#and bc we only see the teens it's easy to imagine it as a teen apocalypse drama where all the adults disappeared

[nefariousfool]

brat review under the cut bc no one on here gaf

It agonizes me to do so, but I'm gonna structure this in comparison to Taylor Swift's new album, not because we must "pit two bad bitches against each other" (taylor is not a bad bitch) or that everything must be about that wretched blonde woman but because their careers actually mirror each other quite well in some aspects that show both charli's weak spots on this album that follow what seems to be the trend for millenial pop artists, but also her strengths. also I never got to bitch about TDPS as much as I wanted to

Speaking of strengths, I'll start with those. Compliment sandwich to make the rest go down easy. She makes what is undeniably a fun album. Much easier to digest and more cohesive than CRASH, ultimately a wonderful example of her command over visual advertising matching auditory experience. I can easily imagine the best way to experience Sypathy is a Knife, Everything is Romantic or 365 is best heard loud as all hell in a club you don't remember arriving at and won't return to again for a few months for what it does to your body. As promised its a return to her public "prime" but cooler, sexier, a little wiser.

So I is maybe the only Sophie tribute that doesn't feel theatrical or subtle or in very poor taste. Rather than sheer worship over a woman who now is unable to live in the minds of many as a complete human being, charli admits she took her for granted. She doesn't mythologize her death but rather opens up that the wound of losing a friend you wish you spent more time with is still there. it might scar over, but the pain remains.

Now to where the comparison begins. Both artist imo had their best year the year of lockdown. The forced introspection made their work calmer, better. Taylor's was definitely in some aspect her trying to find herself after her absolute flop of a comeback album while also attempting to legtimize herself as an artist to the more critical pop crowd. Playing with narratives that don't involve her personal life was, while a bare minimum mark of a decent artist, something people weren't sure she was capable of anymore. It was a calculated move that birthed two albums that live as her best in her discography. Charli was, as far as I can tell, less calculated and far more authentic but netted the same results. The Cool Girl version of Taylor, she too achieved success in the late 00s as a teen, but rather than doing all American sweetheart gigs about how precious and lovestruck she is, she was 14 performing her songs at illegal raves. Her rising career was based off a very cool, distant persona. For this reason, she previously was not nearly as personal in her songs but took the lockdown time to open up about her feelings as well as her relationship with her long term partner at the time. They were songs that spoke personally to her audience, allowing them intimacy at a time when everyone was very vulnerable. Cringe exposing my emotions but party4u still brings tears to my eyes. It seems, in the latest albums of these two, they have "come home" to what is comfortable for them. You do see slivers of incredibly personal moments slip through, especially in Rewind and I Think About it All the Time (and of course So I) but overall rather than fond nostalgia for her roots this album gives the vibe of someone desperately trying to keep on a mask that used to protect her but doesn't anymore. Taylor, too, has slipped into her old habits of overexposing her personal life in uninteresting, spoken word lyrics that I hear in Brat as well. The lyricism feels lazy, attempting to act nonchalant and casual while abandoning a rhyming scheme completely for many of the songs. Some fans delight in this, but I know both of these women can do better.

Maybe this is all best exemplified in a song that wears the identity of the album the best, Mean girls. This mindset is ever present in the album, but this track is embarrassingly on the nose. Slapdash and pandering, it shows Charli has acquired a specific audience other than poppers addicts and people who wish they could have worked at an American apparel in 2010, and that audience is the fleabag type. A loser. You're showing your love to the losers and the haters. Maybe it's because im in this album and I don't like it, but it shows how much she too has attached herself to the persona of the late 20s shit head woman who is fun at parties if you're also drunk, but in the daylight is liked by no one who really gets to know her. the self victimizing "just being honest" woman with the soul of a wet rat, an intensely online woman, sex and the city's Carrie for Zelennials. miserable. This was where it was going to end up, wasn't it? This is the modern Cool Girl, after all. This is what she wants us to believe she is. She's so Julia. This is so Charli, I guess. It evokes pity in me.

I don't have much a compliment to end this with actually. Overall I do really enjoy it on a sound level, I'm likely to listen to it on repeat for a while yadda yadda. Whatever I was really critical of Crash upon release which I softened my opinion of as time passed but idk, millenial women cannot stop being messy and weird about it and it's embarrassing.

[yandere-yearnings]

On top of my last ask I also have a question geared to your sillies

We all know both Sunny and Dice have a serious jealousy problem but I was wondering why exactly that's the case? Like did anything happen in their past to make them respond so aggressively when the threat of potentially losing reader arises?

If you're planning to go into this further in their main stories then you can ignore this ask ofc :)

-Gnawing on your latest posts, 🦢

i do intend to delve into their backstories and why they are the way they are later on down the line in their main stories, but bc i'm being a bit slow with releasing new chapters, i figured it'd be nice to just explain it. also, i'm glad you enjoyed my latest posts swan nonnie🥺 gonna try and answer more asks soon so hopefully that means more content too🥰

major spoilers for sun's and dice's backstories under the cut!

warnings for mentions of cheating, alcoholism, child abuse and neglect❗❗

so, originally sun and dice had a fairly normal life, if not a really happy one — they were in what would be considered a standard family, with a mother and father who seemed to love each other loads and dote on their children. in actuality, their parents' marriage was going stale and their mother ended up having an affair with another woman, soon eloping with her and abandoning them.

that in itself was a point of trauma for both of them, sun especially, bc he was older and had spent more time with her. neither of them really understood how someone could say they loved them one day, only to have left them all alone within 24 hours, not even a note or message to explain.

then, they were forced to take the repercussions of their mother's actions in the form of verbal and physical abuse from their father, who had steadily become an alcoholic. all of the household income was used to fuel his addiction and own living expenses, and sun and dice were neglected for a long time before their aunt came to take them away.

somewhere, they kinda expected their father to at least fight for them, but when he gave them up so quickly — not wanting to see their faces anymore bc they looked so much like her, the feeling of abandonment they had been experiencing prior finally reached a point where it started to define them.

they had a lot bottled up from then; feeling wronged, feeling like they had so much left to say, questioning why. a lot of anger and bitterness and desperation to just feel wanted again fueled them into becoming who they did. sun would fight a lot as a teen, bc he felt constantly frustrated and it was easy to push him over the edge. dice was really passive, and he'd let himself get picked on bc he didn't feel like he was worth enough to speak up against it.

their respective darlings meet them at a time where they've just begun to establish a sense of self-importance, and it's bc they're clinging to that little confidence they finally have, that they're both adamant nothing takes it away from them ever again. sun doesn't ever want to be tossed aside like his mother had done to him all those years ago, and dice doesn't want betrayal to turn him into the monster his father had become.

for those reasons, they'll do whatever it takes to make sure they don't lose you. whenever they see you with someone else, they can just imagine you building a relationship with that person and leaving them behind to suffer in the end. just the thought has every bad memory flooding back. it makes them murderous.

for what felt like forever, all they had was each other and the resigned understanding between them. now they have their darlings, that desire to be seen again has reignited, and they rely to a dangerous extent on the promise that love could make up for all the pain they didn't deserve.

[thetaoofbetty]

Why do you think there's so many bad takes in fandom? I know you've been watching/reading Bridgerton lately and there's so many terrible takes in that fandom that it's making me cringe.

literally only asked me this bc you know i'm fandom old. pfft.

no but also we (i'm guessing) were in the riverdale trenches and does no one remember those takes? like, remember when 4 underage teens were sitting by a fire in a promo and it turned into 4 underage teens on the lowest standard of basic cable were having an orgy within hours of said promo bc someone turned their anxiety into everyone else's problem? i do. it's also hilarious but that's not the point i suppose.

my best guess is media literacy is now a long lost art bc you're reading a lot of takes that stem from very and extremely literal interpretations of promo/interviews/trailers. they lack nuance and paint a lot of things in black and white and any deviation will be met with swift accusations of doing wrong think in fandom for whatever character/plot/ship they don't like.

let's all remember alex. not a good or right take in his career and there he is, being paid to share his bad takes with the rest of us. people playing telephone without context and letting their bias talk them out of simple logic is sort of wild when those people also have access to the rest of us online, ha. i can see how easy it would be to let someone's anxiety spike over hearing/seeing something they were already worried about happening and turning it into a full fledged theory based on something that, in all probability, won't be anything like they imagined.

in my (long and varied) fandom experiences, the best theories come from the english degree girlies who are quietly discussing themes and motifs with their friends and not the people screaming every 5 mins about how this is going to happen bc a social media post/promo got met with vibes and anxiety. or, to be totally honest, a lot of people just write a fic summary and call it a theory while passing it around making everyone else anxious with them.

actually tho, i can think of so many people who would be better off just writing the ideas they have as fic instead of passing it off as fact and then getting mad when people don't agree with them. 🤔

[sayyourprayers]

Why is the fandom so weird about Finn and Noah's appearences and body type? Finn is constantly get babygirlified in a false narrative bc people see him as 'soo gender' bc he is tall and slim, they even apply eating disorder to Mike? When there is nothing that points to that on the show (if you do not reach). Lets not act like it is not because of overfocusing on Finn's appearence. They are also so weird abt Noah, and it is just more uncomfortable due to him being gay. This overfocusing on someone's masculinity and not is so weird especially when people project it onto Will to erase his canonical gnc'ness when we know he has been shamed for being like that. And people getting weird because Noah has an ass? Like idk what to tell you but people are not in the wrong when theu draw Will as having a butt or as his canonical gnc portrayal. You (neutral you) are, in fact, making it weird by capitalizing on the butt aspect so much though or insisting on making him buff.

Overfamiliarity. Incredibly BORING definitions of what passes as OBVIOUSLY gay (☂️). Obsession with skinny white men who are tall and have visible lips and did 3 fashion shoots wearing high heels or long nails maybe. Wearing a cap backwards as being a sign of men men men men manly men men men. Idk. Conflating charACTORS. Even then using weird baselines for both. Purity culture. Taste or lack of it.

Calling Noah buff is like how in the 2000s anything above size 4 was considered big. N calling Finn the various things he's called is disrespectful to Harry Styles.

I dis/agree about the ED takes as they're not solely reliant on his physique. But they're not devoid of relying on those. I guess it depends whose justification you read. Matters not to me since I disagree with all.

Will having a butt is canon. They're giving him tight pants. The cast too have spoken about it. They gave him short shorts. I think it's their way of showing his flamboyance or preference towards not loose clothing unlike the other boys in his group and even the teens.

It's easy to make anything weird if you put your mind to it. And we know the fandom has an overactive imagination generally. But in ways antithetical to the supposed message of the show and hell even the legacy of Tumblr.

But freedom of expression enshrines freedom to bullshit. So here we are.

The reversal confuses me because I genuinely feel there is no sweeping intent tying all the people who partake in it. People do it cuz of Noah Finn weirdness. Or sometimes it's to kind of make byler feel more equal. Let's switch what's happened so far. So now Mike's the delicate one and the one pining while Will's the cool mofo slinging guns and tearing his shirts as he flexes to upturn a car. "Told you, physique!"

I would put more thought into it. But I'm not being paid enough or at all. N that's an area that's important to me but not top of the list.

Canon is superior simply cuz it's canon. It's superior even with its flaws and imperfections and bad execution and misplaced intentions and all that jazz. Because that's the only truth that can be debated upon.

Headcanons are their own thing and have fun go ham.

Fanon is rust. And we have seen it fucking up the fandom machinery. It basically checks a lot of the boxes to classify as orwellian. But it's a silly show so I feel silly saying it. But ya.

Just don't give a fuck. Be rude to people who are rude to you. Assert your dominance by pissing on bad takes. What do I tell you man? Fight fire with water.

[afriendlyood2]

Confession of the most arrogant sjw ever, aw shiiii

hello, I have a flow of thoughts about hyperreality, digital instruments, fandoms and anger and arrogancy...

and mental health of course

so basically many influencers before my unpopular and even cancelled ass already noted that we have entered this digital agenda era when gadgets are stealing our attention and overwealm our brain to the point that we forget our own thoughts and real world around us

and that is their very agenda, as digital marketing specialists are batteling for the space on our phone screen and seconds of our attention, and public speakers and polititians are battling to drag us into the discourceTM bc "how can you be out of politics you ignorant jerk the world is on fire" etc etc. many described these mechanisms before so I won't repeat what they have said already, it's out on Youtube and many otehr resources.

and also many said before me how fandom discourse went to shit... well, it was shit even in my youth... we would battle over this problematic bullshit even by that time which was the early social media era of late 00s - early 10s (now it is even more radicalized though, to my horror)

but I as a millenial am horrified of how gen z and gen alpha folk are not yet realizing where it will get them in 10-15 yrs time... it will get them in hell, as I as a 30 yrs old millenial see from my own exeperience. some of them won't even survive mentally and I am even not overstimating the problem, as this is also real.

back in the day we had this cursed AOT fandom. I knew a girl from my city (I was in early 20s she was still a school teen) - an easy imaginable situatuion, as the fandom is mostly made of these age people. notable mention - by that time culture geek culture wasn't open to the self critisism sentiment yet, actually the opposite - geeks were made cool, "brainy is the new sexy" bullshit was sold to you by sherlock bbc or the big bang theory or shit like that, so geeks and especially millenials were HIGHLY arrogant and gatekeeping (i mean uss callister was yet to happen, in the meantime we actually head star trek into darkess coming out tbh). add that to the western way of white saving everyone and pull the discourse from a higher position of somebody morally dominant and 'progressive' and you will get quite a sick mental cocktail to spoil everybody more or less geeky and intellectual stepping into the online fandom game, especially if you faced bulling in school before that or smth... that shit alltogether can make you this arrogant main character with savior complex, fr, and I am horrified to see that in modern fandm teens cause THEY HAVE NO IDEA where it can lead them, yet I sadly do.

well /dark batman music theme/ let me tell you where it can get you you little arrogant social justice dick reading this

back in the day I as I told you I knew a girl who did some AOT fanfiction which you guys as I did by the time would call problematic. because that's what you see online right? a person writing some hateful words in their art online. basically puting a negative emotion of hate and only that emotion, not what stands behind it and creates it - you're to arrogant to see that, so you judge that little hateful teen (the fact that we are making teens feeling negative things 'problematic' is some sick shit to begin with in the first place - they are teens they are SUPPOSED to feel these things, the world is going at them, come on). that fact that I was arrogant to judge her even though we had an attempt at friendly conversation and understading each other... basically it locked her up - if a person judges you, you don't wanna talk to that person, you close from that person right? yep. that's what she did... as somebody who was ACTUALLy bullied by everybody by the time, literally by everybody from her social circle - and she WOULD tell me if she would trust me enough and if I wouldn't judge her, thus I would give her shelter orgs and psychiatrists or smth, I knew some by the time so could help.

thing is the girl - tw here - killed herself. I got to know that stuff from her then-time bf who came in his riddler era to avenge me later in 2020 and for damn sure he hated my arrogant ass as I was an adult who knew his gf and had recouses for giving helo yet not the knowledge of the girl's sutiation, and not to mention we are from the same city btw. bruh my mental image crumbled right before me and in intence karma hit I tried to repeat this girl's fate TWICE since 2020, and second attempt was here in Krk after I escaped Kharkiv in 2022, this year's June. I considered myself not worthy of life and happiness because I didn' see her troubles back then.... ugh.... call that catholic gulit of smth, but I am eating myself to this day. many say - this doesn't help actually and you need to live and help the living, not to crumble over the dead ones. but for damn sure I feel the guilt EVEN THO I am not her abusive classmates or older 'protectors'.

Social justice is sometimes arrogant and blind and it SHOULD NOT BE goddammit, stop and reflect on yourselves - are you really that morally right?

Also dear gen z and gen alpha

Those who have an ok social circle of family and friends - pls drop ya phone and get to them RIGHT NOW. For those who escape to the digital world from abusive surroundings - bruh some of us out there are arrogant as shit, but please tell your pains and seek for help I beg ya, and seek for shelter in REALITY, cause YOUR REALITY is abusive in the first place and just running into the virtual world sadly won't save ya, you need a safe space irl as well fr.

That's my message of this awful Batman Daredevil and oh my god Lenny Bellardo kinnie I am in my 30s. It is not told in calm voice, I am screaming here to ya. Shit will get fucked fr. Take care of these things pls.

P.S. as tho my arrogancy in that interaction was real - these folks, oh the irony, used my guilt to put not just her death on me (even tho it's on her abusers), but also the mess in the workplace of my ex boss - not to mention she later put the death of an ex colleague on me (jeez she died because of being overwelmed by activism she did during the war so this is ON OUR ATTACKERS DAMMIT) cause it was so suitable to force me into guilt for something I am not responsible for, so she and these folks became as ugly in social justice as I am LOL. Such an irony of things turning back at them right? All these people are Ukr refugees like me btw. We all have to learn fron this.

[unohanabbygirl]

Back at it again with a giant ask about a FMN and HIPS crossover. Thank you so much for giving me the time of day. Onwards! I’m obsessed with idea of artwork and the way it exists in your reincarnated universe. Is it a slap in the blacks/Osferth’s face that Aemond surrounds himself with depictions of Luke’s assault? It’s so fucked up for Aemond to try to convince Rhaenyra and everyone that he is changing, wants to be better and is good enough to meet Osferth, but then spends hours upon hours surrounded by expressions of the horrific crime that happened? Would you say that the blacks can see right through him and know that while he’s not proud of the assault, he takes narcissistic pleasure in being remembered by history? “Please let Osferth know I called” Aemond says while staring at a romanticized depiction of the assault he committed. Can you imagine Heleana taking the children to visit Aemond at work and they walk down a hallway to his office with all those paintings leading the way? Or if Maelor and the twins learned about him in school and THEN remembered and felt sick knowing he was their uncle but Alicent/Helaena encourages them to give him a chance? Imagine r*pe apologist Alicent trying to keep the truth from them but like the internet exists?? It would be interesting in that scenario that the more Alicent pushes the narrative that Aemond was the victim or Luke was a liar as a way to rally the targtowers, she just ends up isolating herself and Aemond even more? It would be INSANE for Alicent to drag all of them to church including Helaena’s kids only to have the priests start on about how evil Aemond was and the sin he committed against the Mother. So much of FMN is these two groups coming together so it’s fascinated to see the same people again so polarized. Also it would be SO dope to have Daeron and Luke meet first because Daeron wouldn’t recognize him? He remembers Like as children vaguely but had no idea he was this amazing as a teen.

You mentioned that Daella was an omega…since it’s modern times and medicine is so much better can we please have great granny Daella alive and well and she’s one of Luke’s mentors? They don’t even know their connection!

I also have to ask that since it’s an abo verse in the FMN universe, does Luke still go through the trauma you’ve written as his back story? The repeated abuse, Owen’s presence, and his case? I would imagine that with scents—to put it crudely—teachers and government officials in charge of his foster care would be able to smell if he was being abused? Since he’s an omega does he actually end up in a much better situation when placed in foster care bc I would think that special treatment is given to omegas? Honestly I feel like the trauma he’s gone through in FMN plus HIPS is a little TOO angsty. Especially with this last chapter of FMN showing the way repeated assaults have just utterly destroyed his sense of self worth and remembering would just prove to himself that HE’S the problem. To know that this didn’t just happen to him in modern times but also in a previous life seems too much to bear.

In a different line of thought, I know some of us may tend to skip over this when reading because we want the drama, but wealth and class are a huge presence in FMN. Could you expand on what it’s like for the targtowers not to have access to that? I can’t remember if they are using Viserys’ money or if Alicent is also well off. It’s easy to share the wealth when all is forgiven, but in this scenario I don’t see Vizzy giving any money over to them solely because of what Aemond did to Luke. Also…what’s Rhaenys like in this? I remember from the original post of the HIPS drabble that she brings Luke back to KL thinking he is one of Corlys side pieces which kicks off the whole reunion. What’s it like for her to be in the presence of a Luke who doesn’t remember who in the past she unwittingly forced from his sanctuary? I feel like the whole family would be terrified of spending too much time with him because they DON’T want him to remember. Of course some of these questions may be difficult to answer since both stories are unfinished. We don’t yet know a lot of the behavior of the blacks bc unlike in canon, Luke returns to them with Osferth.

Of course! I love this crossover so much and I’d be more than happy if you kept the questions coming so long as you have them ☺️

As for your first question; Aemond knows his obsession with such artwork is more than a bad look for him in this journey to prove he’s a changed man and earn Rhaenyra’s trust in order to actually be allowed contact with Osferth. Because of this he’d more than likely keep his interest a secret for as long as possible despite filling his life with horrid depictions of his worst crime. However, I imagine it would all come out in the open after Egg takes a school trip to the museum Aemond works at and spots him in a trance with a very explicit piece of Luke’s assault. It’s enough to make Egg’s stomach churn as his classmates also express their discomfort with the piece.

Of course the first thing Egg does is text his mom before snapping a picture as evidence since he’s no different from the rest of the blacks in completely being against Aemond having contact with Osferth. And this little infatuation is more than a enough evidence to prove that he doesn’t deserve it. After all, how would Osferth fell knowing his father tries to constantly relive the worst act committed against his muna?

This ends with a “family” meeting consisting of both fractions in order to discuss this new development leading Aemond to have no choice but to reveal his new place of work (though he keeps his true reasons for taking up the curator job rather than his original plan to become an archivist to himself)

The meeting is an absolute mess because both sides have their arguments. With the blacks its “why should we believe he’s a different man when he clearly gets some sort of sick satisfaction from surrounding himself with glorified art of what he did to my son/brother. Do you think Osferth would be happy to know this?” and for the greens its “But you all know Aemond has always expressed interest in uncovering and learning as much as he can in regards to history. Is he supposed to find a new passion just because those artworks happen to he there? There isn’t a single museum in the country that don’t have similar paintings available for viewing.”

The meeting ends without coming to a valid middle ground and on continues the internal fighting among them all. And though both Alicent and Helaena know their argument was bs seeing as Aemond could easily find a position that doesn’t involve surrounding himself with such violent art, they can’t help but be on his side. For Alicent it’s because she truly sees no wrong in her sons actions because “it was Luke’s sinful nature that seduced my son.” While for Hel it’s simply because she feels its her duty to remain at her mother and brothers side. This in turn leads down the path of Maelor and the twins learning what their uncle is remembered for.

This is one thing the greens (except Daeron) have never actually taken into consideration. Hel’s kids aren’t going to remain naïve children forever. They’re growing by the day and the kiddy lenses they view the world through are slipping off with time. I feel that its when the twins reach their 6th grade year that they learn the total extent of Aemond’s actions during a history lesson. They want to learn more which leads them to researching more at a friends house after school. Long story short it leaves them feeling sick with a sense of betrayal towards their family. Their eldest uncle may be less than kind to others but he’s always been good to them. It causes them to look back at their immediate families actions and it makes a lot of sense. Daeron’s constant malice towards Aemond and Alicent, their grandmother’s outdated faith to the old ways of the seven (which I feel would be similar to the old Testament) as well as her constant attempts to shield them from learning about history, I.e. keeping them from viewing any history channels and putting child block on certain sites. Their mother has always seemed uncomfortable with Alicent’s approach at making sure they’re blind to the truth and now they know why.

I don’t think either of the twins would be the type to approach Alicent head on but the shift in energy towards both her and Aemond would make their new knowledge obvious. This in turn leads to an immediate trip to Sunday service the next day to quote “wash away the lies” but it all gets thrown back in her face when the septon begins preaching of “respecting the holy omega” and “all who’ve done wrongs towards embodiment of the mother in any way shall burn”

Its safe to say the trip back home is VERY silent.

Daeron meeting Luke first would be a good choice because he practically has no idea what a young Luke looks like since all memories of his nephew are from when Luke was grown. He’d likely have no idea that Luke Rivers is actually Lucerys and thus form a genuine friendship with this rebellious and carefree omega who’s so different from his high society Peers Alicent encourages him to befriend. I’d even say Luke treats him like a little brother despite being a year younger. For the first time in his life Daeron feels like he’s in good hands, which makes sense once the truth comes out.

I love the idea of great-granny Daella! Maybe she works at a foster center and feels a strong connection with this amazing young man before taking him under her wing. Telling him stories of her youth and giving advice on how to navigate the world while still being true to himself. I feel she’d 100% think of adopting Luke herself after some years go by without this sweet boy finding a forever family but her higher ups tell her it wouldn’t be permitted. I can imagine her going on about Luke to her daughter and granddaughter all the time and it makes Nyra cry because all she can imagine is her own lost son. Maybe it would come to the point where she brings them to meet Luke during one of the centers field day for the younger kids where the older teens help out and bam! Family reunion. Though I think such a revelation would give granny a bit of an anxiety attack 😭

Since Luke has already been through sexual trauma in his past I would completely change his current storyline. As you said, its all way too angsty and feels like putting Luke through abuse for the sake of it which i’m not a fan of. To know he’s been assaulted in both lives would likely send Luke down a path of contemplating hurting himself in a surge of hopelessness. It’s way too cruel for comfort. While this Luke has been in crappy foster homes and even been groped without his permission once or twice, he’s certainly never experienced r*pe or a forced sex act of any kind. Nor has he shot up the heavier drugs such as milk of the poppy.

However the question of if public officials could smell if a child was being hurt in that way is an interesting one because there are so many possibilities that along come with it. People can in fact smell the scent of abusers on children in the system along with their fear which make the chances of creeps trying anything incredibly low but sometimes a r*pist throw caution out of the window during extended holiday breaks in the school year since there’s enough time for the “smell” to wash off naturally along with long forced shower. Scent blockers have the ability to conceal this quite easily but there are many limits such as age and reason. If a child hasn’t presented yet for example.

Getting your hands on these isn’t an easy task; you have to have an actual reason for why you need the blockers, multiple doctor’s visits and received many sign offs as proof to whatever pharmacist that your prescription is valid. Think of it like getting a Percocet prescription. There are so many current barriers in place that even when prescribed by your doctor for a valid reason pharmacist will still turn you away.

Even with these measures put in place there’s always someone things illegally so the possibility of predators abusing this drugs to cover their crimes remains.

If Owen does exist in this au i’d rather have him be the way older boyfriend who sometimes snorts coke and is a bit of a weirdo but overall is harmless loser who works at the local 7/11

What makes this s Luke different is that he’s experienced a much better life due to his status since there are a multitude of precautions in place to make sure such a vulnerable percentage of the population remains safe. All omega homes and government programs keep them together with older omegas to act as a guiding hand. I can also imagine something akin to an omega protection act. Luke’s omega status has saved him from so much trauma in this life, a complete 180 from the past and will overall serve to help give him faith for both his and Osferth’s safety once his memories return.

The question of class and wealth is one I always love answering because there’s so many way’s which their money and connections affect their lives. In the original story Alicent’s money is her own BUT it was Nyra, Daemon and Viserys that got her out of the mud so she could build herself up. Since their relationship is so strained in this AU Alicent would find herself marrying into high class through lies of her true connections to the Lannister’s (not to mention she’s a Tully despite technically being a bastard. But unsurprisingly she doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge it.) Alicent would definitely go about the path of seducing a way older man whose the head of a great house (maybe Baratheon?) and slipping her way into his will before its light’s out. It hurts her mentally in way since she’s basically repeating the past step for step. Yet she’s so used to her past life of absolute luxury that remaining a working class citizen is beneath her in her mind. Because of this Aegon/Hel and Aemond/Daeron would have different fathers which is it’s own can of worms.

Now that I think about it, giving her last two children brown hair and eye’s is a fun idea to play around with. While Aegon and Helaena have traditional Lannister looks from their father it would be a huge hit to Aemond’s self esteem to have “basic” coloring. Not to mention that it would basically make the resemblance between him and Osferth that much more striking…gonna think about this some more. But back to my point—

Alicent still finding a way to slither her way into wealth is a hit to the Rhaenyra big time. It just goes to show that she’ll never truly escape Alicent’s nasty ways. The upperclass are in such a tight-nit circles therefore they’re all forced to interact and play nice to keep up a good image for both their peers and the public. I can imagine that once some years pass and everyone comes together that gala’s, banquet’s, and all that jazz are so tense. Especially when its the kids who are forced to interact at nice events that are full of pressure to lay on the nice-nice act thick.

As for Rhaenys, her hope to make up her mistakes to Luke is even stronger in this crossover because if it hadn’t been for her, Luke and Osferth would’ve remained happy and carefree in their peaceful lives. Luke wouldn’t have been forced to deal with the judgment of the entire realm on his back and Osferth would never be exposed to such nastiness that comes with royalty and nobility. All the boy has ever known is pure love so the switch to being looked at as dirt beneath people’s shoes is so much to handle. And though Rhaenys never intended for her actions to destroy their little slice of heaven its still an action that changed their lives drastically. Rhaenys would definitely find herself trapped in a constant battle between wanting Luke to remember so she can express her regret and attempt to make it up, and wanting him to remain oblivious so he doesn’t have to deal with trauma from his past.

But in all of this it’s truly Osferth who lost the most from Luke being separated from the rest. While he has a solid incredibly loving family, who he truly needs is his mother. For so long they were all one another had. True soulmates in every way. It’s heartbreaking because he’s the one who has to deal with the history lessons in school, the disgusting art and public opinions when it comes to his mom who never wanted more than to live in peace.

[keysimash]

This is all FAST AND LOOSE general STUFF and not hard canon/hard timeline

But it started bc I was thinking how the fact Sectonia and Taranza are spiders.... they are bugs. How would a big bug society work on a fundamental level

Loooooooong post

And the Floralians who rebelled against queen Sectonia and planted the seed in triple Deluxe were NOT buggies. Curious

So spiders. Spiders are CARNIVORES. Spiders can.be CANNIBALS after mating. Spiders PRODUCE SILK, AN EXTREMELY

Good material

SILK IS SO STRONG. AND VERSATILE. the only reason we dont use it is cos spiders are impossible to farm because, the cannibalism

Unless you make a sentient spider segregation hellstate

Let me ECPLAIN

SO there's a lot of bugs we see in trpldlx . And I was thinking, how many of these bugs would have "value" in a capitalism sense. Value doesnt come from what you can produce but like. They live in a society. Joker face. Anyway Spiders have their silk and bugs are SUPER STRONG for their size so, laborers I imagine

Also. They can FLY

And I was considering how their fucked up mating habits might affect their culture and society

It's very easy to imagine on an isolated island whose only export is bug produced goods that are in extreme high demand by the rest of the world, AND THESE GUYS ARE CARNIVORES, SO they cant exactly go into other countries who will welcome them with open arms, because in my au there is a STRONG disdain and racism for the "scary" species. So they are isolated, their choices are live on the islands of Floralia or live in a place that will treat them like dangerous foreigners where they cant even make a living selling their own silk/goods because Floralian silk is WAYY cheaper

So a ruling class emerges. Ones who don't have the disadvantages bugs do. Ones who look cute cuddly and acceptable to the world who can do business anywhere they go . Flower ppl

You can guess where this is going

And obvs it's not totally a racial thing. There are ruling class bugs and plenty of poor floaty flower ppl.

Housing in Floralia is also CRAZY expensive bc it's an ISLAND and so are imports/food because NO FARMLAND. Bc of this and the carnivorism . It gets really bad for anyone poor aka most.

Also bugs and spiders esp have weird gender roles that increase suffering all around. Female spiders tend to get very vERY VIOLENT bc hormones and hunger after mating but even tho this only happens if they're preggo they're treated as little more than crazy animals and only male spiders are "civilized" and allowed to do things like learn to read and go to school. A females job is to make eggs and silk to support the family until she dies and the males get to do the business and what they can to try and become part of the ruling class except they cant bc SPIDER. Also since ALLL BUGS make CRAZY amounts of babies.... many exports of omnivore or herbivore bugs are straight up... "laborers" aka slaves to countries with less scrupulous morals. king ddd doesnt allow this but uhh. Many others.... do.

Cue sectonia and Taranza meeting as young teens. Sectonia is the product of a society that has fucked her in ways indescribable and unimaginable. Taranza inherited a bookstore from his uncle and is one of the few somewhat well off spiders. Not quite living paycheck to paycheck so to speak but very aware of his position in society and how easily that could be taken away

Taranza loves her but cant imagine being with her as a mate due to the ways love and violence are tangled up in their world. Sectonia realizes and is disgusted by him for this but they stay friends bc hhe is nice and teaches her to read

They both desire change and he and Sectonia start a secret radio broadcast spreading their message to other bugs etc and start learning how to make.... very effective weapons

bombs its bombs

Taranza in my au uses a bow and arrow type make from his own silk and a bolt of magic he shoots. He can pull a strand of silk and point and shoot anytime he wants.

Sectonia uses earth magic that makes gems and crystals like in the game

So, they did a magic process, where they actually switched hands. One of Taranza six hands is Sectonias. One of her hands, is his. This way they can use a bigger variety of magic. Taranza can make an arrow of crystal that explodes into shrapnel on impact. A weapon to maim. Or just make a crystal dagger.

And with Taranza hand, Sectonia can use a little bit of the dark magic Taranza started teaching himself for The Cause. Mind manipulation and necromancy.

His little notebook? His little diary.

That's a Grimoire baby

They gathered a large enough group and did some silly violence and took control . And this actually was GREAT for the bugs. The minority flower people, even the poor innocent ones, not so much ! The two had made into a racial thing rather than a class thing, and many innocent ppl were tortured and slaughtered, though work began on making bug society better for bugs, and the fact SECTONIA, a FEMALE SPIDER, was heading it all?? girlbOSS!!! AMAZING for female rights.

ALSO. A lot of the people that were

Executed under Sectonia --

That were important enough to be in charge of existing govt positions

Were kept around as zombie puppets by our little necromancer Taranza to carry out Her will

Michael afton ass. Except he didnt kill and zombify innocent kids but instead financial ministers and military generals

Complicated situation.

And the world that waNTS these goods for CHEAP? That wants an endless supply of SPIDER SILK AND SLAVES???

Bad ! Bad!!!

They are quickly labeled a terrorist state, and many other countries quickly send in their own militaries to put an end to this NOW NOW.

Sectonia and Taranza predicted this.

Sectonias particular crystal she was attuned to, is known as Loftstone, because in large enough quantities, it floats.

Theyd positioned the floating islands of Floralia, powered by loftstone deposits, above a large settlement of bugs who'd tried to escape Floralia years beforr and settled on the ground. The ground above a very large and unstable loftstone deposit.

The militaries came, and

taranza and Sectonia had prepared a spell for this.

They ripped an entire city out of the earth, combining their powers in a necromancy spell that created a new floating island for Floralia, killing almost all the soldiers that their own militaries didnt kill with their flying abilities.

What their propaganda doesnt want you to know is that thousands of their own died in the process

Anyway! Nobody wants to mess with Floralia now!!!

CUE META KNIGHTS LANDING AND SUDDENLY

DREAMLAND has an extremely powerful alien that's also a killing machine....

Sectonia goes

NUTS!!!

She cant let it happen again!!! Not to her bugs!!! The planet NEEDs to be powerful enough to fend ooff an alien attack!!

Sectonia and Taranza are also horrifically,xenophobic and racist lol

They "capture" and torture Meta for a while as you know from that one fic I wrote

Tama knight doesn't like Floralia doing this to his reflection . Not one bit

During this time Sectonia had fallen in love with and next in line for the throne was a bee lady

She is still a spider at this point

Tama knight does a silly.little political assassination!! Shoots Sectonia right in the head, in front of her gf and problematic boytoy at a speech in front of thousands

Taranza goes nuts!!!

He is a necromancer. This CANNOT happen. This WILL NOT HAPPEN

It doesnt matter if she hates him. It doesnt matter if she kills him . All that matters is that

She is alive again.

He asks for the consent of her lover, to use her body as a vessel to bring back the woman they both love more than themselves.

The contract is sealed in blood.

Taranza forcefully drags sectonias soul back to the living. Her body is . Irreparable. Her lovers body becomes hers. And her lover is banished into darkness.

Every time she sees herself she sees the woman she once loved. Still loves.

Sectonia hates Taranza until the day she dies.

And Taranza will love her until the day he dies.

(Also the reason he helped kirby in trpldlx was cos, he realized Sectonia soul was going out of control and didnt want a repeat of the giant spell that killed thousands of their own civilians. He and most of his country hate aliens and he and kirby, are not friends.)

I listened to this song the entire time I wrote this:

Pacing around in my kitchen hands behind my back thinking about how fucked up Taranza and Sectonia get in my au

[urcrookedneighbor]

Wake = Titania

This is a crack theory based on arguably unfounded logical leaps

Important background: Why are the three Fourth House chapters in HtN marked Fourth House? Hmm the Sleeper or Wake are mentioned in the two chapters [3rd is BARISTAR] that barely or don't feature Isaac and Jeannemary (nor Ulysses and Titania) [Chapters 8 (River Bubble!Canaan House arrival) and 30 (Dios apate, minor)].

Therefore, the Sleeper/Wake must somehow be a Fourth House character or have some significant connection to the Fourth House.

And then the wild leap step: Well, we know of Four Fourth House characters and they're Isaac, Jeannemary, Ulysses, and Titania. Ulysses dragged himself and RB 8 into a stoma, never to be seen again. Huh, Harrow the Ninth ended with Ianthe saving John from the same fate and Augustine saying hello from the other side of the stoma. Just like Ulysses.

Hmmm, other theories have reports of lyctors' deaths being greatly exaggerated (Cassie) (Mercy would def have helped her fake her death in the River). I don't recall any physical descriptions of Titania (I would check, but a. crack theory and b. I need to finish typing this and go to sleep). Huh, Wake sure is unusually robust and not insane to the point of incoherence for a revenant. Particularly a non-necromantic revenant. Who lived in her bones and then a sword for nearly two decades. And then possessed a lyctor's corpse. That's not how that's supposed to work.

What if we still only know of Four Fourth House characters? What if Wake is Titania? So many other lyctors were working with (or sleeping with) Blood of Eden. What's one more?

What if going through the stoma reverses lyctorhood? Allowing Titania to be her own person again? Or maybe even mimics the effects of the first Resurrection, revived to life with no memories of what came before but vague senses of emotional truths?

Tl;dr: Wake is somehow connected to the Fourth House and reviving Titania fits with Pyrrha's cav experience and provides a possible answer to what happens when one goes through the stoma, a question I'd argue Harrow the Ninth is asking the reader to consider. New characters are for suckers, secret identities for everyone!

P.S. The reason Abigail shuts down Harrow's adorable coffee shop au is because she accidentally pulled the Teens back into the bubble and Abigail is freaking out bc she thought she already solved that problem. No matter how fun it is to imagine Abigail as a coffee shop au hater.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

I suspect quite a few people on this site don’t realize they are struggling with the effects of chronic trauma. In particular I think more people need to learn about the symptoms of C-PTSD.

Distinct from general PTSD, Complex PTSD is caused by prolonged, recurring stress and trauma, often occurring in childhood & adolescence over an extended period of time. There are many risk factors, including: abusive/negligent caregivers, dysfunctional family life, untreated mental/chronic illness, and being the target of bullying/social alienation.

I’m not a mental health professional and I’m not qualified to diagnose anyone, I just remember a million watt light bulb going off in my head when I first learned about C-PTSD. It was a huge OH MY FUCKING WORD eureka moment for me—it explained all these problems I was confused and angry at myself for having. The symptoms that really stood out to me were:

Negative self-perception: deep-seated feelings of shame, guilt, worthlessness, helplessness, and stigma. Feeling like you are different from everyone else, like something is fundamentally ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ with you.

Emotional avoidance of topics, people, relationships, activities, places, things etc that might cause uncomfortable emotions such as shame, fear, or sadness. Can lead to self-isolation.

Learned helplessness: a pervasive sense of powerlessness, often combined with feelings of desensitization, wherein you gradually stop trying to escape or prevent your own suffering, even when opportunities exist. May manifest as self-neglect or self-sabotage. (I remember watching myself make bad choices and neglect my responsibilities, and having no idea why I was doing it, or how to stop myself. Eventually I just stopped caring, which led to more self-neglect.)

Hyper-vigilance: always feeling “on edge,” alert, unable to relax even in spaces that should feel safe. May be combined with an elevated “flight” response, or feelings of always being prepared to flee. (I used to hide important documents and possessions in a sort of emergency go bag, even when I was living alone and there was no logical reason other than it made me feel “prepared.”)

Difficulty regulating emotions: may include mood swings, persistent numbness, sadness, suicidal idealization, explosive anger (or inability to feel anger and other strong emotions), inability to control your emotions, confusion about why you react the way you do.

Sense of foreshortened future: assuming or feeling that you will die young. Recurring thoughts that "I'll be dead before the age of 30/40/18/21 etc." As a teenager I used to joke darkly that I didn't plan to live past 30—not because I planned to end my life, but because I simply couldn't imagine myself alive and happy in the long-term. I couldn't imagine a meaningful future where I wasn't suffering.

Emotional flashbacks: finding yourself suddenly re-experiencing feelings of helplessness, panic, despair, or anger etc, often without understanding what has triggered these feelings. Often these flashbacks don’t clearly relate to the memory of a single event (since C-PTSD is caused by repetitive events, which can blur together), making them harder to identify as flashbacks—especially if you’ve never heard the phrase “emotional flashback” and don’t know what to look for. For years I just filed it under “sometimes I overreact/freak out randomly for no reason, probably bc I am just a terrible human being.” (It turns out there was very much a reason, it was just hidden in the past. I have since learned to be kinder and less judgemental towards myself.)

There are other symptoms too, here are more links with good info.

I’ve been meaning to write this post for awhile, because I’ve noticed that a lot of the people I interact with online have risk factors and experiences similar to mine. These include:

growing up in a dysfunctional household

having caregivers who do not fulfill basic emotional needs (do not provide consistent positive attention, encouragement, support, acceptance, communication, a sense of safety and security)

on a very related note, experiencing neglect or abuse at the hand of caregivers or other adults. I also want to emphasize the significance of emotional abuse, since it is hard to recognize, easy to ignore, and utterly rampant in so many communities. In general, family dysfunction, abuse & neglect are quite difficult to identify when you are a child/teen and that is the only “normal” you have known.

(For example, in my family it manifested as an emotionally absent father I was vaguely frightened of, constant nagging from a hypercritical mother, and a house full of people who yelled and screamed at each other. It took me years to realize I grew up in an abusive environment, because there was no physical violence, because I participated in the fighting, and because my behavioral problems made me the family scapegoat. And I internalized that guilt: I thought I was the problem. But no—I was a child, and I deserved not to grow up in a household full of anger and fear and negativity. You deserved that too. You deserved to grow up safe and loved and treated with kindness.) 

anyway back to more risk factors:

being neurodivergent or chronically ill (especially without receiving proper treatment/support/accommodation)

being queer (especially in a conservative or undiverse community, or without the support and acceptance of family & friends)

being the target of bullying or harassment (from peers, teachers, authority figures, irl, online, etc)

being isolated or alienated from peers, from family, from your wider community.

growing up with chronic anxiety, discomfort, pain, fear, or distress caused by any of the above and more.

There are many other experiences that can cause chronic trauma, but these are some particularly common ones I see people in my own community struggling with. And I want more people to be aware of this, because we’ve been taught to ignore and second-guess the significance of our traumatic experiences. We’ve been taught to feel guilty for our own pain, because “other people aren’t struggling, so I shouldn’t either” or (contradictorily) “other people have it worse, so I shouldn’t complain.” But that’s not how it works—you are not other people, and you deserve to have it better. We all deserve better. We deserve to be happy. We deserve not to be in pain.

I used to think I couldn’t have a trauma disorder because (I argued in my head) the things that happened to me weren’t that bad. And then I spent five years in therapy learning to accept the full extent of my issues. I’ve since learned that trauma comes in many forms, and can happen quietly, invisibly, silently, chronically, and usually without the survivor being aware of the long-term repercussions of what they are surviving. That revelation comes later, after you have survived and must instead learn to live.

Finally, no single type of trauma is more real or harmful than any other. Severity is measured by the way the individual is affected, and the same situations affect different people in different ways. Because no one gets to choose how their brain reacts to trauma. No one gets to choose their hurt—otherwise there would be a hell of a lot less hurting in the world.

We can, however, choose to seek help. We can learn to recognize when something is wrong, we can learn when to reach out to professionals, and we can learn to educate ourselves on our injuries.

And gradually, we can learn to heal.

(posts like this brought to you by ko-fi supporters)

[wokestonecraft]

Once again seeing posts about radfems only criticize hijabs and not any other religions’ forced modesty like okay lol, this is my time to shine, I have such a bone to pick with Christianity. I had to veil in a Catholic Church to attend my aunt’s wedding. There was a little pamphlet explaining that veiling was a mark of respect towards women, since they were the vessels of life, and compared it to the veiling of the chalice used for the eucharist. My aunt was told by the priest that she better hurry up and start having kids before her womb shriveled up, haha. (She was in her late thirties and desperately wanted kids). I tore off my veil as soon as I got outside and refused to put it back on until my mom made go back inside for the pictures. I was an angry teen girl, and I was made angrier that I would go home in a few days, and have to face more modesty restrictions at my school and in my town. Now, we didn’t have to cover our heads, but shoulders and knees were verboten, and we would make fun of another school where girls had to wear ankle length skirts, because that school was “too strict”. We at least got to wear pants. I remember when my best friend, who had gone through puberty a little bit earlier than rest of us, was pulled aside by a teacher and told in no uncertain terms that she was showing too much cleavage and that she had to go and change. We were in middle school, and she was wearing the same simple crew neck shirts as the rest of us. She cried in the bathroom, and for years afterwards, she would always wear a camisole underneath all her shirts. I just gave up and wore nothing but long pants and skirts so I don’t have to endure the humiliation of having my shorts or skirts measured. I wore jackets all the time, so I wouldn’t have my shirts’ necklines scrutinized. We had similar rules in regards to our sportswear, certain length skirts and shorts, no bellies showing, and no wearing just a sports bra ever. This was particular issues with the girls tennis team, as we started training in late august in the American south, and would get so hot we wanted to strip off our shirts and pour cold water over ourselves. One girl did this, and brought out the school’s principle to yell at us about disrespecting the game, ourselves, and the school. Her shirt went back on. This was really irritating as the boys track team trained at the same time, and not only did the boys run shirtless, they wore the tiniest shorts that left nothing to the imagination. And they were never told off for being immodest. One year, the girls swim team had to take their yearbook photo in their school uniforms instead of their racing one pieces because it was too immodest. The boys team was photographed in their speedos and swim caps.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in the Bible Belt, but I am always hundred percent ready to levy any criticisms at Christianity’s modesty standard. We just didn’t cover our hair, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t still policed with same accusations of “slut” and “whore” when we stepped out of line. I was lucky, in that my parents didn’t particularly care what I wore as long I was neat and clean, but I knew girls whose parents would check over their clothes to make sure that they were modest enough before they went out the door.

I still struggle with wearing certain kinds of clothes. It’s summer right now and I’m wearing jeans, as I never show my legs unless I can help it, lol. The amount of times I skipped out of swimming bc I didn’t want to wear a bathing suite in front of people fills me with regret. My sister struggles from the same issues, and we didn’t even come from a religious family, this is just the attitude our town and region had towards women and girls’ bodies. I think head coverings and face veils are easy to point out, as the face and head are such important parts of human interaction, but modesty standards on general are terrible and should be critised regardless of religion, and I don’t think radfems pull any punches when it comes to Christianity lol.

There are some good books about American Christian modesty and purity culture that helped me to move forward, and well as making me extremely grateful to my relaxed and loving parents, especially my strong and independent mother who did her best to combat what the rest of the world was teaching us. “Pure: Inside the Evangelical Movement that Shamed a Generation of Young Women and How I Broke Free” by Linda Kay Klein is heartbreaking personal account of the American evangical purity movement, and I really recommend it to anyone who has been or is going through something similar. “The Purity Myth” by Jessica Valenti discusses how American culture deals with the concept of female virginity, and it’s consequences, and highlights a lot of the religious aspects involved therein. “I Fired God” by is Jocelyn Zichterman is the author’s personal memoirs of her life in and escape from a fundamentalist Baptist cult and it does touch on modesty standards and the consequences. And finally, there’s a book that I think every American radfem should read, which is “Quiverfull: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement” by Kathryn Joyce, which is a harrowing documentation of far right Christianity in the US and the wider world. It’s a tad bit outdated, as some of the major figures discussed, like Doug Phillips of Vision Forum, have fallen in scandal and disgrace, but it’s really important to read, especially in light of how politics in the US are moving against women right now.

[bigmoneypastelhalloween]

What happens next?

Because of the move downtown from wytchwood ive had to switch from the eglington east welfare office to the front street office downtown, and my new caseworker finds me sus. I keep saying that im just not getting called in to work. I dont think he's going to be as lenient with the disability paperwork resets every 3 months like the last guy was so im stressed about what happens when he think im not employed and supposedly looking. I dont want to start that cycle.

Ive been buying weed from this middleaged guy with a moped who was introduced to me by the girl i failcased on at new years. I keep feeling like he's doing some kind of weird sex wizardry on me and the only way out is thru; i get used to feeling like everyone is wondering why they can hear me jerking off to a weird old wizard. Leni moves sadie in without asking me and it seems fine at first, its a rent reduction, i like sadie ok. It annoys me that shes barely legal and i annoy her by being a million years old. She takes my room and i make a loftbed over a computer desk in the boiler room behind a wall in the kitchen. Sadie and i do have a few friends in common and one starts staying with us, under the stairs. Sadie then moves a couple in, friends of hers. Im already worried about getting kicked off welfare. Now we have 6 people sharing a 2 bedroom and 3 paying rent, 2 on the lease. shit hits the fan with the teen runaway from the fort, who is mad at sadie for breaking up with her to date leni right when they had been about to go public that they were dating because the kid was turning 16 (age of consent in ontario). I never wanted to get wrapped up in sadie drama and she and leni HATE everything i have to say about how theyre fucked up. They start having passive aggressive conversations about me in the kitchen. I decide i need to move out.

Fortunately ive been in an intensive antishame workshop via the psychic interferrence of the weed guy and im prepared to announce that I'll leave as soon as i have enough money for a boat to live on in bc and that I'll be hoeing to get it. This is greated with thanks that im making things easy. I start a seekingarrangements profile. Another key factor here is that ive been diying testosterone for a few months now.

The origin of the sex for pay plan was it was an option put forward for covering our insane utility bills at the fort, we were living with a famous nudism activist who would get kicked out all the time for being a pain in the ass. We kicked her out for being a pain in the ass but she refused to go for a long time. That saga was starting just as i was moving out. But before that she'd been like "how is money a problem, you get $60 a pop for a bj anywhere in this city any day" and i was like huh, i LIKE giving blowjobs, $60 you say? But the vibe at the fort just wasnt super chill about my first slut summer and i couldnt really imagine leaving in a headspace to do sex work and then coming back having done it? Really tried. Just couldnt see it.

But the SA thing took off and i made 3 stacks in a month or two, which, i figured I'd need 6 grand for a shitty boat to just live in. I hadnt done any research whatsoever. I got kicked off welfare.

Shit with leni and sadie's couple friends started getting super awkward. Suzy came to visit with her band and they all crashed in the living room. Sadie was mad that suzy hooked up with me (to make a point). Suzy tried to cover all the bases and do right by everybody including the runaway teen, who was her old friend from soybomb. Things didnt go great and leni blamed me for buying everyone absinthe. She sent this weird pm about it to the kid who just showed it to me. i finally flipped and went downtown and stole a tent from mec and took the streetcar to the spit, it had just gotten what i considered warm, late april? I'd gotten the impression that luke was all gung ho to start a camp there... maybe not from the time he'd showed it to me the previous summer but from something recent he'd said, during the drama. Basically i thought he'd said he'd be there as soon as i bailed on the leni and sadie scene. He might have been mad that i had been insensitive about his friends recent od. I thought he'd been insensitive about it too, really. We'd also had this dramatic scene right before seeing a movie with his mom over by st lawrence market, where id been like ok i want to date you actually (after vetting him for a year because he was just so red flaggy i had to know more) and he was like "i dont want to date you" and i was so like pissed that he'd been hanging around going on dates and shit like waiting for his turn to reject me after I'd rejected him the previous summer (after our second date or something when we went to the bud light lime vice island event hahaha), that i was like "how dare you?!" Without thinking, like pure stewie griffin shithead moment. But his mom showed up at that exact second and we both just totally squashed it and went to see a spy movie.

Anyway i moved to the spit. I left my money at the apartment and kept paying rent so theyd store my stuff. I worked out a sugaring deal with the weed guy himself, not sure exactly why i stopped crashing there, i think i got the feeling that he was another weird toronto boy who wasnt getting the nonbinary thing.

By then i guess i had emailed my folks a picture of my tenting spot and a query about the boat my dad co-owned since he was selling it. I offered to buy out his partner or something but they were selling for something like 18k and it was way too big for 1 person. Under 28ft was recommended to me at that point iirc, theirs was like 40. Anyway a few weeks after this exchange my dad suggested that he loan me money to buy a shitty house to work on. Was back at the spit at this point and i ran it by nat, they said it'd be stupid not to, i guess. I had this lofty goal of having somewhere the runaway teen could live without drama. Like if it was just her and her friends itd be no problem.

This parts sort of boring. Nat and i backpacked around downtown for a while after bouncing from the fort again. I was out of money. We ended up at nats aunts place housesitting. While we were there a listing nearby came up, flash sale, no cross site posting. One week, best offer. I got that house for 318k or something. Everyone was quietly aghast that i was actually from money because i act like someone who is so cartoonishly affected in either direction class polaritywise that its like impossible for a while to tell whether im just one of those people who fronts like they have a wealthy family theyre estranged from because they feel like it has cache or theyre psychotic and their origin story is getting just really wild, or what. No one really knew how to react. I'd been totally upfront the whole time. I asked my parents for a couple grand to get started on the house. For the first month i had the place virtually no one visited. No one asked. I didnt have power but it was a warm september. The hoarder house...full of ghosts and mountains of various types of stuff. I got one of those rental bins and started hauling.

A few days into emptying the house, some guys affiliated with martin showed up directly from the arcade. Weird. Turned out ok but i was kind of taken aback. It wasnt very friendly how theyd shown up. I got antsy. A guy who i found cute for looking like martin was dogging me on lefty t.o. facebook (on hugh's page lol) and i was like we should hang out. I went over to his place on the eastside. His schizophrenic north korean roommate seemed to think i was there to hook up with him, and he started yelling more and more so we went to a park and i was like did you tell you roomie i was going to bang him? And he was like what no. And i was like i would have but i was there to bang you i thought? So we made out and he came back to my place across town. I had a SA date that night so i went to that and came back and this guy, marcel, was still there. We hooked up again and the next morning was my birthday. I gave him this total endurace marathon skullfuck bj that he wanted and he was like wow champ, i made that pretty difficult. In my head i was like this better be suuuuuuch good karma for my 30s, im being sooo sexually accomodating of someone else on my birthday. I feel like its good luck. I do get lucky that night with someone else who shows up at my birthday party at the bovine where i am unconsciously catty to bruce la bruce (i was there to see vcr play). The house thing is looking up.

Marcels more universally compassionate former housemate from g street gets concerned pretty quickly about the situation but the ones nat really sticks by give us insanely high caliber meth. They are not a reliable hookup. Neither is their hookup. The compassionate one tells me how to get a job as a tv extra. I get an agent. I get a funny little prison scene on an episode of the 12 monkeys miniseries. I dont think the scene was used. I did spend the whole time complaining about how corny it was. The teen runaway is still living at the fort but she sends two of her friends by to see if they want to stay, and they do. They move in. All is chill for a while. Nats around sometimes. Im mainly avoiding marcel. But nat managed to score more meth thru the two friends, and i spend a few weeks just doing meth alone in the house and getting paranoid about the marcel situation. He keeps posting stuff on fb i take as passive aggressive and threatening. At the same time i am absolutely sure that thats martins interpretation of my blog(s), not without a few valid reasons, and i take it as cosmic retribution. I am simultaneously thru the roof paranoid of other peoples motives and capacites for violence and overflowing with masturbatory solopsism for anyone i dont feel like a scumbag jerking off to (so like, scumbags). I cant help but sympathise with marcels petulance etc. I start talking to him again. He basically moves in. I spend halloween in mtl with nix and the coven at skidhaus.

Marcels weird housing situation collapses and he permanently moves into my house out of nowhere along with his 16 year old kid and her 29 year old bf, both of whom promise to be gone in a week or two. I have some extraing gigs. Martins eastside crew is there one day, im on meth and theyre mean to me, it sucks. We're all at a rave in an episode of orphan black.

Nat is in and out but cant stand marcel. Im coming down off an insane yuletime meth binge i was on to do some writing, and i spend new years 2016 sobbing at nat who once again is a saving grace. I kick marcel out for being mean to his kid over the next couple weeks. I get back on welfare, this time at a third office. Theyre really nice there. I say i want to try to go on disability. The three month cycle of hassle free cheques starts. Ive bought some time but the bills are stacking. The house is a mess plumbingwise and electricswise. The 16 year old and her bf keep clogging the one toilet and running 3 1500+ watt spaceheaters with the window open all day and night. Veña comes to stay for a month to see whether moving in to help me stabilize is workable. I cry at the airport when they leave but they assure me theyre coming back soon.

The compassionate friend who told me how to get the extraing job suggests that they know a facilitator par excellance who can help me get the kid and her bf to leave. I meet up with him and he moves in to the basement but mostly he just hangs out doing more and more heroin. I buy meth from him. Oh boy! Meth again! After a few weeks he brings up the topic of the weird stupid fight i had with martin. I realize this dude lives at both our houses and just switches whenever one place gets more uptight about him leaving lids and spoons everywhere. (The kids all hate living with a weird white junkie who wont talk to them, basically, but everyone is very polite. I feel popular haha, im having my gatsby moment the whole time, im like martin martin the house is full of old computers, if only someone wanted to plug in the old monitors and play with them, im too zombified to take the time or have the innate curiosity to do a thing like that and for some reason i was also too lazy to throw away only the coolest stuff, like, the diapers and horseracing astrology printouts that took up half the house disappeared by elven magix). Finally veña comes back and the guy from the arcade brings over his annoying heroin dealer who proceeds to be racist. I kick them both out in the morning after letting them sleep. Veña leaves too, its just too much.

I dont want to go on SA again because I'll run into old clients and i want them all to think im on a boat in bc. I start checking backpage for escort company ads. Find one that says woman-lead. Phone interview with a lady and a guy, theyre pretty chill. We arrange a pickup. Its the guy. I text the cars plate to my safety contact (garrett) and we're off to barrie or wherever the fuck. Hes chill ~enough. He reminds me of marcel. Thats the spring. I spend the summer hoeing, its all great til it falls apart.

But before that happens, its midsummer and my dad comes to stay because he's having an elective procedure at a clinic in toronto. Finally this gets the 16 year old and her bf to bail. They dont want to deal with some weird old rich guy feeling like theyre a threat to his assets. Could go anywhere. Probably doug is telling them we're masons because of my masonic family ring he found once.

The couple who've been great all along move a friend in after the other couple moves out. He's a blast. My birthday that year we have dinner in the junction, i dont say its my birthday. Shit falls apart at work and i have to make myself hard to find and disperse the people affiliated with me. The escort agency guy has made various claims of affiliation himself, including the masons and the russian mob. Im more interested in his grow op. I flip the house for 465k and take off west after crashing at lukes briefly. I return the router to the internet company per the tos, i tell welfare im moving to bc. I leave behind a pair of boots i got in mtl at lukes.

I get to bc around the end of november i guess? and stay with garrett for a few weeks writing, until nix comes to stay with me at my parents place for yule. She had been coming to visit me all year off and on since the spring. I guess i had a lot of lead time knowing she was staying with me for the holiday because my mom had knit us matching wool blankets by the time the end of december rolled around. The van nix had recently moved from mtl to vancouver in wasnt working but i wanted to go on a roadtrip so i bought her a new old van from a burner and got her ex/bestie a passport so they could come because theyd been letting me crash at their place with nix after the holiday. I wont get into how annoyed people were to deal with me being little lord suglaroy.

So right during the 2017 potus inauguration we drove down to oakland and nix's ex flies home from there, and we head over to the gulf coast and florida, then up to nc to see old friends and finally back to mtl to pick up another roommate bound for bc. They dropped me off in toronto after we checked to see if the escort guy had moved the grow op. It seemed like it. I got into the sublet I'd luckily--soooo luckily--lined up during the week in mtl and started booking a gender affirmation procedure consult at the nearest clinic with reviews from trans clients. Ive got a scrip of my own for testosterone now, since the previous spring i guess. The consult is at the start of march. I get marjie to agree to be my pickup person.

My rebirthday is 4/4, a month after my consultation. Amazing. I survive the whole thing and recover. The people who own the house im subletting in are dreadful. In may nix picks me up and we get a uhaul and jam my stuff in. Many treasures i cant stand losing. Litany of the hoarder. We head to mtl to pick up the friend who gave me the boots. We get as far as sault saint marie before nix and i have a fight and i tell her to fuck off without me. Rattled, rather than bonfiring my stuff she drives it to bc and puts it in storage for me. It means a lot to me that she did that but the fight really upset me. After a week i fly to vic. Im in the airport having a meltdown because nix is texting me. I head immediately to veña's place, i dont remember how, i guess i cabbed, where i crash for a couple months researching boats and floathomes and land values before kicking myself out over tumblr drama (which when i finally talk to veña this year, they were still mad at me about. As usual i still think im right so i just say that in as many ways and veña doesnt respond). I had bought a fat-tire ebike while i was there (after some more research) so i pack it up and take off. I plead my pathetic case to nix and she lets me move into her broken down van in eastvan. This is july 2017.

August 16th i buy a $6500 26ft sailboat on salt spring island. I have one week graceperiod at the slip. I panic about the weird skinhead hanging around the marina after a few days and decide to take off. Its the day of the eclipse, i barely notice because im navigating and praying the outboard doesnt die. I make it to montague harbor off galiano island no problem. Triumphantly, i explore. Im so hyped up i climb a small mountain for the view sort of by accident and then have to climb down.

I stay there a couple days. In retrospect i should have failcased a land project there. Lots were affordable at the time. But i had gambier in my mind. I was fantasizing that as soon as i set up everyone, my everyone, would move there and we'd all do kayak floatilla activism around the south coast. Id been to gambier already at the start of august, met the realtor in horseshoe bay and we powerboated over to the sea-access-only strata i was looking at. Ive seen a geodome build on yt there since then. But i decided the rules about septic were too strict and i wasnt really going to be able to import materials effectively there. i had also gotten an airbnb in gibsons for a week and investigated the available lots on the other end of gambier where there was ferry access. It was a foot passenger only ferry, no room to bring a bunch of pallets for instance, and like $12 a trip with no debit machine. I was immediately at odds with the place. But i didnt know where else to go, i didnt have anywhere better in mind. Somehow the summer stay in gibsons (with the backdrop of a smoke filled atmosphere and a pinkorange sun, the alien sky, the whole time) had really made an impression so i decided to go there. i was still considering gambier (i have this problem with assuming kismet is at play when i feel pulled by a place, and its geographically the closest island to vancouver i could afford anything on. Hindsight informs me that galiano has direct ferry service to van and its easy to bike trailer a kayak onto a proper bc ferry. Not the gambier tug lol. Which goes to langley. Anyway i had found a lot that i felt like oh yeah i recognize this place, gotta be it. )

So i was like pouring over this shitty tourist map of the island I'd picked up in ganges because i didnt have charts or cell service so i couldnt use an app. I doubt it had occurred to me. I HAD gotten my boating license back in gibsons. I guess since i spent time at the library and had been there before and all, i was familiar with it and impressed by the walkability. That factored into me deciding it was the end goal harbor instead of thinking about just staying in Montague. In retrospect this is all so stupid but this was my research process. I couldnt keep getting kicked out of places, i felt like another fight with nix about the first fight was immanent, or about me crashing there. Both maybe. Eek. So i had to have the boat pronto and i had an investigative trail I was picking up.

After a couple days on galiano i headed to that island brother 12 lived on because it seemed doable. I did it. I rowed over to the island and explored. The next day i headed for nanaimo. I ran aground on an oyster bed at false narrows blasting deathgrips from an ipod i had. I think i dislocated my thumb from outboard kickback. People came to check on the dumbass who ran aground, eventually when the tide came back in just enough a guy from mudge pulled me off with his boat and guided me thru the narrow on my way to nanaimo. I was in shock the whole time and the stars were coming out as i hit the marina dock. Someone came out and told me it was something like 200$/ft/night and i was like skull emoji. A dude on another boat was like hey just go over there to newcastle theres slips at the park, its $14 a night.

I had lost my dinghy somewhere between the last island and false narrows and i was so glad there was somewhere to go with a dock because i was out of cashflow again, i couldnt use my phone to get money unless i was on wifi. I didnt have the first $200. The credit union I'd left my house sale money with had refused to let me cash out my account on my way out of toronto because i hadnt gone to my home branch. So id just left it. I was working off some balance I'd withdrawn for the trip but I'd spent a bunch on stupid shit like hotboxing the boat with spraypaint and dinners out on galiano. I couldnt think so i just motored over to the island in the twilight. So, newcastle. I lived offside of nanaimo for a couple weeks waiting for enough money to come through again for me to get a dinghy. Nix visited me there. I saw a couple kayaks on kijiji and decided 2 dinghys was better just in case i was towing and the line snapped again. When i got them i realized they both fit up on deck on either side of the mast. Hauling them up made me never more glad to be on t. Every time haha. Once i got the kayaks it was getting late in the summer, for trusting the weather for my level of boating. So i had no choice but i was freaked out about the outboard, my thumb was still fucked up. There was a dispensary in nanaimo then, so i managed to smoke my way through it and leave, i had decided to see how long it took me to get to the marina at dolphin beach. And from there try to cross parallel to the maximum number of potential anchorages until i was on the other side. The trip to dolphin wasnt reassuring. I decided I'd been mainly against the tide. I wasnt checking tides. Still using a waterproof tourist map of the island (that listed anchorages). So i just tied up at the fuel dock overnight so i could immediately ask for fuel and offer to leave or pay when someone showed up. Whole plan. Low float. No overnight recourse out there. So it was good no one confronted me about it at all and when the fuel dock opened i just filled up and headed straight out because it was the perfect conditions id been timing the crossing for. Water like glass.

It was harrowing but i made the whole crossing to secret cove that day, did a repeat of the fuel dock shtick and got into gibsons the next day. At the fuel dock there they pointed me to the dogpatch of unattended cruisers offshore. One was a massive rotting yacht. I stayed there through fall 2017, christmas was gas station food and drinking on my boat in gibsons. Writing jag. I had gotten a slip at a kindly marina by november. How rare that is... nix came to visit and i was catching vibes again so i stopped talking to her. My phone with my toronto number fell in the ocean and i took it as a sign. I stopped contacting everyone. I got a new phone with a vancouver number. It had some data. It wasnt a good plan. I was busy with boatlife. I didnt feel like i needed it. Boatlife is getting drunk and singing by yourself/with your increasingly psychotic delusions, and jerking off. I decided maybe being close to vancouver was stupid. That i could just take the boat wherever once i made it a very large paddleboat somehow through an utterly undrafted series of modifications i was always vaguely considering and then backburnering. The boat being adventure-handy was the lowest priority. I was obsessed with cob houses and finally applying the earthship principles i conceivably could, and growing weed. The big big dream was always growing weed. (Weed i later grew on quadra is still my mainblogs pfp. It was a totally terrible grow. More on this later i guess)

i got advice from a guy who also lived there, he said the warmest water in canada is in desolation sound. So i started researching near there. Veña had insisted that if we were going to live on an island it had to have ferry access and preferably have a pharmacy on it within walking distance. Sensible in retrospect. At the time I envisioned that i was going to be fucking like portaging 15k both ways to get mail for the next 60+ years and i was like why wouldnt anyone want to do that, that sounds amazing. The list of islands with lots in my range that also have pharmacies is suprisingly small. I looked around desolation sound for pharmacies and I noticed ok, quadra, and nada. On quadra I'll be boating distance from desolation, i can find a slip easily at one of these three places in campbell river just next to it so i can overnight in the city sometimes, and we can farm this sandy loam they apparently have. So if veña ever gets in touch they can move there any time because theres a pharmacy and I'll be like yes come to my weed farm. And now nix will have somewhere to do van henge like i promised.

But i was insanely paranoid that id forgotten how to use the outboard or that something else horribler than running aground or being stressed out about running out of gas would happen, so as soon as the weather turned again in april of 2018 i paid some guys to tow me to quadra. Badabing. One day deal. I had gotten all my money transferred to a credit union in gibsons finally. It took a lot of wrangling with the other end.

Anyway i was off to the races. I took my bike ashore off the boat for the last time (getting it on and off always was another thing that made me glad i was on t). I started looking at lots and looking around the island for random seller signs (thered been some private sale, no online listing type deals on keats when id investigated it in march or so, but keats hadnt impressed me with its amenities or vibe).

There was nowhere waterfront with anchorage, which id originally been looking for so i could just live in my boat while i built. By that time i hated to be apart from my boat, i was always worrying about her. I would have nightmares about boat problems constantly.

I spent the summer drinking and singing all night in heriot bay. I finally decided on a lot, out of the ones walking distance from the pharmacy across the island from my anchorage. I put in an offer and it was accepted. I lowballed. No problem. Had a $3000 28ft rv there on a pad i laid by thanksgiving that year. luke randomly came to visit. Brought me my mtl boots back. Left before rocky horror halloween night at the quadra community center. I settled in for the winter after that to continue drinking and singing alone. Rollover to 2019 and i spend the year anxious that my parents are going to die in a car crash because back in 2011 i prophesied it (i was on 2cb i never usually make unconsidered prophetic statements so it stood out to me a lot) and it just seemed like, universal knowledge or whatever so i was worrying i hadnt like averted it the whole time. They were fine. I became a lot less worried about anything prophetic after 2019. Just in general. This was just before my plague warning turned real, but i was sure it wasnt the apocalypse because i was sure it wasnt as bad as whatever happens after the global average is 3° higher. Plus my parents were alive in 2020, so i was a dud as a prophet anyway. But I thought an island was a good place to be for a plague and if nothing happens, cool island. That was why i wanted it to be on an island in the first place. Anyway in 2019 I got back in touch with an old friend and her bf who was from campbell river it turned out. I spent part of the winter in vic with them but when the snow melted a bit i went back to quadra to drink alone for another couple months. They had just moved to a place that was too small for three people, i helped. She and i went surfing that march. it got warm again and i worked on the whole thing of clearing a space and framing in a foundation and putting up walls. That was a really all i did that year somehow, i think i was super depressed. While id been in vic this guy who knew martin showed up at my friends place because he's besties with her bf. Eventually i let feeling like she and i werent clicking turn into a thing like she was part of a conspiracy she was starting to side with or whatever, and i stopped talking to her again, i think i freaked out and blocked her number. I had freaked out and blocked garretts number too after moving there and him and his gf saying it was too far to visit much. I thought theyd want to move to quadra? I did my best. Then nix got back in touch and i guess i spent the rest of the summer drinking and watching movies with her. And then probably also that fall, and that winter, and that spring, so now its 2020 and im getting the house together because its finally summer, and you can even sleep in the loft, i move into the build. BUT I AM GOING SO UTTERLY INSANE. Im obsessed with the neighbors, i have been hearing everything they do for months. Its almost impossible to work under the onslaught of third party voices and images constantly intruding on my mind. I spend that summer becoming increasingly psychotic. putting cob walls in but mainly slavishly working on an opulent outdoor bathtub because i am obsessed with my plan to have hot baths again without a hydro connection. I cant get a contractor to get back to me about getting a connection (unless youre a certified home builder thats the only way to get one in bc), ive broken offgrid core and started trying basically as far back as 2019. Deadends.

Nix takes off after my birthday, 35. Im like full on mediating ghosts constantly like a swiss army knife at this point. I spend a couple delirious weeks on my boat. Luke visits again and leaves before halloween again, right as i run entirely out of money. I use the time to apply for welfare. My psychotic obsession with feeling like im living on a masonic psychic torture island intensifies at intervals. Finally i moved back into the rv for the winter, sharing it briefly with luke. A tree has fallen on the roof, as of the previous cold season. I blame a neighbor. It doesnt impact the heat retention. I nearly set myself on fire on halloween, spraypainting mishap. Early november 2020 im borrowing money from nix and garrett who im back in touch with as of that summer, and binning a lot. Like constantly. I spent my last money on paying for my hydro hookup from some neighbors to keep the lights on and cook food. My lot doesnt get enough sun where i am for my solar panels to do much with. I cant bring myself to cut down living trees bigger than my arm/with a canopy wider than my arm span, so im completely fucked. I get the news im on welfare. I spend the winter drinking tea and talking to ghosts. Its 2021. That summer finally the rain lets up and im starting to get to work again. I spend it even more psychotic than the previous summer and someone finally gets sick of me screaming to myself one night because im way louder than usual and i will not stop and they call the cops. Why does nothing every turn out like it should. I end up permanently impaired from a canine takedown that miraculously ends with me alive, and my big dream of one day being on disability comes true.

Oh i skipped the part where in the summer of 2019 i put together a shitty greenhouse and grew a bunch of pot plants and spent all day every day monitoring them in a stupefied state of crisis about the house build not going quickly enough because i couldnt throw a woodtock 2019 party and was officially a total failure. By fall they were noodle thin and 2 ft tall with no buds. I couldnt figure out how to keep them warm best over the winter and before i could try moving them all to the rv they froze and died. So did the one i did try moving to the rv. After that i decided to finish the other projects like a having a place to shower and a house with a roof (the roof thing always kind of eluded me honestly).

So anyone want to buy swampland next to the most exciting meth lab? Deeply haunted, partial build in place, lovely and lively neighborhood. Like,,, long story short.

I wonder if the chronology of my last post is coherent enough...

Missing context:

In summer 2010 just after the g20 riots i moved to toronto with veña and simon, we got the cheapest 3 bedroom we could find, it was "above the 401" as they say, the hinterlands. Veña and i moved in first and smoked salvia in the empty apartment, simon got there a month later. I got a job at a queen street headshop after a couple months, hand of god given that i dropped off 5 resumes total and spent all day every day blogging and agonizing over where i could get decent weed and how to afford more. leni moved in that fall, originally sharing a room with simon but there was conflict and she switched to veña's room. Holding pattern while i make connections thru work and hang out with coworkers. By the new year we're rolling again, we're going to dj nights, etc. The manager at work changes when 50k of legal highs disappear. Martin, who i know from uvic, moved in may or june of 2011. We all ended up on 2cb or some research chem near-analog, i was supposed to have mdma for us but the batch sold as, was later confirmed to be 2csomething via the dealers gf postfacto. Immediately martin got us househunting and within a few weeks we saw a bunch of places and then moved from 2441 finch west to 114 finch east i guess starting in august because we had a big summer moving in party. Leni and veña were on speed and i told them not to jook up with this undergrad they knew but they did anyway. The kid and their friends hung around all summer wondering when we'd actully be fun. The kid figured out martin was the fun one and got mad at veña for liking their ex better. The kid is lux. Lux starts talking to martin about metal instead of veña. Halloween '11 is a 0 degree night out of nowhere and we're at a bridge show martin has a reading at, after going to a party at my store managers place with lux, which sucks so bad lux bails for the night. Someone does a callout of a stylistic choice in martins work and things sort of derail. Martin wants us to play defense, which turns things into a popularity contest, and martin would win going strictly by defender numbers, 4 v 1 ("your network is your networth") except because the girl and her friend who are complaining about martins story have more metal attached to their clothes martin is ashamed of our bad optics. This foreshadows much to come. I lose my job by being more and more of an insane mess and go on employment insurance. Yule 2011 I went back to bc with my fiance garrett who was living in boston working on his phd in psychology. I spent that easter doing k and acid with lux. In march 2012 i had what garrett said was a psychotic break.

Martin moved out may of 2012. I went to panama to teach the primatology class at a field school for 2 sessions from june to august. I got assaulted by a coworker, martin was the only person i told from home who took the position that i was being unreasonable. I got my septum done in bocas del toro, it was a body-ownership move as much as a memento of the place; Ive never stopped wearing a ring in my nose since then, ive even gauged up a bit. I got garrett a ticket to panama, he moved into the house with us after we got back from panama together, he still had to write and defend his thesis. 2012 we had a big vegan house party for yuletime. A few days before that was the big mayan calendar failpocalypse, i spent it writing on 2ce. Somewhere in there i got into a facebook spat with martin over veña, and got blocked. New year 2013 i got a job i'd written a preholiday rush cover for, at a headshop really close to the house, at yonge and steeles. Worked there 5 months, ran into another coworker issue. General workplace friction with the whole vibe of working for GoT fan ancaps in the legal high/weed paraphernalia business. 2nd verse same as the first. I started spending more time with lux because they were the most sympathetically in tune with my rage about the panama situation and my sorrow about the state of the world, and i ended up going with them and nat to meet suzy for the first time that spring after end of session at u of t when she was moving out of the student res that a few years later got closed for being uninhabitably damaged. Suzy gave me a hundred or so caps of name brand dexedrine as a parting gift. Blast off.

Right at the time things were melting down at work again martin told the others about moving back to the city. It triggered a midtier manic episode but i was also on long speed jags at that time, it all coalesced. I left martin a letter in the paper tray of the copier they wanted to pick up. A month or so later they came to the house, probably while i was at the fort. Id started hooking up with lux after doing speed at a backyard show there and they were insanely demanding after that. (I met nix spring 2013, at one of the fort shows that happened during that time.) When i got back everyone said martin had spent the whole time trying to get them to shit talk me and itd been pretty awkward. Leni said she saw martin find my letter and disgustedly throw it away. Emma came over and we all unloaded about how martin was being so bizarre after moving out. But then simon decided to move out. I asked them to give me my first stiknpoke before leaving and they gave me a division symbol on my wrist. Lux was squeezing someone out of the fort at that time, the house founder in fact, and needed someone they could stand, on short notice, to take over a large share of the rent, so they used emotional leverage and got me to bail on veña and leni. I was almost out of money and my big plan was to go on welfare for the first time after moving to the fort.

I left in july to go hitchhiking with lux, who wanted to chase their remaining roommates to a grindcore festival in bc and basically make sure people werent just sitting around complaining about the coup that had actually scared off the house founder and her bestie, so the rent situation was tenuous and being held down by the mom of this guy ryan who lived there and had spent 3 or 6 months in prison for being a g20 rioter, he got beaten every day by guards and left with crippling depression. He was dating someone from another collective house who was in bc waiting for fastcore with nat already because they'd trainhopped and made it the whole way thru ontario in 2 days. I got my first smartphone so i could document the trip and i started a new facebook, maybe i was hoping my sudden metamorphosis into someone with a punk name would register to martin and theyd add my new account and we'd talk. We go to mtl to visit nix and bug at death church; bug had moved out of the fort before luxs coup. We doubled back quickly and then headed north. I got my 2nd stiknpoke from lux outside wawa (infamous hitching black hole), a bong. Lux and i got lucky with a 2 day ride across the praries in a dodge charger after a week in north ontario. We met cassidy and her gf at the time in edmonton, & after a few days there we got over to vancouver where we met up with ryan who said he was there to try to find shrew because theyd had a fight. He said some bad consent stuff happened, after we'd been hanging out for a day (lux loved him) and lux and i nervous laughed & called shrew who said to lose ryan and get up to squamish. We caught up with nat and shrew, eventually linked up with nat and shrews lost travel crew....and an old roommate of luxs named natalie who had gone from plur to acab in the same space of time as lux had. (All very coincidental im sure.) Remember natalie. In squamish i gave myself a mans ruin stiknpoke while we hung out at the skatepark, beautiful day. After fastcore we bummed around vancouver a couple days before lux got their guardian angel cj to buy them a bus ticket because they were cranky from bin-diving giving them food poisoning and all their internet friends we'd met turning out to be normie libs (no one wanted to lay pipe). I spend my last cash on a ticket for myself. Greyhound still runs cross country in 2013. Garrett and i move in to the fort right as nat and lux hitch to mtl together to visit nix. Shrew was still living at george street, i think doug was trying to get them to stay there at the time but all the guys there were saying ryan was a good guy and we were all totally willing to kick ryan out whether shrew moved in or not. I dont know where he was at this time, but based on the stimulator screening we went to with him back in van, he hadnt even noticed being leftcoast famous for getting arrested until that outing, and there were a lot more warm welcomes to make a tour of before trying to talk to shrew again. He was all set up at a well known collective house by the pne grounds.

So garrett and i were actually alone at the fort with shrews miniscule cat beez for a couple weeks before anyone came back. I was on my way to shrew and ryans first face to face over at g street, on my bike, and got arrested because a cop said i spit on him. He said some got on his shoe. I got cuffed and ticketed but they let me go. I missed the thing with ryan and no one at g street found getting arrested remarkable. I went home to the fort and garrett found it so remarkable that he dumped me. I spent the next three months crying at sammy yatim demos and police hearings and watching tv in bed or having last chance sex. During this time lux and nat were trying to find more renters and this runaway kid who'd been having trouble at another house moved in, along with a street artist the others knew from around. As soon as garrett was gone at the start of December 2013, nat and i took a bus across the border and started hitching to IDA in Tennessee so they could tell us how to make an effective collective house. We learned that everyone needs their own house and its normal for people to go years within a community not talking to eachother. We got back and the street artist and shrew were at it with eachother. I got a tattoo from her anyway, in the living room. On her birthday we all go to a soup kitchen, martin is there with a bunch of shrews old friends. We're weird and avoidant of one another, i decide to let martin say hi if they want to, they dont, more to it but whatever. Skip to, we tell birthday gal we need to find someone who is actually paying rent. She sets the house on fire. We put it out. Happy 2014.

Then came the business of kicking lux out for being a manipulative weirdo who turned out to be mad at natalie because natalie was like "the sex we had was not consensual, youre a rapist" and lux was just like "what a bitch can you believe this bitch" about it, and then also "technically i also raped my ex who veña always liked better" about it, too. So that was a mess. That winter and early spring are a blur, nat and shrew and i go to some parties. Doug moves in. Various other people move in and out. Random people are in and out all the time. I live in a closet, which i consider heaven. I take a bike repair class. Nat and i go to a party at emmas and i meet luke, its still cold old. I ask luke out but he seems uninvested and morbidly curious from the get go. Im morbidly curious myself once i realize that bug called this guy out over something and i recall that while lux and i were in edmonton lux defaced a bunch of his bands show flyers. I get a really cool bike via nat and start joyriding all over the city, im hoping kismet will kick in and I'll run into martin. Nat and shrew hear from shrews friends that martin lives on the eastside with them. Nat and shrew go to one of martins readings and i say be nice dont troll like you did at the soupkitchen in the winter. They troll worse, tell me all about it when they get home. It sounds like martin won them over by being mildmannered afterward but theyre not forthcoming about that part.

I think that kind of catches things up to where we were before...

I spent summer of 2014 living at the fort and hooking up with luke and a guy who lived at george street named chris. That year on my birthday i sprained both wrists doing a stupid bike stunt. That was the same day i applied to be a courier. Shrew and i got into a conflict over the runaway kid's whole deal and i decided to move out as soon as shrew said they were going to. They stayed, i left. I bused back to bc to regroup with the gang. First i met up with simon, who was hanging out with martins bestie a lot and thru an awkward series of events i ended up crashing at that persons place with them and their bf felix, even tho martins bestie was clearly terrified of me and couldnt understand why simon had brought me in the first place. Then i went to stay with veña and leni, who were living together at veña's moms place. We all did m during a bloodmoon watch and i accidentally outed some information leni had been withholding. Garrett and i kept meeting up and hooking up too, and he got annoyed that i wasnt making room for him in the veña/leni/me situation and left things on bad terms but later apologized. I kept trying to get them all to move back and get another place but the only one who was all in was leni, after the big reveal she felt like relocating would be more fun than staying and facing the music.

Over halloween we hitched from van to winnipeg to save money and bused the rest of the way. They broke up after she got to toronto with me. We stayed at emmas moms place for a month (nov 2014) while i started the courier job it turned out i'd had for weeks, and leni apartment hunted. Doing a good deed is remembered by the spirit of the city, and we found a cheap basement in the trinity-bellwoods area I'd flyered for the first sammy yatim response demo.

I kept working the courier job and one day leni and i ran into luke. He started crashing at our apartment because it was so close to the rehearsal factory. I started writing a summary of the lefty witch agenda as a thesis project for suzy because i had been relying on her counsel more and more since leaving the fort and i wanted to do something that might have some kind of tangible impact and ime she's a very talented witch, one of the most talented i know if not the most, so in her hands a document like that could go anywhere. Lord knows if she ever read it all. I remember she started it and was like you didnt cite so and so and i was like as far as i knew that was original, and its like ok well, she's seen it before. Collaged in with all the same other stuff, too, most likely. I think she thought my format choices were cute, anyway.

I stopped going to the courier job so i could work on my speedifesto full time. I spent new years 2015 on acid at a party on the eastside with a girl i was dating and leni and the girl she was dating. The night ended badly. I ruined things with the girl so many different times but having a self-obsessive bad trip while she wanted to have mindblowingly romantic sex instead, was a big one of the ruiny moments. She's happy now with someone who isnt stupid.

[caustic-light]

Okay so why is barely anyone talking about the absolutely off the charts level of amazing body type diversity in this movie?

Like, yeah every main character has their own distinct shape (as should be the case for designs of animated characters anyway) but all of the background cast, too. There is no copy pasting of bodies there, there is no defaulting to a couple different shapes, there is so many fat characters all with entirely different bodies. There is so many skinny characters all with different bodies. They understood that two ppl of the same height and same weight can have vastly different bodies based on weight distribution, bone structure, muscle to fat ratio and so on, and they showed they understand this. And as a result all the recurring background characters are distinct.

Bear with me bc I'm gonna gush about Tyler again, as I am contractually obligated to do in every one of my TR posts, but.

It's a little hard to see if you're not familiar with that kinda body type he has, because he wears multple layers of clothes, including a long shirt that covers his butt, so it's easy to not take notice of how unconventional his design is. But not only is he clearly squishy, despite being in the range of vissibly skinny to most ppl (which is something that is already really fucking rare for character designers to go for) but on top of that, he is also naturally curvy as fuck and has big hips and a pronounced butt. And that is a body type a lot of boys and men have, but do you know how many examples of male animated characters I can come up with of the top of my head who have that kind of body type?

3. Including him. The other two are Miguel from Coco and Takato ftom Digimon Tamers.

I can not put into words how good it feels to see a character who looks the way I used to look when I was thirteen. A body type that most designers pretent doesn't exist. That most ppl will not differentiate from basic skinny boy but that a lot of boys feel so self concious about that they will hide it to pass as generically skinny. Dressing for example the way Tyler doed in the movie.

And I figure it's not just him. I am less personally attatched but I can't come up with a lot of characters from anything that look like Mei either. Or like Miriam. I have seen plenty of young teenagers who look like her but her entire vibe and design consists of traits that i feel are usually restricted to older teen characters.

And that's another thing. These kids are thirteen to fourteen. All of them will be at vastly different levels of development and the movie shows it. It shows all the messed up invetweens of puberty, at the absolute height of awkward and mismatched childlike and adultlike traits. You have characters who look like children, you have characters who would probably pasd as adults by the time they're fifteen and you have so much beautiful awkward transitionary phases.

There is a thing happening where visual media tends to pretent puberty doesn't exist. You have child actors for prebubescent roles and almost all teenage rolls are played by either older teens or adults. The amount of media depicting young teen characters by actual young teen actors peaked in autum 2017 when both IT and Stranger Things did it at roughly the same time and since then has kind of gone back down.

This creates an illusion where we kind of stop seeing kids that age in how we percieve age. We kind of just get used to prepubescent children smoothly transitioning into what may as wrll be smaller and more oyuthful adults. And it fucks up our perception of age on a significant level. Look at the discourse about Call Me By Your Name where people called Elio "visibly a teenager" and Oscar "visibly an adult" when their actors were in their 20s and 30s respectively.

This has consequences and they go beyond the awkward charm of Breakfast Club casting.

Imagine what this does to pubescent teenagers. To see themselves erased from representation because that stage of development is too awkward for TV. Think about what that does to someones mental health.

So yeah, ppl should talk more about the body type diversity in this movie.

[imherongraystairstrash]

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but  they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.” 

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more. 

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh. 

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.” 

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.” 

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once. 

“What is in the attic?” 

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.” 

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him. 

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption. 

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.” 

 “That’s…” 

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments. 

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress. 

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.” 

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones. 

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday. 

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it. 

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?” 

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.” 

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?” 

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it. 

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other. 

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt. 

 But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

… 

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.” 

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room. 

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room. 

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling. 

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.  

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre. 

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly. 

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.” 

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see. 

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames. 

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s. 

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn’t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead. 

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again. 

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

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[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

[poptod]

The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them.  also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

+

The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.

[vigsilantes]

did you find it hard to get started writing for him since the show is between seasons? i know fics for him were crazy popular a few months ago while the show was on but it's cooled a bit since it's not on right now. obviously there's still a fandom for him and your fics are doing really well! how did you jump in? i wanna write for him but i'm intimidated and worried about fics flopping lol.

oooh that’s a good question, this is gonna be a long answer haha. so yes and no, it is hard but it also isn’t? first of all, i’ve been writing fics since i was a teen, so i’m kinda-ish used to how to write. i haven’t written in years but idk recently i just got inspired bc of adrian so i started writing again and i’m having soooo much fun. but okay, yes, so since we only have so much material to work with from s1 it is kinda hard, there is such a limited amount of content so a lot of it is just up to imagination. also i’ve rewatched the show like too many times, an embarrassing amount of times, so i have a fairly decent understanding of his character and it’s kinda easy for me to picture things i’d like to see of him.

but if you want to start writing i say do it!! it’s so much fun to get your ideas out and create stuff about adrian. let’s face it, he’s such a fun, complex character, so there’s a lot of things that can be written about him! and who cares if you flop, you get into a groove of how to write / what to write about and you’ll grow as you keep writing!! don’t get me wrong i was worried about the same thing when i started, flopping sucks, and sometimes it can bog you down, but as long as you write something and had fun with it, who cares?! some of my own favorite fics that i wrote aren’t as popular as others, so it just depends on the stuff you write and you’ll get a handle on what people want to see as you continue writing. but to me, i love seeing the growth in my own writing, like from my first adrian fic to my newest i can already see improvements in the way that i write for him, and even for the rest of the peacemaker crew, so that’s what i’m mostly happy about!!

now as far as jumping into writing for him, when i first started, i just opened a doc and wrote down little ideas of things i would want to see with adrian/see him do with the reader, and it’s helpful to watch the show sometimes while you write too, just so you really can get a grasp on who you’re writing for! but you’ll see how as you write those ideas down, more ideas pop into your head and it just snowballs into something you can eventually write about.

whew, anon, this was fucking long, but i hope this was kind of helpful in some way?!?? and i hope you start writing!! i’m loving how close the vigilante fandom is right now and i would def love to see new writers for him :)