thinks. I want to burn pancakes for you on Sunday mornings.

He huffs out a breath of laughter. “I have it on good authority that I’m not the best company, Scully. What makes you think it’d be easy?”

She takes a long pull of her beer. “Because you’re very attractive.”

His heart stops momentarily, then starts back up at twice the speed. He scrambles for some composure. “Oh, so you think I’m attractive,” he teases lightly. He hopes she doesn’t notice the sudden tremble in his fingers.

Scully nods, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him. “Yes, I do. A lot of people do, Mulder,” she adds quickly. The lighting in the bar is dim, so he assumes he’s imagining the flush on her cheeks. Or it’s the beer. “The women’s restroom at the Bureau is a cesspool of gossip.”

“Well I’m not the only hot piece of ass in the X-Files division,” he says, glancing at her over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t let Skinner hear you say that,” she quips. “He’s shy.”

Mulder grins, amused by her deflection. “People talk about you too, Scully. I’ve had to fend off suitors for you more than once.” Now it’s her turn to squirm, he thinks.

She blinks rapidly. “You’re joking.”

Mulder chuckles. “Swear. Every once in a while a guy will ask me something about you. I tell ‘em to ask you themselves, and I assume they usually chicken out.”

“What kind of things do they want to know?”

Mulder shakes his head. “Let’s just say they’re not asking me your favorite color,” he says simply, lifting his glass to his mouth once more. “You can imagine the rest.”

Scully presses her lips together. “I don’t have to, unfortunately,” she sighs. “Thanks for having my back,” she adds.

He shrugs. “I’m your partner,” he says. “I’ll always have your back.”

He suddenly remembers a conversation he had a little over a year ago, a month or so before Scully’s birthday. It seems like a fitting time to tell her.

“There’s only been one guy that I thought was alright,” he says. “I, uh, never told you this, Scully, because it was confidential, but seeing as the subject in question is now deceased…”

Scully turns to him on her stool. “Mulder, what?”

“Pendrell. He liked you.”

She knits her brows together in that adorable way she has. “I liked him too.”

“I mean, he really liked you,” Mulder emphasizes. “He asked me once if you were seeing anyone.”

“Oh,” she says. "What did you tell him?”

“I told him ‘Agent Scully’s personal life is her business, and any questions regarding it should be posed to her directly’.”

“Very formal,” she muses. “I should print that on my business cards for you to hand out.”

“The thought’s crossed my mind. Are you currently accepting applications for the position of ‘boyfriend’?” Mulder asks. “I’d be happy to field candidates.”

“Oh, I bet you’d love that,” Scully says with an eye roll. “Admit it, you like interrogating suspects. Especially when you think they’re mutants of some kind.”

“I promise that any potential boyfriends will be firmly terrestrial and completely unremarkable.”

The sentence hangs in the air for a long moment. “I don’t know that I want that after all,” Scully finally says quietly. “The husband with a nine-to-five, the picket fence, the priest over for lunch after Sunday mass. I’ve seen too much, done too much, to really fit into that picture anymore.”

Mulder feels a pang in his chest, the old familiar guilt creeping in. “This is a lonely path,” he admits. “Working nonstop to find evidence, only to have it be discounted offhand.”

“No closure, no arrests, no satisfying conclusions to leave you feeling a little bit safer knowing you did your job,” Scully adds.

Mulder rubs his hand over his mouth, nodding. “Just weird substances that nobody can explain and accounts of phenomena that nobody believes. Spooky shit.”

Scully raises her drink with a sudden levity. “To spooky shit,” she toasts.

Their glasses clink, and the contact chimes in Mulder’s ears. A kiss of half-empty pints.

Mulder bites his lip absently, gathering his next words. “So… what do you want?” he asks carefully, leaning in a fraction.

Scully shakes her head, sighing softly. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? I can’t even think about long term at this point. My life is so different from what I’d planned, and I’m still adapting.”

“Alright, forget long term for the moment,” Mulder prompts. “What’s something that you want that you can acquire within, say, the next month or so?”

“You granting wishes now, Mulder?” she asks coyly, taking a sip of beer.

“Depends on what you ask for,” he replies, voice low.

It feels as though they’re circling the truth, caught in each other’s orbit, traveling an ellipse of the unspoken. He wonders if she feels it too. The beer has him weightless, spinning out into the unexplored reaches of space between them. He wants to grab her hand on the worn bar counter, anchor himself to her sun-warmed earth.

“As strange as it sounds,” she says after a moment, “I’m… oddly contented. If I spent more time on it I’m sure I could give you a whole list of things I feel I’m lacking, but at this moment none of them really matter.”

His heart accelerates. “Must be some beer,” he jokes.

She smiles at him, a soft closed-lip turn of her mouth that warms him better than any liquor. “Company’s not half bad either. Despite whatever good authority has told you otherwise.”

He drops a hand onto hers then, gives it a brief squeeze before returning it to his glass and finishing his beer.

They walk back to the FBI parking garage, arms bumping each other as they brace themselves against the winter chill. Mulder escorts Scully to her car because he’s a gentleman and squeezing out every last second he can with her.

Scully ducks her head, seeming almost shy. “Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t been out in a while,” she says simply. “This was nice.”

Mulder shrugs, suddenly unsure how to orient his limbs. He wants to hug her, but he knows this isn’t the right time. “Don’t mention it,” he replies, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“Enjoy your m��nage à quatre with the Gunmen,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“I’ll save some kisses from Frohike for you,” he replies with a wink.

They face each other, suddenly quiet. It feels as though they waded too far into the ocean and drifted down shore, losing sight of their picnic spot. They float in the silence, buoyed by their exchange, but uncertain as to where they stand.

“Goodnight,” Mulder says finally, because he can’t think of what else to say beyond that and ‘I love you’. Or ‘come home with me’.

“‘Night,” she replies, unlocking her car door and slipping inside.

He wanders aimlessly over to his car and bundles into the driver’s seat, heaving a deep, half-contented sigh. He considers the evening a tentative success, despite a somewhat unsatisfactory conclusion.

He jerks off when he gets home, holding Scully’s sweet face in his mind’s eye as he comes shamefully into his own lonely hand.

[aro-comics]

Fashion Analysis (Part 2: Outside of Amatonormativity Alone)

[Note: This post is a part of a series analyzing self-expression, fashion, aromanticism, and how they interact with other parts of identity. For full context please read the whole thing!]

Outside of Amatonormativity Alone: Sexism, Homophobia (and/or Transphobia), Racism, Ableism, and Other Factors That can Impact Self Expression 

My comic was originally meant to be a light hearted joke. I’d always been told I’d want to dress up one day, be pretty and feminine once I fell in love with a boy (BLEGH). I was so certain that I would never do that, and now … here we are. I put lots of effort into my appearance, present feminine, all in the hopes I’ll impress a very special someone - a potential employer at a networking event. I think there’s a certain irony to all of this, and I do find it funny that I managed to both be wrong and completely subvert amatonormative stereotypes! 

But having the chance to think about the whole situation, I realize now that my changes in presentation reflect far more. The pressure I felt to dress differently are still influenced by fundamental forms of discrimination in society, and I would be remiss to not address these inherent factors that were tied with my experiences alongside my aromanticism. So in this section, I will briefly cover some of these factors and summarize how they can influence people’s self expression as a whole, before discussing my own experiences and how these factors all intersect. 

Sexism

The pressure on women In This Society to uphold arbitrary norms is ever present and often harmful, and while I wish I had the time to discuss the impacts of every influence the patriarchy has on personal expression, to even try to cover a fraction of it would be impractical at best for this essay. Instead, since the original comic focuses on professionalism and presentation, this is what I will talk about here. 

Beauty standards are a specific manifestation of sexism that have a deep impact on how people perceive women. It’s a complicated subject that’s also tied with factors like capitalism, white supremacy, classism, and more, but to summarize the main sentiment: Women are expected to be beautiful. Or at least, conform to the expectations of “feminine” “beauty” as ascribed by the culture at large. 

They also tend to be considered exclusively as this idea that "women need to be beautiful to secure their romantic prospects, which subsequently determines their worth as human beings. The problematic implications of this sentiment have been called out time and time again (and rightfully so), however there is an often overlooked second problematic element to beauty standards, as stated in the quote below: 

“Beauty standards are the individual qualifications women are expected to meet in order to embody the “feminine beauty ideal” and thus, succeed personally and professionally” 

- Jessica DeFino. (Source 1) 

… To succeed personally, and professionally. 

The “Ugly Duckling Transformation” by Mina Le (Source 2) is a great video essay that covers the topic of conforming to beauty standards through the common “glow up” trope present in many (female focused) films from the early 2000s. 

“In most of these movies, the [main character] is a nice person, but is bullied or ignored because of her looks.”

Mina Le, (timestamp 4:02-4:06)

Generally, by whatever plot device necessary, the ugly duckling will adopt a new “improved” presentation that includes makeup, a new haircut, and a new wardrobe. While it is not inherently problematic for a woman to be shown changing to embrace more feminine traits, there are a few problems with how the outcomes of these transformations are always depicted and what they imply. For starters, this transformation is shown to be the key that grants the protagonist her wishes and gives her confidence and better treatment by her peers. What this is essentially saying is that women are also expected to follow beauty standards to be treated well in general, not only in a romantic context, and deviation from these norms leads to the consequences of being ostracized. 

The other problematic element of how these transformations are portrayed are the fact that generally the ONLY kind of change that is depicted in popular media is one in the more feminine direction. Shanspeare, another video essayist on YouTube, investigates this phenomenon in more detail in “the tomboy figure, gender expression, and the media that portrays them” (Source 4). In this video, Shaniya explains that “tomboy” characters are only ever portrayed as children - which doesn’t make any sense at face value, considering that there ARE plenty of masculine adult women in real life. But through the course of the video (and I would highly recommend giving it a watch! It is very good), it becomes evident that the “maturity” aspect of coming of age movies inherently tie the idea of growth with “learning” to become more feminine. Because of the prevalence of these storylines (as few mainstream plots will celebrate a woman becoming more masculine and embracing gender nonconformity) it becomes clear that femininity is fundamentally associated with maturity. It also implies that masculinity in women is not only not preferred, it is unacceptable to be considered mature. Both of these sentiments are ones that should be questioned, too. 

Overall, I think it is clear that these physical presentation expectations, even if not as restrictive as historical dress codes for women have been, are still inherently sexist (not to mention harmful by also influencing people to have poor self image and subsequent mental health disorders). Nobody should have to dress in conformity with gender norms to be considered “acceptable”, not only desirable, which leads us to the second part of this section. 

Homophobia (and/or Transphobia)

So what happens when women don’t adhere to social expectations of femininity? (Or in general, someone chooses to present in a way that challenges the gender binary and their AGAB, but for the sake of simplicity I will discuss it from my particular lens as a cis woman who is pansexual). 

There are a lot of nuances, of course, to whether it’s right that straying from femininity as a woman (or someone assumed to be a woman) will automatically get read a certain way by society. But like it or not, right or not, if you look butch many people WILL see you as either gay, (or trans-masculine, which either way is not a cishet woman). This is tied to the fact that masculinity is something historically associated with being WLW (something we will discuss later). 

This association of breaking gender norms in methods of dress with being perceived as a member of the LGBTQ+ community has an influence on how people may choose to express themselves, because LGBTQ+ discrimination is very real, and it can be very dangerous in many parts of the world. 

I think it’s very easy to write off claims in particular that women are pressured into dressing femininely when it is safer to do so in your area; but I really want to remind everyone that not everyone has the luxury of presenting in a gender non-conforming way. This pressure to conform does exist in many parts of the world, and can be lethal when challenged.

And even if you’re not in an extremely anti-LGBTQ+ environment/places that are considered “progressive” (like Canada), there are still numerous microagressions/non-lethal forms of discrimination that are just as widespread. According to Statistics Canada in 2019: 

Close to half (47%) of students at Canadian postsecondary institutions witnessed or experienced discrimination on the basis of gender, gender identity or sexual orientation (including actual or perceived gender, gender identity or sexual orientation).

(Source 3)

Fundamentally this additional pressure that exists when one chooses to deviate from gender norms is one that can not be ignored in the conversation when it comes to how people may choose to express themselves visually, and I believe the impacts that this factor has and how it interacts with the other factors discussed should be considered. 

Neurodivergence (In general): 

In general, beauty standards/expectations for how a “mature” adult should dress can often include clothing that creates sensory issues for many autistic people. A thread on the National Austistic Forum (Source 6) contains a discussion where different austistic people describe their struggles with formal dress codes and the discomfort of being forced to wear stiff/restrictive clothing, especially when these dress codes have no practical purpose for the work they perform. If you’re interested in learning more on this subject, the Autisticats also has a thread on how school dress codes specifically can be harmful to Autistic people (Source 7). 

In addition to potentially dressing differently (which as we have already covered can be a point of contention in one’s perception and reception by society as a whole), neurodivergence is another layer of identity that tends to be infantilized. Eden from the Autsticats has detailed their experiences with this in source 5. 

Both of these factors can provide a degree of influence on how people choose to express themselves and/or how they may be perceived by society, and are important facets of a diverse and thoughtful exploration of the ways self-expression can be impacted by identity. 

Also, while on this topic, I just want to take a chance to highlight the fact that we should question what is considered “appropriate”, especially “professionally appropriate”, because the “traditional” definitions of these have historically been used to discriminate against minorities. Much of what gets defined as “unprofessional” or otherwise “inappropriate” has racist implications - as an example, there is a history of black hairstyles being subjected to discriminatory regulation. Other sources I have provided at the end of this document (8 and 9) list examples of these instances.  

Racism (being Chinese, specifically in this case): 

For this section, I won’t be going into much depth at all, because I actually have a more detailed comic on this subject lined up. 

So basically, if you were not aware, East Asian (EA) people tend to be infantilized and viewed as more childish (Source 10). In particular, unless an EA woman is super outgoing and promiscuous (the “Asian Bad Girl” stereotype, see Source 10), IN MY OPINION AND EXPERIENCE it’s easy to be type casted as the other end of the spectrum: the quiet, boring nerd. On top of this too, I’ve had experiences with talking to other EA/SEA people - where they themselves would repeatedly tell me that “Asians are just less mature”,  something about it being a “cultural thing” (Yeah … I don’t know either. Maybe it’s internalized racism?). 

Either way, being so easily perceived as immature (considering everything discussed so far) is also tied to conformity to beauty standards and other factors such as sexism and homophobia, which I believe makes for a complex intersection of identity. 

[Note from Author: For Part 3, click here!]

[ali-and-macy]

While it's important to talk about the positives and the upsides to being disabled, it's also important to acknowledge the negatives and be honest about the struggles of being disabled. We've both been feeling frustrated, depressed, lost, and alone recently due to our disabilities and the downsides that come with them, so we decided to channel those feelings and experiences into a poem. We hope it can remind fellow disabled people that you're not alone and maybe provide some perspective for abled people.

The Downsides of Disability

A poem by Ali & Macy

It's not being able to go anywhere if no one's available to take me there

It's going without the things I need When they're only 5 minutes down the street

It's hearing people say they'll always help me out But at times when I need them, they're never around

It's feeling like a burden when asking for help So I avoid doing anything that I can't do myself

It's trying so hard not to fall behind When I get half as much done in twice as much time

It's having to constantly admit defeat When I can't accomplish what I want to achieve

It's consuming hours of movies and TV And not seeing anyone who looks like me

It's missing out on all the cool video games Because their creators didn't intend for me to play

It's being told that I don't have any worth Since I don't contribute to society and work

It's being told I'm lucky I get all these free perks Though it's not even a fraction of what they all earn

It's watching my younger family and friends Become more independent than I've ever been

It's mourning the life I thought I'd live That I've had planned out since I was a kid

If you're also disabled and you're currently struggling too, we want to remind you that your disability does not subtract from your worth. You are not a burden. You are not a failure. You are an incredible person who does incredible things. You are a valuable person to this world, and you are so, so loved.

While we may be struggling to internalize these things lately, we know at our core that they are true, and we hope you do as well, even if your brain is telling you otherwise. We're sending you so much positivity, comfort, and strength.

You are valid. You are worthy. You are loved.

[pearly-moonlight-melancholy]

There seems to be an unspoken rule that demands of us to pick favorites of various categories among already well known figures of society.

Which makes us compromise a more honest reflection of our true perception and therefore an open dialogue about our individual perception of the world, and creates the show we live in today.

Contests between actors, politicians, money makers, content creators and artist of all kinds.

It‘s an illusionary reality. It is build on taboos of every day life.

My favorite poet is neither Keats nor Shakespeare, so why would I blow myself up like a balloon, pretending I knew what they were trying to say. I can be moved, sometimes even inspired by their works in my own way.

But I can feel the words tingling between my ears, floating through my body, making me grateful to be the receiver of such soft, healing and sorrowful beauty when my therapist helps me connect to myself and a world I got to know as such a frightening place. That is living, artistic and very human poetry to me. Especially with her skill of human interaction and imaginative association.

My favorite singer has been a girl I have shared a flat with. She has been repeating a fraction of some sort of pop song I usually do not care for over and over again, but with that sparkling twinkle in her eyes forever reminding me of how alive one can feel, if one lets the world hear ones voice while cleaning the kitchen.

My little sister is by far the most amazing sportswoman I know and care for, climbing up the doorframe like a little monkey with her 8 years. No Olympia medal will or could convince me otherwise.

The most meaningful Art to me has been a drawing by a friend from school, who drew a portrait of me, when I was at my worst. I had painful acne all over my face, resembling only a part of the hurt I carried within, but she mirrored me with such kindness. I do not think she knew how much it meant to me that she saw something different than a monster in me.

None of these people will ever be talked about in public. They have moved my world so deeply and there are more of them in my life alone.

Imagine we would start talking more openly about what truly matters to us.

Maybe some people still want to hold up contests and competitions. That could still coexist with seeing value in everything else. I still love reading Anais Nin, Virginia Woolf, Nabokov… I’ll probably be an avid reader for the rest of my life. Neither does it make me stop loving the works of some known or lesser known musicians. And I still appreciate visiting a museum and theaters and operas. I am very much moved by some of these experiences, too. They do have an undeniable impact on my inner world that I want to include. I just also want to see the beauty in the blind spots of life. The art of daily living that surrounds me the most and therefore has immediate impact on shaping my world view.

Therefore I want to lay an emphasis on that myself to appreciate life in its very basic form.

Perhaps this thinking would reduce competitiveness and the sense of lacking, if it was more common. I’m sure our perception of the world would be more balanced and acceptance of moderation would be much easier to take on. That’s just my guess, however.

I cannot find any I inherent need within me to be the best or have the most educated opinion simply because it is not my truth. That does not take away any value from anyone who has been moved by the work of a more well known person. I just feel like there should be room for individual interpretation.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

[randomoranges]

here we go folks, after a whole dang month working on this beast it is OVER.

33 pages and nearly 20k words later it’s DONE. idk what to do with my time now [lol what a joke] but here we go.

as they say in the vernac’ attache ta tuque a’c d’la broche à foin.

The Five Times Étienne Fell in Love

PART V

 “You know we don’t have to do this,” He says. He knows this story. It’s their story after all and thankfully, he at least knows it has a better ending, but he’s not sure he wants to hear what Étienne has to say about him.

 “We absolutely do, Murphy; you’re the one who brought this whole thing up.” Étienne teases softly and Edward groans, because, he has and he may as well grin and bear it.

 Edward makes the mistake of turning his head a fraction and catches the last of the saddest of smiles on his friend’s face. He does his best to ignore the swooping sensation in his stomach and focuses on the bird song for a moment instead. They’ve talked over some of the finer points over the last few years. There’s no need to rehash all of it just now. Yet, he’d been the one to open the proverbial door to Pandora’s box and he supposes it is only fair to listen to whatever else it is Étienne has to tell him.

 “Promise it’ll be a good ending.” Étienne ads and that at least makes him crack a smile.

 “It better,” He says and jabs Étienne’s sides gently with his elbow.

 “I still remember the day you showed up on a freaking canoe during Expo. I thought that was the most badass and coolest thing ever. I couldn’t believe it! I remember I kept on telling people that the guy on the canoe? He’s my really good friend! And I was also so psyched to see you!” He laughs and something warm settles in Edward’s stomach.

 Expo had been one of the craziest things he’d ever witnessed in a long time and he’s glad he’d been able to participate, in some way. He does remember Étienne’s look of pure shock and amazement when he’d been there to welcome them and somehow or other, despite Étienne being more than busy during the event, he still managed to find a few spare moments to catch up with him. Plus, at the time, they didn’t see each other as often, so it had really been something for Étienne to take the time to hang out with him, even if it was while they went from one pavilion to the next.

 “I always thought you were attractive, a sentiment that only grew stronger the more we saw each other throughout the twentieth century. I obviously wasn’t going to do anything – not unless you wanted me to, since you were my friend and even if you were into men, it didn’t mean you’d want to be with me.” Despite knowing this, Edward still finds his cheeks heating up at the words and he wonders if he’ll ever get used to the idea that Étienne still thinks of him as someone attractive and handsome. He likes hearing the compliments, even if he flushes furiously.  

 “Then you came to me – when we started reconnecting – and said that you needed an escapism. I could do that. I was more than happy to provide one, especially the kind you were looking for. At that time, I was done, really, with love. Especially with humans. It was too hard, too complicated, too messy and it hurt too damned much. I still wasn’t over Koffey and I vowed that it would never happen again. I had tried. Love just didn’t come as naturally to me as it did to others. It was fine. But I wasn’t about to get that close to humans anymore. Let my guard down and have these feelings creep up on me after months or years. Fuck that shit.”

 “You know,” Edward interrupts, “You could have told me about Koffey at the time.”

 Étienne lets out a bark of a laugh and looks at Edward with a quirk of his eyebrows. “Really? And told you what exactly? P.S., in case I seem more than off, it’s ‘cause the man I loved has just died and I think I’m at fault. Don’t mind me, I’m still reeling from that. Oh, and also from every shitty thing that’s happened in the last ten years, but hey, nice to see you, how’s it been?”

 Edward supposes he has a point. It’s not as if he’d given any information of what had happened to him in the last decade right off the bat either. Retrospectively, however, he would have liked to know. He’s not sure what he would have done, but he knows he wouldn’t have laughed in his friend’s face. Not then and not ever.  

 “Anyways, you wanted sex. You wanted experiences. You wanted to go out and get fucked up. And I wanted that as well. I still needed that as well. It was easy to bring you those things. It was easier still to show you how it was done. You were a very willing student and who was I to deny you? You were the perfect distraction I needed and on top of that, you were my friend.”

 “As the saying goes; misery does love company.” Edward offers.

 Étienne looks at him and laughs. It’s good that, if anything else, they can more or less laugh about it now.  That there are enough better days between those times and now. They’ve grown, changed and gotten better. Found better coping mechanisms.

 “Plus, It helped that you’re like me – that you wouldn’t die on me no matter the drugs, no matter what we did or didn’t do. It felt like – being alive. Somehow. I didn’t have to hide anything with you. We could do what we wanted and see how far our limits would take us. It was liberating – in all its messed up ways. And I knew that no matter how many blackouts we had, no matter what it was we took, I wouldn’t lose you and I didn’t have to explain anything to you. Come the following day, you’d be alive. And that was – a relief.”

 Edward takes a moment to think back to those early years as well. He’d been coming out of his own bad place and Étienne had been a – breath of fresh air, in a way. Despite the abuse of drugs and sex and everything else that had come with it, it had been liberating. He’d felt – free somehow even if he realises now that neither of them had been in a good place at the time either.

 But going off to find Étienne had been his own way to rebel. The parties had been his own way of dealing with things at the time and his way of existing. For once, he felt like he could be some part of himself. That he had control over his own narrative. He may have gone the wrong way about it, but Étienne had been his own anchor, however unsteady he had been. Étienne had been a friend when it had felt like he had no others and someone who’d expanded his horizons. He’d been his point of reference and he’d returned to the proverbial well of knowledge willingly.

 In a way, they’d found each other; from one fucked up mind to another. They’d relied on each other and had turned on each other as well.

 Yet, despite what had happened, he doesn’t regret those years. He’d learned a lot from them and in a way, it had been the cataclysm to getting closer to Étienne.

 “I never expected to fall for you. That wasn’t my plan. I was still mourning Koffey and you were my friend. At a time when it felt like I had very few of those, the last thing I wanted to do was make things complicated by falling for you. Plus, who was to say you would love someone like me? You deserved someone who’d make you happy and who could help you heal.”

 Edward opens his mouth to argue the point. In his opinion, Étienne was a very good candidate to help him – more so now than before, but still. However, Étienne shakes his head and so he keeps the thought to himself and lets him proceed.

 “You could have genuinely just thought of me as a friend only,” He counters and Edward quiets down – he has a point. “My other fear was that you would fall for me, and I wouldn’t and that you wouldn’t understand. There’d been too many people who’d gone down that path and it always ended in another ended relationship. I feared that even if I liked you, I wouldn’t develop those romantic feelings and that it would break your heart and end our friendship. I couldn’t have that. I always valued our friendship above all else.”

 Edward wonders, not for the first time, just how many other people had entered and left Étienne’s life just because he was different. It hurt and angered him to know that so many had potentially missed out on a wonderful relationship – be it friendly or otherwise, just because he worked differently. It was their loss, really, but he hated that Étienne had had to suffer because of it.

 “So I told you. Not to expect a relationship. Not to expect a romantic liaison out of it. That we were just friends having a good time. And it worked. At least, it did at first. For many years it worked. I enjoyed the time we spent together, the benders, the drugs, the parties and the sex. I liked being around you. I liked making you discover new things. I liked having you around.”

 “And then I went ahead and fell in love with you.” He says with the most dramatic of sighs. Étienne spares him a glance and they give each other a look before laughing. It’s such a ridiculous story, yet it’s their story and it makes it that much more special.

 “If it makes you feel any better, I went ahead and fell for you as well. So I guess we both didn’t heed your warning.” Edward gives Étienne’s hand a small squeeze and he smiles softly when his boyfriend laces their fingers together.

 “Yeah, I guess it turned out alright.” He pulls him in for a one-armed hug and Edward nuzzles his face in the crook of Étienne’s neck. They stay that way for a moment, enjoying the possibility and the fact that they’re back here together and even though Edward knows how the first chapter of their relationship ended, he at least knows that they make it back together.

 “It took me a while to realise that I was in love with you,” Étienne tells him gently, “But the signs were there. Those stupid signs Samuel had told me about a million years ago were all there. I felt like such a tool too – that I hadn’t realised it sooner and that of all the things my brother had told me – these were the ones I was going for.”

 “Every time you’d call, I’d feel giddy. Hell, every time the phone rang, and I was expecting your call, I’d run for it, not wanting to miss the call, hoping it was you. I remember walking around in my living room, twisting the telephone cord around my fingers, an excited mess when you’d tell me you were coming back.”

 Edward grins, imagining Étienne doing those things. It’s cute and endearing even and if he holds him a little closer, his boyfriend doesn’t comment on it.

 “I looked forward to all our chats. I couldn’t wait to see you again. I’d even count down the days. I felt – butterflies in my stomach when I would finally see you again. Every time, without fault, I’d just want to scoop you in my arms and hold you close.”

 “For your information, that’s exactly what you’ve always done, sweetheart.” He teases gently. He doesn’t remember Étienne not launching himself at him when he greets him at the airport. He likes it, deep down, even if it’s a little loud and very open – but it’s also so very Étienne and that takes precedence.

 Étienne looks down to him and rolls his eyes, but it’s fond and has no bite. “I know – that’s just the thing, I thought it was normal. We were friends after all. Of course, I was excited to see you. I still do all of those things and I still count down the days to our next visit and I still get those damned butterflies in my stomach when you call or text me or when we see each other. It never fucking stopped – and, well I don’t want it to stop…”

 He trails off for a moment and when Edward looks up at him, he’s happy to see that Étienne’s cheeks have coloured just the same as his.

 “If it makes you feel better, I feel the same way, you know.”

 Étienne presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, “Yeah, I know…”

 At the time, Edward had obviously known that Étienne – liked him, as a friend, but he’d never even started to think that he could like him beyond that, or even love him. If past him could have gotten a glimpse of this very scene, he’s sure the poor fellow would have passed out cold or convinced himself it was some drug induced fantasy worthy of the greatest production of his mind theatre.

 “But then it went beyond that, as if that wasn’t enough. It was the longing to hear your voice; wanting to snuggle up to you. A swooping feeling when you’d kiss me. I wanted to sit and just – spend time with you. Make you laugh. Spend the day together doing nothing. It was less about the drugs and the getting fucked up and more about you – being with you. Wanting to be with you.”  

 “It honest to goodness freaked me out. It felt wrong and stupid to tell you, oh by the way, guess what, I love you, d’you think we can make this work when I specifically told you not to expect a relationship?” He scoffs, annoyed. “Wish I had now.”

 “Hey, you can’t feel sorry for yourself. We’re both to blame. I could have easily done something as well and I didn’t.”

 “Yeah, but, you were going with what I told you. How were you supposed to know?”

 “I could have been bigger about it. Or even told you and laugh it off. The point is, we both didn’t do anything about it and I don’t want you to think that you’re alone in the blame.”

 Étienne lets the issue slide for the moment. He doesn’t want to argue with Edward about this, even though he feels like the bigger part of the blame rests with him. “Still, this was the last thing I wanted to happen yet, there I was completely in love with you, and I had no way of knowing if you felt the same, nor did I want to put you in that spot. In case I did decide to tell you, I didn’t want it to be some big awkward thing. Plus, there was still so much going on for both of us – at least, I know I wasn’t any better; not mentally. Not in the long-term way, anyways. And you weren’t even out to anyone back home.”

 They’ve spoken about that issue in particular. About why Étienne had kept on pestering him about it over the years. It made some sort of sense now that he knew, but at the time, it had annoyed Edward that his friend was so adamant about it. It still didn’t make it okay, but Edward had forgiven Étienne for it – they were beyond that now. (The real question was whether or not Étienne had forgiven himself.)  

 “Yet, the more time went by, the more my feelings for you grew and the more I wanted to try to – be a couple. Be together. Officially and really. I figured if you’d tell me something first – if you gave me a sign that this wasn’t all some construction I’d made in my head, I’d take the plunge – but you never did. And I never gave you an occasion to either. So the proverbial joke was on me.”

 Edward gives Étienne’s hand a squeeze. They’d both been in bad places at the time. He doesn’t regret the step back he had taken from Étienne, for it had given him the space and place to figure himself out and grow, but he had missed him something fierce. It would have been nice to have both at the time; the boyfriend and the coming into himself. He hadn’t exactly been a fan of feeling as though everyone had abandoned him and that he was alone. It would have been nice to welcome the change of the millennium with friends and a boyfriend. But, everything happened for a reason he supposes, even if he doesn’t like said reason. And at least, somehow, things had gotten better over time. It’s already much more than many people unfortunately ever get.

 “There were so many times when I nearly told you. Times when I felt you felt the same. Times when things were good. But every time, I didn’t want to ruin it and make it complicated – figured you knew and therefore, what was the point? We were good and it was all that mattered.” He sighs deeply and picks up the ball again to toss it to Mercury, who goes galloping after it.

 “Retrospectively, I should’ve said something, but I didn’t and then we drifted apart after one argument too many.”

 “Again, it takes two to tango. The blame isn’t yours only.” Edward reminds him. Étienne shrugs and wrestles the ball out of Mercury’s mouth before he throws it again.

 It’s funny how they’ve both tried, over the years, to figure out exactly what happened to their fall out and when, but even they’re fuzzy onthe details. There’d been an argument of sorts, that much they’ve agreed on, and Edward had then returned home. They’d been busy with their own lives, at least one letter had been confirmed lost in the mail and then the years had somehow or other gone by.

 It hadn’t helped that Étienne had stopped going to meetings, so running into him there had happened less frequently. No matter how many times Edward had told himself that he’d make amends at the next meeting, Étienne had never been at it. It also hadn’t helped that the more time went by, the more Edward convinced himself that Étienne had moved on and that it would be pathetic to bring up something that had happened such a long time ago.

 He’d eventually assumed that with their fallout, Étienne had realised that there was nothing to him and that he’d been shelved, just like he’d always feared. It had hurt, obviously, but Edward had been dealing with bigger issues of his own back home and he’d focused his energies elsewhere. Étienne had been a far away fantasy and now that was over.

 On the other hand, Étienne’s own unstable mental health had whispered dark nothings in his ear and had slowly but surely convinced him that Edward had realised that he was messed up and not worth his troubles. He’d then figured that the best course of action was to forget about Edward and move on quickly, before he made a bigger fool of himself. It had pained him, obviously, but it had been the only way.

 Of course, they both realise that there’d been a better option they could have taken, but at least they can say that eventually they did reconnect and had made amends.

“When we stopped hanging out together, I honestly thought it was a temporary thing. Spending that much time together was a novelty anyways, so it didn’t really bother me. We both needed to blow off some steam and I thought for sure things would pick up again soon enough.” He shrugs, “Anyways, I was angry at you as well, so I returned to my regular thing and – put space between us.”

 “I started to worry when days turned to months and then years. It was so – strange, not hearing from you. I wanted to reach out, but I was mad, hurt and petty. Too bad for you, I figured. It’s not like I needed you, I had other friends! But – it felt like I had heard more from you when you didn’t even had a proper post office than now and – it stung. A lot. I went from resenting you to thinking I had fucked up royally and that you no longer wanted anything to do with me. That messed me up even more, because now reaching out to you felt useless. You’d probably just toss me to the side and tell me to get lost.”

 Edward groans and Étienne looks at him, confused. “I think it’s a fucking miracle we managed to actually get back together. I can’t believe we both thought more or less the same thing and it took us that long to – talk.”

 Étienne chuckles, “We’re a special type of stupid.”

 The fact that Edward agrees says a lot about the both of them.

 “I thought it was better to cower away and feel sorry for myself. I tried not to dwell on it too much – tried to move on, while going through a million versions of I told you so. This is why I didn’t want to go ahead and develop feelings! Not only would I get hurt, but you would as well – one way or another, but at least, this way, you had no idea. It was better if you thought I was some heartless monster than some messed up person…”

 Edward wants to once more remind his boyfriend that he is not some monster and that everyone has their own imperfections, but there’ll be time for that later. He needs to make sure that his boyfriend leaves this conversation knowing and reassured that he is not broken.

 “And when I found out about you and Calvin, well that pretty much sealed the deal. You had moved on and I was not about to break that up, regardless of my feelings. I didn’t want to make things even more awkward and complicated, so I kept my mouth shut and just – played it cool; or at least tried to.”

 “What a success that was,” Edward chides even though Étienne had indeed kept his distances and hadn’t brought up his feelings until much later – until after they’d reconnected and after that still.

 “You know what I mean. I may have been called many things in my life, but I wasn’t about to fuck up your relationship just because I was jealous and still loved you.”

 “I know, Sweetheart, I know,” Edward takes a hold of Étienne’s hand and presses a soft kiss to it. He hopes Étienne understands that he’d never thought that about him. He’s relieved when his boyfriend gives his hand a squeeze and that the bite from his voice peters off.

 “It helped when I met new people. That was and is always fun. Building that initial connection, finding that first spark – what they like and what they want. It’s what makes it interesting, really, but of course, even when I hooked up with people just for sex – even when everyone was aware this was just a casual thing, there were still some who’d go ahead and say they loved me. They’d end up thinking that just because we’d meet up a second or third time that it was turning into a serious thing. I just liked their company or wanted to sleep with them again. But they never got it.”

 “At some point, I even faked it. Went along with it. I thought it would be easier. They’d say they loved me, and I’d return it. It – never worked, obviously. I would get tired of pretending. It always felt fake. How could I tell someone I loved them, when they were just a casual friend to me? Or a stranger I had just met? Like, yeah, maybe eventually I would’ve felt love for them – like, with Isabella. We get along great and we certainly have fun, but it’s a casual thing to me. I can’t predict the future, but I certainly do need the time to get to that whole love thing.”

 Edward had been wondering about Isabella, quite honestly. He’d heard of her, over the years, more or less, and Étienne had mentioned a few things about her, but he’d never asked. At first, afraid that his own chance with Étienne was shot and later one because he knew that Étienne loved him and therefore, that was all that mattered to him. Étienne was free to do whatever it was he wanted and if he wanted to share with him on anything, he’d be there to listen.

 Still, with this conversation, he’d been hesitant to ask, afraid Étienne would think he was accusing of something. He’s quite sure he wouldn’t have minded if his boyfriend would have told him he loved Isabella, but he’s also – for the time being – relieved. He supposes he can reflect on exactly why later. There’s enough to process as it is.

 “Yet, it seemed like everyone was after love and everyone equated sex with love, when those two things can be so diametrically different. For so long – for so fucking long there was barely even love in marriages. And now these people were finding love when it was only sex!” He shakes his head as if still in disbelief and Edward gets it, in parts. He’d gone after his fair share of sex only and had only wanted that. He can only begin to imagine how tricky it must have been for Étienne.  

 “Eventually, the other person would feel that there was something off with me. Sometimes, they confronted me about it and then would call me heartless or other such names. How could I not feel the same? They’d ask. What did I mean when I said I didn’t feel love but I didn’t mind them? I must be a monster if I only wanted sex. Christ – why the rush?! They couldn’t understand and it just made me question everything all over again. Had I ever really even loved anyone? Was I really broken? Were they right? Had I missed some great big boat where they were handing out love?”

 “I got tired of that – I’m tired of that.” He sighs and passes an agitated hand through his fringe, before he tugs on a curl that Edward watches bounce back into place. He carefully reaches out for Étienne and puts a comforting hand to his knee.

 “It took me so long to come to terms with the fact that no, I’m not broken.” He admits quietly, “I’m just fine the way I am and it’s okay if romantic feelings never appear, yet every time someone would bring it up, it felt like going back to square one – like I was still that same young man from so many years ago who was terrified I was made broken with missing parts. It honestly got discouraging at times. Like �� hell, there’s even a word for it now! Can you believe it?!” He asks without really addressing Edward, “Demi-romantic, how’s that for fun, eh? How fan-fucking-tastic! I now have a shiny new word I can dangle in their faces. As if I needed that to prove my worth! I don’t need crap from others! And I certainly wish my brain could fully get on board with that as well!” He lights up another cigarette, mindful to let the ash fall into the ashtray Edward had dug out for him. He seems a little annoyed, still, - frantic – as if talking about this has brought up some pent up frustration and unprocessed emotions of his, and Edward gently nudges his shoulder and offers him a small smile.

  “You know, even if you had never told me any of this – about you being demi-romantic, I would have never thought of you as broken. I like you the way you are – always have, really.” He knows these words can’t heal all of Étienne’s wounds and he knows they certainly can’t erase the wrongdoings of the past, but he hopes they bring Étienne some comfort, if nothing else. That if Étienne thinks the whole world doesn’t get him, that he’ll always have him. That Edward will always stand in his corner, regardless of their relationship status.

 Étienne gives a sheepish sort of shrug, and takes a long drag from his smoke, before he passes it to Edward, who’s more than thankful for the hit of nicotine. “I’m sorry I went off like that – that turned into some never-ending tangent.” Étienne knows he doesn’t usually over share. In fact, it usually always takes him ages to open up, but Edward has always been his confidant and this had more or less been things he already knew. It had just been different to – verbally tell him, but if they are supposed to be more open and discuss things, he supposes this is a good way to go about it.

 “Don’t apologise – I don’t mind listening to whatever it is you have to tell me, you know that, right?”

 Étienne nods after a moment, “Yeah; thanks for sticking around through all of this, really. I know none of this changes how I acted towards you and what I said and didn’t say, but I’m glad you didn’t toss me under a bus after that whole debacle. I’m glad we got to be friends again and that we’re back together.”

 Edward chuckles and loops an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders to pull him close, “For what it’s worth, I’m also glad we got to be friends again and that we’re back together, silly. I missed having you around.”

 For the first time since this conversation has started, Edward feels as though Étienne’s smile is genuine and it settles something in him. He presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheeks and holds him to his chest for a moment.

 “That’s it – really. I’m just – demi-romantic and was afraid you’d freak out on me, like so many others had. And after all the grief and loss from Gen to Charlotte, Nicholas and Koffey – I was afraid I’d lose you as well. So I kept quiet and – ended up regretting that even more...” He trails off for a moment and Edward feels him tighten his hold on him, “But here we are now,” He says, making his voice sound strong and stopping it from breaking. Despite everything, he’d made it. Despite everything, he’s here, with Edward and Edward still loves him and still wants him in his life.

 “Here we are now.” Edward parrots back. It has to mean something. It has.

 FIN

Part IV

[a-x-ce]

Me, not too long ago: As a Tokoyami fan I’m ride or die with Hawks, if Toko loves him, I love him!

*Applies my brain for 5 seconds*

Oh brother, here I fucking go

Hawks does not reciprocate even a fucking fraction of the emotion Tokoyami puts into their relationship. Horikoshi has butchered their dynamic and made it so unfairly one-sided. The way Hawks has become completely attached to the Deku storyline completely betrays any of the development between him and Tokoyami. Even IF Hori decides to backtrack, all of the emotional payoff will be completely diminished.

First, he only accepts him during the work study to use him, which is really shitty. Tokoyami is rightfully angry at the implication that his only value is that he’s been involved in attacks on him and his classmates by the LOV and therefore has some fucked up “insider information”. Tokoyami gets stronger out of sheer anger at this point to come back and prove himself to a hero who basically looked down on him as a tool. Oh and also some jokes about Tokoyami having a bird head because we’re still not tackling anything in this series in regards to discrimination on mutants, but it’s ~funny~ because Hawks is mutated too! He’s just also hot because his mutation is some really pretty red wings and not an actual animal head or anything else that would make him ~ugly~ :))

Hawks invited him back again for the same shitty reasons, he’s got info. and he wants to tap into his personal, horrible, experience with the LOV. Which this time included losing control of his quirk and nearly hurting his friends, being nearly kidnapped, multiple of his friends being hurt and nearly killed, the ACTUAL kidnapping of one of his classmates, and the entire fallout of Kamino. Like, what the hell! But this time thanks to how much of a badass Tokoyami is in training himself he can keep up with Hawks, which earns him a night-flight opportunity and some vague advice on learning to fly for reasons he doesn’t even explain in terms of how that directly connects to Tokoyami and his ability to fly that didn’t even exist prior to this very conversation. Okay? So Tokoyami yet again learns some badass move because he’s awesome and U.A. and his internship opportunities so far are basically useless, this kid teaches himself. 

Which is exactly what happens during the 2nd internship, Hawks isn’t even around...but Tokoyami gets stronger regardless because fuck Hawks taking him in again and abandoning him. All we get before the war arc is some internal dialogue from him about how grateful he was that Tokoyami came and showed him he could rely on the next generation of heroes, and acknowledges Tokoyami’s strength. Tokoyami doesn’t know any of this.

While on the other hand Tokoyami ends up appreciating and even being thankful of Hawks advice after the first internship. He admires him, during the war arc he thinks of him specifically and desires his praise for how far he’s come and how much stronger he’s gotten. Tokoyami wants nothing more than in that moment to see him again. And then when he does see him again? Tokoyami is saving Hawks’ life. 

Against an opponent with the worst possible ability, Tokoyami gets hurt in that rescue, burning his foot/ankle/leg in the process. In the worst possible moment near the end when Dabi is on the verge of KILLING them Tokoyami clutches Hawks in his arms as Dark Shadow becomes a shield. He’s willing to die for him there. But thankfully due to the BS of Geten fucking things up, Tokoyami can escape and take Hawks with him. Where he then stays by his side the ENTIRE time he’s treated, through the Machia destruction, until the very end of the arc...

And what? What was the payoff for all this? What could possibly come later to make up for the fact that so far, at no point, ANY of this has been acknowledged by Hawks? Not one word. Not one thought. Nothing to show us he’s even said a goddamn thing to Tokoyami about his near life sacrifice for him. His injuries? Why he had to kill Twice? How ANY of that affected Tokoyami? NOTHING.

Now the “best case scenario” is some shitty flashback way down the road MAYBE. It’s not even guaranteed there will be payoff for all of that, it’s just assumed because all of us expect something otherwise, what the fuck? That’d be horrible writing and some of us would like to keep thinking Hori knows what the fuck he’s doing sometimes (I’m on the fence these days...)

There was so much potential here for just ONE chapter’s worth of dialogue, maybe not even a chapter since god forbid we take too many panels away from the main 3 (lord! I’m sorry for asking for too much!!! forgive this selfish bitch!!) a page to show us that they TALKED AT ALL would have saved me a lot of frustration and annoyance. No amount of flashbacks potentially are going to undo these last few months of anger.

And I KNOW Horikoshi shows us that they have a good dynamic in SIDE art, we got that amazing new image on twitter showing us how Tokoyami makes him laugh, showing his happiness with his little intern. But WHY is that in some twitter image and NOT in the manga?! SHOW US IN THE MANGA TOO, it’s the same shit with all of Tokoyami’s power-ups, ALL off-screened. He just, gets stronger, develops new techniques, and we see the outcome of all of it...details given to us in fucking extra pages maybe in the back of a volume or included in a character data book that only people who buy it get to know. I want information IN the series, not just brushed off to the side so we can just keep focusing on the same 5 characters over and over and over again. Develop your cast Horikoshi, it’s literally not that hard EVERY other mangaka has done it before you and many will do it after you as well, it’s the bare fucking minimum.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light (ch. 3)

Description: Missy moves in with Scully post-One Breath/Scully’s abduction. In this chapter, Scully goes through her morning routine and gets a surprise...

part 1 here. part 2 here. tagging @today-in-fic​.

“Only the Light” won the poll, so it’s now the official title! Yay! Thank you for voting and thanks for all the feedback--I love your comments. This part is the longest yet (and the best imo)--enjoy!! 

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She floats outstretched through the sky as if it were the community pool she and Missy used to frequent as children. She tilts her face toward the sun, feels the warmth of it washing over her. Her eyes reflect the brilliant blue sky, mini-oceans in themselves. Her back is to the city, and she’s so high up she can’t hear one bit of the noise on the ground. She hopes this is what heaven is like. If this is heaven, she has nothing to fear. 

And then she’s falling, a casualty of gravity. Hell has found her. It always does. This is an unfortunate truth she must live with. The sky races past her and there’s a pit in her stomach so deep she thinks she must be breaking the laws of physics, her body stretching like a rubber band about to snap. Surely she is not a human being anymore. Surely she won’t be by the end of this.

The ground hurdles toward her. She can’t see it, but she knows. She wonders what shape they will find her in, or if she will even be found. She hopes for her family’s sake that she’s in so many pieces they can’t put her back together. It’s easier, she thinks, when the body doesn’t look human. Burying a radiant-looking thirty year old is sad. Burying a mangled mess of a corpse is a relief. 

As if on cue, her alarm chirps. She awakes in one piece and punches the alarm, reality whisking away the horror of her dreams. Sweat saturates her silk pajamas, leaving a morning dew of sorts on her sheets. The blankets were thrown off at some point during the night. She does not remember doing this, so she can only assume it was the work of the demonic force in her brain.

Waking up in a puddle of her own sweat has become commonplace since she was returned. The first time the heat was so stifling she thought she must have had a fever that broke, but the mercury thermometer in her bathroom said otherwise. Her body seems to have a mind of itself these days. 

For the time being, her mind is still functioning, so she pulls herself out of bed to get ready for work. This routine part of her day is a privilege she relishes. Very rarely does she get to function on autopilot.

It goes like this: first, she slips off her pajamas and changes her underwear. It is at this point without fail that she realizes she hasn’t bought a new pantyset in years, and wouldn’t it be nice if she did? This mental note slips away by the time she buttons her suit jacket and tucks her undershirt into her slacks.

Next, she switches on the bathroom light and performs the typical tasks of self-care--brushing her teeth, washing her face, and whatnot-- that some might find tedious or annoying. For Scully, they are soothing. She spends too much time thinking about aliens and not enough thinking about herself. She’s not sure she believes in either, but god, it would be nice to try. 

Veering close to the latest possible time at which she could still expect to beat DC traffic to the office, she brushes her hair (no time for a hundred strokes), dabs some concealer under her eyes, and swipes on her favorite lipstick. No need to go all out; she knows where she stands.

Finally, she opens her closet and stares at the rack of heels. They’re uncomfortable and damn inconvenient for an FBI agent, but Mulder’s tall and she is not. She had a fraction of her current pairs before she met Mulder. No coincidence. 

She chooses the tallest pair she owns because she needs the confidence boost. They’re headed to a nursing home in Massachusetts today, so hopefully there will be no running in the woods involved. 

She click-click-clicks down the hallway. The scent of strong coffee permeates the air. She turns the corner, and there’s her sister with a pot of coffee and two plates of scrambled eggs. It is seven o’clock in the morning, and they were up at 3am last night. The last thing Scully expects is for her sister to be cognizant, let alone to have cooked. 

“Good morning sunshine.” Missy slides a plate over to Scully’s usual spot at the table and pours the piping hot coffee into a ‘Kiss Me, I’m A Doctor’ mug. 

Scully pinches herself. No, she’s not dreaming. This is too happy to be one of her dreams anyways.

“This is a surprise,” she says as she takes a seat at the table.

“Well, I fell asleep on the couch and woke up at 5:30. I figured it’s been awhile since someone’s cooked you breakfast.”

Scully takes a sip of the coffee. 

“I don’t even cook myself breakfast.”

“Exactly.”

Melissa tops off Scully’s mug. 

“Is it strong enough? I couldn’t drink mine without adding about a half a cup of milk, so I figured I must be doing something right.”

Scully is so grateful to be waited on that it could be a milkshake and she wouldn’t complain. It is strong enough though, stronger than the milk and sugar mixture someone calls coffee at the FBI. 

“It’s perfect,” she says, meaning it.

“Good. I saw the end of that movie, by the way. You were right, it’s a real snoozefest.”

Scully laughs. “I actually like that movie. That’s why it helps me fall asleep.”

Missy scoffs. “They spend the entire movie pining over each other just for one chaste kiss at the end! Where’s the fun in that?”

“Probably shortly after that chaste kiss.”

Missy smirks, pleased that she’s gotten her sister to make a sex joke at seven o’clock in the morning. She softens her voice-- 

“I did want to talk to you, though.”

Scully finishes chewing the forkful of scrambled eggs in her mouth. 

“I have to leave soon or I’ll be late.”

“Late for what? One of Mulder’s slideshows?”

Scully sits back. Maybe Missy has a point.

“I’m sure you’re tired of my questioning,” Missy says, “so I won’t ask you another thing. Say what you need to say.”

Say what you need to say. So simple, yet so powerful. It occurs to Scully that no one ever gives her this type of shameless permission. They shouldn’t have to, but she’s never been one to talk out of turn. What a relief to have the freedom to speak plainly. 

She exhales. She has spent the past weeks playing back the few memories she has of her disappearance--she won’t call it the other word--and trying to decipher what happened to her. She is no closer to figuring it out than she was when Mulder gave her necklace back, but it might help to share what she does remember.

She launches into it, her memories flowing out in one long stream.

“You know, when I was in the hospital, I kept having this vision that I was in a lifeboat. There was a rope tying it to the dock and on the dock were all the people I loved, the people that were around me. You and mom and Mulder and the nurses.”

Melissa listens sympathetically, shocked and relieved that her sister is opening up.

“But I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything but sit there in that boat and hope that somehow, the tether wouldn’t snap.”

This is the most vulnerable Missy can remember seeing her sister since the passing of their father. There are a respected few who have witnessed Dana Scully reveal the inner workings of her mind. It’s a rare honor to witness Dana Scully reveal the inner workings of her heart. 

Scully continues.

“And then it did snap, and I had...I can only describe it as a near-death experience. Dad was there...He was in his uniform with all his medals and he told me that he loved me and—that we would be together again, but not yet.”

Missy nods along.

“So I guess...that kept me from going. That’s how I knew I had to stay.”

“Wow,” Missy breathes.

“From then on, I could hear everything you guys were saying. I heard you and mom telling me that I was below the criteria of my living will and I was trying to give you a sign…”

Her voice breaks. 

“I was so scared you would pull the plug on me.”

“Oh my god, Dana.” Missy engulfs her in a hug. “I am so sorry.”

Scully breathes into her sister’s neck. Her hair smells like the strawberry shampoo they used when they were children. She wonders if Missy still uses it, decides that now is not the time to bring that up. Instead, she lets go of the hug first.

“I started thinking, if I am below the criteria of my living will, maybe that’s the right thing to do. Maybe if I ever truly wake up, I’ll be so damaged I won’t be able to work for the FBI or have anything resembling a happy life.”

She sighs. “And you and mom said your goodbyes, and I was thankful, actually, that I got to hear them because so many people don’t and you just...never know with my profession.”

She bites her lip to keep from crying.

“And then sometime later I heard Mulder come in, and his wasn’t a goodbye. He touched my hand—I could feel it but I couldn’t respond—and he told me he was there. And I could feel his sadness, but I could also feel his hope. And that was all I needed, was hope.”

“He gave you the strength to wake up,” Missy says, partly as a question. 

“Or the courage to.”

Melissa considers this. She remembers how solemn she felt going to Fox’s apartment that night, delivering the news that her sister was weakening. This must be how nurses feel when they tell loved ones to say their goodbyes, she thought at the time. When he said he wasn’t able to go see Dana in the hospital, she was furious. How can you be so naive? she thought. Are you so afraid of pain you refuse to feel your own feelings? She realizes now this sounds like something she might say to her sister. 

Melissa decides not to mention her involvement in any of this. After all, she hadn’t succeeded in convincing Fox to go to the hospital. That was his own choice. Instead, she says--

“He was really looking out for you, you know. He was a soldier for your cause.”

The edges of Scully’s lips turn up the slightest bit.

“I don’t doubt it. Mulder is nothing if not a good soldier.”

Melissa thinks back on meeting Fox. She said that Dana had talked to her, that her soul was there. He didn’t believe her.

“Fox was exactly what you said he would be,” she tells her sister, “and somehow I was still surprised by the sheer force of his determination.”

Scully chuckles. 

“Well, I don’t exaggerate these things. If anything, I downplay them.”

“No kidding.”

Melissa wets her lips, letting silence rest comfortably at the table with them.

“You’re really lucky you know, to have him as a partner.”

Scully nods. 

“I know.”

And she does.

[probably-haven]

if i end up posting this feel free to ignore, i just felt like rambling about a few of my opinions on morality at 4am. 

I think a lot of people worry about blame a lot; about who is a good person and whose a bad person, about whose at fault for any given issue, about whose right and whose wrong. It’s a major issue in a lot of people’s minds, y’know? And a lot of them seem to always find the answer in themselves, defaulting to taking the blame and questioning whether or not they truly are a good or bad person.

But the way I view morality is a bit different than that. See, the world for the most part is controlled logically; with everything being one big web of cause and effect. And I say web because there’s never just one cause, it’s always a countless number of contributing factors, which were each caused by a countless number of contributing factors themselves. Of course this progression of cause and effect can’t be tracked, but it’s there nonetheless as an undeniable factual truth. 

We as a logical rule tend to blame ourselves for things, taught that it’s incorrect to blame others when we could instead take responsibility and better ourselves. And truly logically it may be our fault, but it was also the fault of countless other factors at the same time, and even the immeasurable fraction that may be one person’s fault is simultaneously caused by countless other factors in and of itself. 

This is the way that it works for any and all actions and events that take place. They are predetermined by a mix of various factors out of anybody’s control, constantly interweaving through a series of genetics and environmental factors. You heard one thing this one time and disregarded it because someone once told you something different and a mix of both your genetics and the fact that a series of events earlier in your life turned you into a person who speaks their mind, so you voice this and discuss it with the person, whose genetics and past have caused them to hold this thing that they believe as a fundamental personal truth that matters very strongly to them. They react defensively to the confrontation, snapping at the first person and it descends into an argument. 

who is at fault here? One person for having a different opinion? then which person is that? One person for voicing their disagreement? they did so respectfully. The only intent was a peaceful discussion, is that not justified? to further one’s knowledge and seek to experience multiple sides of an issue is a good thing, so how then are they at fault? The other person for snapping? The first person targeted something they held dear to them and in a natural moment of protective instinct they lashed out. The emotions caused by the first person’s actions are not under the second person’s control, they were predetermined by a countless number of factors than neither person could hope to comprehend. People are not in control of their emotions or thoughts and how they express them, so then how can any one fault the other for protecting their own personal truth?

then you can fault the causes- but which one? there’s to many to place a blame on any one thing or number of things so it just fizzles out and nobody is at fault, both just a victim of circumstance. 

See the thing is, observing this situation, who is the good person and who is the bad person. Who here is the better person, the moral high ground. And if every situation is comparable to this one, with countless more causes and factors that cover every event, then truly what is the distinction between a good person and a bad person? Luck?

See, a lot of people, when faced with someone convinced that they are bad, will take the opposite stance “no you’re good, look at all these good things you’ve done” and the first person will always be able to think of a reason why that thing was for selfish intent- which as far fetched as they may seen, could very well have been one of the contributing factors to the event in question. 

Now “a bad person” is a cruel label, as it puts a host of expectations on another, a filter through which people will view their actions, always seeing and expecting the worst, and the person will see this as well with time, unless some other factor in their life convinces them otherwise.

but i like to imagine that “a good person” is just as cruel as a label because the expectations are much greater.

so how can you take a person who sees the bad causes and reasoning behind everything they have done, and tell them that you thought all those actions were selfless, and that you believe that they can continue to fill the role of good person long enough into the future not to crash. Imagine all the bad intent and reasoning that can be found around that. 

Realistically there are no good people or bad people, just people. People who enact actions that carry no moral weight, because at their core they are just actions, nothing less and nothing more. Each one has countless intents and reasons behind it but the action in an of itself is not good or bad until someone labels it as such, and naturally others will disagree and label it differently, but in truth, it is and always will be just another action, and people will always be people, neither good nor bad. To quote from a number of clichés “it doesn’t make you a bad person, it just makes you human”

and these factors truly are endless. They say a smile can save a life and it truly can. Maybe not directly, but by smiling at one person you can brighten their day incrementally, giving them further more positive energy to spread to countless others and from there it spreads. 

The world works through a series of logical events, yes, but to us those events are so small as to be almost completely unpredictable, so you never truly know just how much of an impact you can have. 

and i just think that’s beautiful