#and i realized the gifted system just pits kids against each other and it would be better if we didnt have it

[absolutelygorkedmydude]

Uh. Got a little carried away in the tags. But this is very interesting!

little joel on youtube got me wondering what the percentage is actually like. please reblog so i can get more responses and thus a more representative data pool for my demographic of "people who use tumblr in 2023"

[goldentournesol]

Christmas Miracles

(Spencer Reid x fem!Reader)

The one where Spencer and Reader finally get pregnant after 2 years of trying and failing.

Length: 3.2k

A/N: TW pregnancy, thank you for requesting this anon, so sorry this is late, i know you asked for fluff but i added a touch of angst too because: hello, have you met me? also please accept my feeble attempt at a Christmas fic. i sure do hope no one goes through my search history now haha, anyway ENJOY! (sorry if this is crappy) It is officially Christmas where I live so MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

masterlist

The click clack of her heels against the tiled floor of the hospital almost seemed too loud. She felt as though her presence was too much, but she had promised Kristy she’d be there. It almost felt unreal. Here she was, celebrating the birth of yet another Simmons baby when not a single Reid had been conceived. It might have been selfish of her to have such thoughts, but she couldn’t help it. Not when the one thing she and her husband had been praying for day and night came so easily to everyone but them.

It’s been two years since their wedding and for two years she’d felt nothing but the impending feeling of failure hanging around her shoulders. All she wanted was to give Spencer what he deserved, she knew how much he wanted kids. He didn’t even have to say it, it was evident in the way he treated Henry, Michael, and all the other children of the BAU. 

She’d left her job as soon as Spencer texted her and said she’d meet them at the hospital. She took a deep breath before locating the familiar faces of the BAU in the waiting room.

“Hey!” JJ smiled, racing to hug her first.

“Hi, any news?” Y/N asked, pulling away from the hug and looking for her husband among the faces, smiling in recognition. She spotted him in a chair, adorning a hoodie that was much too large for him with “Washington DC” printed in bold letters across the front.

“No, not yet.” Spencer reached his hand out to her and she stepped towards him, smiling as he stood to embrace her. She pulled back once again and looked at his hoodie in amusement.

“Do I want to know what happened?” She giggled, gesturing towards his outfit. He laughed bashfully.

“I, um, had an...incident with the sprinklers at the park.” She watched as his cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. She laughed and nodded.

“Alright then.” She took a seat beside him and forced the lump in her throat to break itself apart. But Spencer knew how she felt, of course he knew. Which is why he offered both his hand and shoulder to her as they waited. She gladly accepted both, wishing the heaviness in her chest would dissipate.

About a half hour later, Matt emerged from one of the rooms, announcing the birth of his baby girl. Everyone swarmed around him to give him celebratory hugs, Y/N felt as though someone had to unglue her from her seat. She smiled as wide as her face would allow and hugged him.

“Congratulations!” She exclaimed, trying her hardest not to make it sound forced.

“Thank you, thank you all.” He said, inviting them all into the room, where the wailing  of a newborn baby could be heard. To many it could sound annoying, but Y/N was almost desperate to hear it. Before entering, Spencer grabbed her hand gently and stopped them in their tracks, reaching out to cradle both her hands in his.

“You okay? We can leave now if you want, just say you had an emergency at work or something.” He said quietly to her, knowing how it would make her feel if she were to see this baby right now. He never wanted to push her too far. He could see the uncertainty swimming around in her irises, but his wife was never one to back down from anything she’d promised someone else.

“I’ll be fine, Spence. I promised Kristy.” She whispered and he nodded, although he felt something was off in the pit of his stomach. He brushed it off as she pulled him into the room after her. Her eyes landed on Kristy cradling her baby girl and her heart melted at the sight.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Kristy.” Y/N cooed, momentarily forgetting about the heaviness in her chest as the baby’s tiny eyes curiously wandered over to her.

“Thank you, Y/N. Would you like to hold her first?” Kristy smiled tiredly and everyone’s gaze fell onto Y/N, an unreadable tension silently floating in the room.

“I-I’d be honored.” She let go of Spencer who watched as his wife carefully scooped up the baby into her arms. His heart swallowed his chest from its swelling. He could barely control the softness in his gaze before Matt came up next to him and grabbed his shoulder, making him smile. The way she carried the baby with so much compassion was a sure sign for Spencer, this woman was meant to be a mother. The mother of his children.

Y/N grinned with slight tears in her eyes as she stared at the baby in her arms, “Hi, baby girl. You’re so beautiful.” She cooed softly as she swayed them slowly from side to side. The baby quieted down in her arms and it was a wonderful sight to see. Spencer’s heart was surely beating its last beats.

“Oh, she loves you already.” Emily said from the far side of the room. The comfortable weight of the baby in her arms had suddenly turned into 7.8 pounds of complete and utter dread. She had allowed herself to think that it was her own child for a split second. 

What a huge mistake. 

A tear escaped Y/N’s eye as she realized she’d have to part with this beautiful gift of life. She forced a smile and handed her back to her mother carefully. No one noticed the shift in Y/N’s mood, too enthralled by the baby, except Spencer, of course. She quickly wiped away the stay tear as she took her place next to Spencer, who had tried to take her hand in his, but she pulled away just in time. He breathed a heavy sigh as she silently fell apart right next to him.

After a few moments of failing to keep herself from falling apart in front of the team, she tugged on his sleeve harshly and he knew he’d have to excuse them. So he did, they said their farewells and were on their way to her car. She handed him the keys silently and avoided his gaze until they were in the car together.

“Sweetheart…” Spencer started, reaching out to caress any part of her, only wanting to provide a semblance of comfort.

“Please--please, don’t, Spencer.” She whimpered softly as she shrunk away from him and into the passenger seat, the tears falling freely now. Spencer frowned deeply and began driving them home in silence.

She wondered if she’d ever have the opportunity to be in Kristy’s shoes. All she wanted, as of right now, was to be a mother. The universe had been so, so unkind to them both throughout their lives. God knows Spencer’s been through hell and back more times than they can count. Despite all that though, Spencer was truly the best support system she could ask for. He never pushed her too far, he always understood her, never made her feel bad for not being able to get pregnant. But that didn’t take away from the way she felt. The way she felt like she was failing Spencer. The one thing her body was made for, and she couldn’t do it. 

Spencer walked them both up to their apartment and put on the kettle to make some tea as she disappeared into their bedroom, probably to take a shower. For months and months, they’d been trying, and nothing seemed to work. It was taking a toll on Y/N and he couldn’t help but feel useless.

It went on this way for about a month, although Spencer and Y/N were getting much better about talking about it, as well as beginning to explore other options. Spencer kept convincing Y/N to get out of the house more, he insisted that perhaps time apart and engagement of individual activities would strengthen their relationship. So Penelope suggested a girls night in at least once a week. They would order junk food, watch sappy movies, and sometimes cry about their lives.

One night, all the women and spouses of the BAU were at Penelope’s, watching a movie and munching on crunchy snacks. Y/N suddenly sat up straight and gasped, pausing the movie quickly from the remote.

“What is it?” Tara asked, looking over at Y/N on the couch.

“What day is it?” She asked, slightly panicked.

“It’s...Saturday?” Emily replied.

“No, no! What day of the month?” She exclaimed, searching for her phone in between the couch seats.

“It’s the 12th, why? Is it someone’s birthday?” Penelope asked, confusion settling in.

“The 12th?!” Y/N exclaimed in shock.

“Y/N, what’s on the 12th?” JJ asked impatiently.

“I’m late! I’m 2 weeks late. Let me check first.” Y/N pulled up her phone and checked her period tracking app. The women all glanced at each other excitedly, “I’m late…”

“OKAY! Stay here, do not move. JJ and I will go get you a bunch of tests! Don’t move!” Penelope exclaimed, rushing up to put on a coat over her pajamas and slip on some shoes.

Y/N stood and began to wring her hands nervously.

“What’s wrong, isn’t this great news?” Kristy asked, her face showing concern.

“Yes! Yes, of course. Just...what if it’s n-not real, what if it’s negative? I-I don’t think I can handle that again.” Y/N said as her eyes filled with tears. Her heart seemed to have stilled in her chest and her throat began closing up in response to her anxiety.

“Even if that happens, we’re right here. We’ll be supporting you through it all.” Tara said, standing and hugging her tightly. The second she was in her arms, she began sobbing. The slightest comfort brought waves of fear and anxiety. Emily and Kristy frowned and felt their chests pull at the sight of her being so upset. Tara smoothed down her hair lovingly and convinced her to have a seat until Pen and JJ returned.

A few moments later, they came bursting through the door, “Alright, did you drink enough liquids, do you have to pee?” JJ asked, unpacking and handing her the tests.

“Umm, I don’t know but I’ve been peeing a lot anyway.” Y/N replied and JJ nodded.

“Okay, that’s a good sign.” Kristy nodded encouragingly.

Y/N moved to the bathroom and took the tests. She opened the door slightly and looked towards Penelope, “Can you come in? I-I’m too scared to look at it alone.”

“Of course.” She stepped in and Y/N left the door open for anyone else to come in. Soon they all gathered in or outside of the bathroom. Y/N sat on the closed toilet and wrung her hands nervously, a habit she’d picked up from Spencer. Penelope waited the appropriate amount of time and looked at the tests that were face down on the counter. She looked towards Y/N for approval and she nodded, holding her breath. She wasn’t a profiler but she was trying to read every single microexpression that crossed Penelope’s features. The room was heavy with anticipation as they all watched Penelope look at the tests.

Soon enough, her face broke out into a large grin, “Guess we’re getting a baby genius!” She exclaimed and everyone cheered loudly in response. 

Y/N was frozen in shock on the toilet as everyone rushed to embrace her, “W-what?” She uttered in disbelief, tears clouding her vision quickly.

“They’re all positive! A baby Reid is in the oven!” Emily cheered, showing her the tests. She put a hand to her mouth to slow down the sobs escaping her. She hugged them all tightly and she knew, she just knew that this happened thanks to the sheer powerful energy of all the women by her side. The thought gave her goosebumps.

“Oh my God! I have to tell Spencer!” Y/N shouted in the midst of all her tears, just imagining the pure joy that would be on her husband’s face as he learned the news.

“If you leave now, you’ll make it before he gets home from Derek’s.” JJ said, checking her watch. Y/N nodded and raced out with the tests, putting on her shoes quickly.

“I love you all so much! Bye!” She yelled into the room before darting out the door.

She stopped by the grocery store to pick up some buns, an empty box, and a pair of the cutest baby sneakers she could find. As soon as she got home, she filled the box with the sneakers and the positive tests. She also placed a single bun in the oven and waited for Spencer to come home.

“Y/N, you here already? I saw the car parked downstairs--is everything oka--” he cut himself off as he found her in the kitchen holding something behind her back. His eyebrows raised suspiciously as he eyed her, “What’s going on? What are you up to?” He couldn’t resist smiling at her smile, the previous anxieties melting away.

“Check the oven, baby.” She said, leaning against the counter across from it. His brows furrowed even more as he peeked inside.

“I don’t get it. The oven’s not hot and this is likely a store-bought bun.” Spencer Reid, despite being a certified genius, he could be extremely oblivious at times.

“Yes, and where is it placed?” Y/N hinted.

“In the oven?” Spencer reached in and grabbed the bun. He turned around to face her, the bun in his hands.

“Yes, exactly! It’s a bun in the oven.” She laughed, giving up. She watched as his face lit up in realization.

“Wait...what?” Spencer said softly in disbelief, placing the bun down on the counter and taking a few steps towards her.

She grinned and pulled out the box from behind her and opened it up in front of him. He took it from her and inspected the test and the shoes with a dropped jaw, “W-we...you’re--” He laughed a wet laugh and placed his hands on her belly, “We’re gonna have a baby?” His voice cracked, tears clouding his eyes quickly.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” She confirmed and he pulled her into possibly the tightest hug she’d ever received from him. His shoulders began shaking in her arms and soon they were sobbing messes in front of each other. She rested her head on his chest and he kissed it over and over again until they both calmed down.

“I’m gonna be a father.” He finally said, smiling down at her with a dopey, lovesick smile.

She nodded, returning the smile, “The best father. Now come on, let’s have a seat and start planning.” She giggled, pulling him out of the kitchen and to the couch.

“You know, it’s thought that the saying bun in the oven originated in 1951.” He began explaining and she suddenly burst into a fit of fond giggles, hoping their child would get his intelligence and definitely his good looks.

At exactly 10 weeks, Spencer insisted that she get her first ultrasound. She didn’t mind, she just wanted him to be there, and with his hectic schedule, it was hard to find a perfect time to go. But alas, they figured it out and Spencer was practically bouncing on his feet in excitement in the waiting room. Y/N placed a calming hand on his knee and smiled reassuringly. They took turns calming each other down. Even though Spencer had read every book about parenting and children within reach, he still felt so unprepared as a first time parent.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reid? The doctor is ready for you now.” A nurse with a clipboard announced, making Spencer shoot up out of his seat and helped his wife out of hers.

Soon, they made it into the office and before she knew it the doctor had already spread the icy cold gel on Y/N’s growing belly. A steady, repetitive noise could be heard throughout the room, bouncing off the walls. It sounded like an underwater heartbeat with a tad of something sloshing around.

“Oh, do we hear that? That’s the sound of the baby’s heart-Oh! What do we have here?” The doctor announced as she maneuvered her way on top of her belly.

“What is it?” Spencer anxiously asked, peering over at the screen.

“It seems as though there are two amniotic sacs as well as two healthy heartbeats! Congratulations, you’re having twins!” The doctor exclaimed happily. The couple stared at each other in an absolute stunned daze.

“Twins?” Y/N had to make sure she was hearing it correctly.

“Yes, a pair of healthy twins.” The doctor confirmed.

“That’s...th-that’s only a 4% chance. This is amazing!” Spencer uttered, hugging her tightly.

Over the course of the next six months, Spencer and Y/N have been living on the absolute tips of their toes. Y/N was extremely clingy at times and Spencer was terrified of leaving her, should he be called in for a case. As the twins’ due date nears, Spencer turns into a shell of himself and instead a home for festering anxiety and fear. He’s terrified something might go wrong. Whereas Y/N could not wait for the babies to be out of her! The day couldn’t come sooner.

Thankfully, serial killers all over the country had decided to take a break for Christmas time. Spencer, Y/N, and her belly were invited to every gathering leading up to Christmas eve. She wished she wouldn’t have to waddle along for much longer.

As the two sat in peaceful silence, listening to instrumental versions of their favorite Christmas music and munching on gingerbread men, something felt off.

“Uhhh, Spence?”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Spencer asked, sitting up, failing to notice the large pool of liquid now under his wife soaking the couch.

“My water just broke.” She announced, feeling her breath quicken.

“Oh-OH!” Spencer shot up from the couch and quickly grabbed the hospital go bag that’s been living by the door for the past few weeks. He put on a pair of shoes for her and carefully helped her off the couch.

“Spencer, it’s Christmas eve, we’ll never find a place in the hospital!” Y/N panicked slightly as she waddled to the door, trying to control her breathing.

“Shh, baby don’t worry about that right now. I just need you to do the breathing exercises we practiced so much, okay?” He said calmly, doing her breathing exercises, prompting her to imitate him. He surprised her by being so calm and composed all the way to the hospital then she remembered he’d once told her that he finds he does his best work under intense pressure.

20 grueling hours later, two beautiful baby girl Reids were born into this world on Christmas day. It truly was a Christmas miracle. The team filed in on Christmas day to find one exhausted Spencer standing and an even more exhausted Y/N on the bed, each cradling a baby girl of their own.

“Oh my, oh, they’re so beautiful.” Penelope gushed, her and JJ leaning over Y/N’s bed to peer at one of the girls. Luke, Tara, and Emily walked towards Spencer, who could not stop grinning. 

Seriously, his face should have been split in half at this point from how much he’d been smiling. There was no one else in this world he’d rather have a child with, and he was blessed with not one, but two enchanting Christmas miracles who will surely steal his heart and never return it, and he’ll be more than okay with that.

[notalwaysthevillian]

Shattering Stereotypes

Warnings: None? Let me know!

Pairings: Romantic Mox and Remile established, Romantic Logince to come

Word Count: ~1.9k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Read from the beginning

Chapter 9

Logan woke up before his alarm went off, deciding to just get up and shower. He’d gotten fitful sleep anyway and knew that even trying to get a few more minutes would be futile.

Knowing that today was School Color day, he examined his closet for longer than usual. There wasn’t much he owned that was red, other than a pair of jeans he’d gotten as a gift from Preston.

With a sigh, he put them on. They were tighter than what he normally wore, but that was the price he was going to pay for school spirit.

He threw on a white button up before grabbing some red and white sneakers that had also been a gift.

Convenient.

As soon as Preston and Thomas saw him, they broke out into grins.

“I knew you’d wear those someday.” Preston gestured to the jeans. “It wouldn’t kill you to show off that Sanders ass more often.”

“Dad!”

“Preston.”

“What? It’s part of the reason I fell for you.”

Thomas rolled his eyes as Preston pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Love you too, Tommy.”

“Lo, you want Crofter’s on your - why am I even asking.” Thomas nodded to the fridge, taking the jar of jam from Preston.

Logan took the jar from Thomas. “Thank you, but I’ll make my own breakfast.”

“Is this because I don’t put enough jam on your toast?” Thomas teased.

Logan pretended not to hear him as he prepared his breakfast before heading out to the car.

As soon as Logan stepped foot on school grounds, he couldn’t help but smile. Nearly everyone in the vicinity was covered in red and white. Glancing around, Logan saw Virgil and Patton heading into the school. Virgil had swapped out his usual hoodie for a red one and his black jeans for white. Patton had on one of the male cheer uniforms, a large G emblazoned on the chest.

After dumping his books at his locker, Logan headed straight for his English class.

And proceeded to short circuit in the doorway.

How could he have forgotten that the sports teams wore their uniforms on Spirit Day?

The jersey Roman wore showed off the muscles in his arms. His pants were rolled to the knee, showing off one red sock and one white one. The socks clung to his calf muscles, no doubt gained from his many games of catching.

The two of them locked eyes as Logan managed to start moving again. Roman had smeared what appeared to be red and white paint under his eyes.

“Logan! Perfect, sit down.”

Doing as he was told, Logan froze as Roman reached out and started smearing some of the paint under his own eyes. The gentle touch was making his heart race.

“What -”

“Relax, Lo. It’s meant for your face, it’s called warrior paint.” Roman leaned in close, his breath fanning across Logan’s cheek as he observed his work.

Closing the gap here would not be beneficial.

“Alright, I know we’re not going to get much done today, so I’ll just give you a free period to work on your projects, even though I know most of you will just talk anyway.” Mx. Stokes said, before they pulled out a box. “And if anyone wants some beads to complete their school spirit look, have at it.”

Roman practically vaulted over the desks to get to the box, grabbing four sets of beads. When he came back, he draped two of them over Logan.

“Now you look like you have school spirit.” He flashed Logan a smile.

Blood rushed to Logan’s cheeks. “So...were you going to talk to anyone or did you want to work on our project?”

“Actually I drew up some ideas for costumes!”

Logan barely noticed how fast the class went by, content to listen to Roman excitedly babble about the costume ideas and their symbolism. When the bell rang, Logan jumped out of his seat, making Roman laugh.

“See you at the pep rally!” Roman called before he darted off to his next class.

The day went by in a blur, Logan opting to simply do homework instead of chat with Virgil. His purple-haired classmate didn’t seem to mind, putting on some music instead.

A high pitched squeal crackled over the PA system. “Seniors may be excused and make their way down to the gym.”

A few of their classmates headed out, Logan and Virgil packing up their things. Everyone was required to leave their backpacks in their final class, and pick them up before going home.

Not more than five minutes later, the PA system squealed again. “Juniors may be excused.”

Virgil and Logan headed out together. As they walked in, Logan wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, but Virgil pulled him over to where Patton was sitting with Remy and Emile. He noticed Roman sit a couple rows ahead with the baseball team.

Logan wasn’t really listening as they went through the opening spiel of the pep rally. It was pretty much a rundown of all the scores so far - the seniors were winning - and the times of the game, the parade, and the dance. All stuff Logan had heard, since he actually paid a bit of attention to the school calendar.

What he did notice was Roman and several other students getting up and moving down to a reserved portion of the bleachers.

“What’s going on?”

“Too busy staring, huh?” Remy asked from the end of the row, waggling his eyebrows.

Logan flushed, turning to Virgil instead.

“Dodgeball, just like every other year.”

“Ah,” Logan adjusted his glasses, watching as the freshman were unfairly pitted against the seniors. “My apologies, I usually sneak in a book and read at the top.”

“So you’re paying attention now because…” Virgil trailed off, a teasing grin on his face.

Patton poked him in the shoulder. “V, don’t be mean!”

“He’s not, you have my word.” Logan leaned forward to see around Virgil. “Congrats on the homecoming date though.”

“Thanks! Virge told me about your issue and I think if you have the guts to go for it, you should give him the letter.” A friendly smile graced Patton’s face.

Logan nodded, hearing the whistle to start the game. Everyone’s attention shifted, watching as the freshman were knocked out in a mere two minutes. Once they returned to their seats, the seniors sat down, watching the sophomores and juniors get into position.

Roman looked up into the stands, met Logan’s eyes, and flashed a grin. Logan’s heart pounded as he smiled back, but Roman had looked back to the game.

He was probably smiling at someone else.

“Did you see that?” Patton whispered. “He smiled at you!”

“No, it wasn’t -”

Virgil held up a hand. “It was totally for you.”

Blood returned to Logan’s cheeks. The whistle blew once more and he watched as Roman nearly single-handedly took out the sophomores, assisted by one or two more teammates.

“Dang, he’s good.”

“He said sometimes he pitches.” Logan replied without thinking.

“How do you know that, Lo?”

Logan turned, face flaming as he got various degrees of smirks from his friends. “He may have stayed for dinner a few times because of our project.”

Patton and Emile both clapped their hands over their mouths to suppress their squealing. Remy’s smirk vanished as he gave Emile a loving gaze, but Virgil kept his eyes on Logan.

“Dude. He at least likes you as a friend, or he would never have stayed.”

A sharp blow of the whistle had them turning back to the floor. At some point, the seniors had set up where the sophomores had vacated. The two teams were now going after each other with a vengeance. The seniors to defend their title, and the juniors to finally shove them out of the number one spot.

It came down to Roman and a senior named Steve. He was a linebacker on the football team, and built like a brick.

Steve fired a ball at Roman.

The crowd gasped as it popped out of Roman’s hands.

Roman dove for it, barely catching it before it hit the ground.

The juniors went nuts, cheering wildly. Steve headed back to the football team, high-fiving along the way.

Roman ran back into the crowd, breathing heavily. Again, he shot a grin to where Logan was sitting.

Logan buried his face in his hands as soon as Roman looked away.

“Ah, yes. The gay meltdown.”

“Remy!”

A squeal from the microphone had all of the students covering their ears. Principal Torres apologized before announcing the next part of the competition.

Solving a Rubik’s cube.

Logan’s name was called for the juniors. He headed down with four other students, clearly picked because they were the smartest kids in the class.

Smart didn’t always equate to puzzle solving.

“The first one to solve the cube will win one hundred points for their class. The second wins fifty, and the third twenty-five. Each of you will be timed by a randomly selected teacher. Any questions?” She stopped, watching as they all shook their heads. “Three, two, one, GO!”

Logan moved like lightning, blocking everything else out of his head.

“Done!”

He smirked when he realized he was the first to finish by a long shot. The teacher across from him showed his time.

Forty-five seconds.

As soon as two others had finished, the freshman and the senior, they were excused back to their seats.

“Nice job, Lo!” Patton gave him a beaming smile as he sat back down.

Virgil nodded. “I’m pretty sure we’re tied with the seniors now.”

Logan hardly paid attention to the rest of the pep rally, only noticing that the next events were one bounce and tug of war. The seniors must’ve been angry about losing, seeing as how they lost both events.

Which meant…

“In first place this year is our Juniors, with 1,340 points!”

The junior class went wild, cheering and screaming. Principal Torres quickly quieted everyone down, gave a rundown of the parade and game times for later that night, and then excused everyone.

Logan traced the paper in his pocket as he darted down the steps, trying to reach Roman. He’d give him the note and Roman could text him his answer.

The universe must’ve hated him, because Roman was swept away by his friends before Logan even made it to the gym floor.

A hand on his shoulder had him turning around. Emile and Patton were looking at him with twin expressions of sadness, while Remy looked a little peeved. Virgil squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Lo. You could always give it to him at the game?”

Logan shook his head. “It’s too late anyway. I can’t even get a ticket now.”

“Actually…” Emile pulled a ticket out of his pocket. “I have an extra. I bought one before Rem asked me.”

Logan took it. “Thank you, but I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Come with us!” Patton bounced on his toes. “We’re all going together and then having a sleepover at Remy’s house!”

Seeing Logan’s expression, Virgil added, “Or we can drop you back off at your place. And you don’t have to come with us, it’s just an option.”

“I...I think I’d like that.” Logan felt a sudden warmth in his chest. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

[blaugreen]

Nine Albums Later, Tegan and Sara Are Finally Ready to Discuss High School

In a new memoir and an album of songs they wrote as teenagers, the feminist pop stars look back at their traumas, triumphs and life as identical twins.

By Jenn Pelly and Liz Pelly Sept. 24, 2019 Updated 6:33 p.m. ET

To be a twin can be a psychological house of mirrors. And so where better to meet up with Tegan and Sara Quin — feminist pop heroes, freshly minted authors, and, like us, identical twins — than at a kaleidoscopic infinity room in Chelsea? As we left the small mirrored room at the kitschy Museum of Illusions, where our likenesses warped and refracted, we encountered a third set of twins. Reality grew ever more psychedelic, and we snapped a photograph of the six of us to commemorate it.

In their new memoir, “High School,” the Quin sisters alternate chapters to detail their teenage years. Growing up in Canada, they worshiped Nirvana, Green Day and the Smashing Pumpkins. They discovered and explored their sexuality. They sneaked out to raves, dropped acid, fought authority. When a classmate spewed homophobic statements during a lesson on STDs, Sara hurled a chair across the room. In the end, the twins competed in a life-changing battle of the bands. “If we don’t win tonight,” Tegan said onstage, “our mom is going to make us go to college.” They won.

While gathering their research for the book, Tegan and Sara found cassettes of some of their earliest songs. And so “High School” is accompanied by a new album, “Hey, I’m Just Like You,” featuring polished-up re-workings of those unearthed demos. Some of the songs evoke the ’90s indie pop of the band’s Lilith Fair era, while others could be the seeds of electronic-dance bangers. The connective thread is the unguarded emotionality of a teenage perspective.

This multimedia set is yet more experimentation from a band that, across nine albums, has moved from folky indie rock into synth-driven dance tracks and mainstream pop. Tegan and Sara sang “Everything Is Awesome” (“The Lego Movie” theme song) at the 2015 Oscars, and have performed with Taylor Swift. In 2016 they launched their Tegan and Sara Foundation, to benefit organizations committed to health, economic justice and representation for L.G.B.T.Q. girls and women.

During a conversation at a downtown cafe, Tegan was forthright and unapologetic, while Sara was analytical, using an app to astrologically survey our twin-by-twin dynamic. They frequently chipped at each other’s memories and perspectives to hone the truth and soon turned the questions on us: Did we feel ever competitive with each another, or encroached upon, as twins with the same career? These are excerpts from the conversation.

JENN PELLY As identical twins, we have strengths and weaknesses that are different but complementary. I often think: If you put us back together, we would be a perfect person. Do you relate?

TEGAN AND SARA QUIN 100 percent.

SARA I wouldn’t be as extreme, if Tegan wasn’t Tegan. I would have balanced myself differently. When Tegan would go through a dark stage, and be a little more chaotic, I would straighten up and be more disciplined. When Tegan went through a punk stage and started getting tattoos everywhere, I was like, I’m going to wear tailored clothing.

LIZ PELLY I think some twins learn early on that collaboration requires compromise and patience.

SARA A lot of people will say, “I have mommy issues” or “daddy issues.” I have Tegan issues. A lot of my hangups or dysfunctions in relationships are based on our primary relationship as children — what worked for us, what didn’t, how difficult it was to share the same face.

Most people sort of break up with their mom or their dad when they go out into the world and become adults. With us, it’s like we broke up, but decided to co-parent our music career.

TEGAN I believe there is a deep desire in Sara to define herself outside of this duo, like she’s cutting off an appendage. It’s not sad for me anymore, but it was at first. We are better together. Our songs are more developed together, and we stand out in a crowd together. It’s very complicated, to want to sever and tether at the same time, this mix of emotions that’s feuding inside of you at all times: We desperately want to be apart, and be our own people, but I need her to thrive and survive.

JENN Explain the mirror on the cover of “High School.”

TEGAN The mirror is distorted, and so is our perception of ourselves, and of the past, and of each other. In writing the book, it was like: That’s what you remember? That’s what you thought was happening? Over the years, I’ve realized there’s this unfair weight put on our shoulders to represent both of us. It’s a psychic burden; you’re responsible for each other.

JENN One passage that shocked me was when you discover you’ve both been playing music alone. Liz and I talk about cryptophasia a lot, a secret language that some twins share. Is that how it felt?

SARA When I discovered the guitar, I didn’t need to know Tegan was also discovering the guitar. When I figured out I was attracted to my best friend, I just assumed Tegan was figuring out she was attracted to her best friend. I assumed there was this parallel experience happening at all times.

TEGAN I was shocked you had been doing the same things.

SARA Discovering the guitar and writing songs felt like an epiphany, like a miracle. I had been so bad at so many things. This was the one time in my life I picked something up, and I knew how to do it. It felt like a gift, like it saved me. I wanted to protect that for a second, in that little tiny moment where I was doing it alone. But playing with Tegan, I knew it was bigger and better and more special and more seductive to people.

JENN You write about not fitting in with the punks, while also offending people in school because of the way you dressed, like outsiders among outsiders. Did you embolden each other?

SARA I felt alienated at punk shows. I walked in with that chip on my shoulder — “I don’t belong” — and Tegan threw her bag on the wall, walked into the pit, banged her head and thrashed.

TEGAN I always felt, if you want to be in that room, go in that room. If you want to be invited there, go. If you want to be a part of things, be a part.

JENN I wonder if some of this confidence comes from having a built in support system — the us against the world type thing.

TEGAN I never needed an external source to inspire me. It’s inside of me. I want to make my own rules. I don’t want to ask permission. There were long stretches of our career where I felt Sara dwelled on meaningless things. But she was finding a way to work through, and I worked my way around.

There were certain criticisms made of us, early on, that felt unfair. They did not feel like musical criticisms. They felt borderline or blatantly misogynist. My reaction was to design a T-shirt with all of the quotes — Spin magazine: “Wicca-folk nightmare.” Pitchfork: “Tampon rock.” I wanted to sell it on our website, and embrace the part of our history that made us as tough as we are now — not hardened, not bitter, but thrilled to be a part of this still. Because we got around it, and she got through it, and we’re still here.

SARA I always had a more institutional perspective. It wasn’t “tampon rock” that bothered me, it was sexism that bothered me. It was homophobia that bothered me.

The only reason I’m still making music, in this band, is because Tegan was championing me and cheering me on and trying to get me past these obstacles. But I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I felt furious at the industry, at the institutions that were inherently flawed and discriminatory. Even as a young person, I thought: If we’re the ones making it, and I feel this bad, Jesus, what does it feel like to be the artist that isn’t breaking through? I appreciated Tegan going around the obstacles, but I was like: I want to put dynamite under the obstacle and blow it up. We really have struggled with that dynamic.

A lot of that was planted early in our lives. Tegan’s coming out story is so different. She didn’t face the same type of homophobia. She didn’t have the same type of trauma as I did. Tegan holds her girlfriend’s hand on the street. I don’t. I’m afraid. I don’t care how big WorldPride is or how many cool new queer artists are on the covers of magazines. My experience informed how I react to the world. And that sometimes is hard to reconcile.

JENN I was thinking about your song “Nineteen” from “The Con,” which also describes your teenage years. Do you feel you’ve been reflecting on this part of your life for a while now?

TEGAN When we started talking about other songs that could be included [on our upcoming tour], the first song I thought of was “Nineteen.” I thought about how much of our music harkens back to that high school period. We’ve been diminished over and over throughout our careers for only writing love songs. But what we were really writing about was relationships, including the ones with ourselves — about family, friends, work. You talk about everything when you’re talking about relationships. There’s something about tethering the old songs to the modern age that becomes very cinematic for me. It starts to tell a bigger story.

LIZ You’ve described “You Go Away and I Don’t Mind,” from the new album, as being about the futility of fame. What is it like to reflect on that now that you are famous?

SARA I think that is the most strangely prophetic song. It was very surreal to read those lyrics all of these years later. Because for me, it’s very coherent. Since we were little, we had drawn undeserved or unearned attention. We would go to the mall as little kids and people would touch us. And that’s very disorienting and destabilizing as a young person. I think we did feel popular but it felt false. And in a lot of ways that echoes what it feels like to be famous or to be a celebrity in some ways. It can feel very empty.

JENN In part of the book, a friend’s brother asks you to jam, and you talk about how badly you wanted to be taken seriously. Was there a point in which you finally felt like you were taken seriously?

TEGAN To this day there’s a part of us that doesn’t feel like we’ve been taken that seriously, and I think all women probably feel that way. But we’ve now spent the majority of our adult life doing the thing we love, and we’re approached every day by people who are like, “I exist because of you.” Things like the Grammys become less important when you have an entire generation of people who are grateful you were bold and open about being gay before it was cool.

SARA We want journalists and fans, and culture at large, to reconcile how we see young women as artists — and when we begin seeing art as valuable. With our new songs, there are going to be people who say, “Oh, isn’t it cute? They released songs from when they were in high school.” But we want this music to be taken seriously. Not because we’re 38 years old and rerecording these songs, but because we were 15, 16 and 17 years old when we wrote them. And as 38-year-old women who have been around the world, who have experienced so much, I still think there is value in what I had to say. I went back and listened to that music and decided it is valuable.

TEGAN Actually I did first and then you did two months later.

SARA We are challenging people to see this work as sophisticated and mature and ahead of its time.

When we were teenagers, our music was written about as “rudimentary, but geez, there is something there.” It wasn’t rudimentary. There was something remarkable about what we were trying to say. There is something so profound about your first experiences. I fell in love multiple times. I was depressed. I was suicidal. I was passionate. I fought with my mother. I broke up with my sister. Those are some of the biggest moments of my life. How am I supposed to just write them off, like, “Oh who cares, I was a teenager.”

LIZ We’re taught that thinking in an emotionally-charged way is something for your teenage years. But actually, that sort of emotional intensity is powerful to carry with you throughout your life.

SARA I have a visceral memory of sitting down to write the song “Hello” at the end of grade 12. I had been devastated by this girl, Zoe, in the book — I loved her, and she was like, “I don’t like girls.” I was grappling with all of these big things. And I remember thinking, “I wish I was older. I wish I knew how to get through this.” I’m 38 years old, and every time I sing that line, I feel that right now. I wish I knew how to do this better. I don’t understand why I’m still suffering. I don’t understand why I’m still not better.

TEGAN It’s powerful to acknowledge that you don’t have all of the answers yet.

SARA When I sat down and listened to the demos, I just thought: I’m so glad little Tegan and Sara wrote all this music. They were better at addressing my feelings than I am right now.

[howtolistentomusic]

There's a radio sitting atop a pile of boxes. I grab it and hand it over to Carlos. He sets the device on the edge of the container and pushes the power button. We're greeted with a burst of static. He fiddles with the tuner until he stumbles upon "Wicked" by Future. 

"Aw yeah!" he says as he turns the volume way up. "Some real music! Anthony, take notes!"

"I'm insulted by the implication that I don't listen to hip-hop."

"You bump 2Pac between Justin Bieber songs?" David says.

"Hell yeah I do!"

"Guacha!" David says. 

Pronounced as if a stressed "ah" sound is added at the end of the English word watch, guacha is a Spanish verb for "look." Informally, though, it means something more like I approve! It's typically complimentary though it often carries a connotation of surprise that can come off as condescending. Against all odds, David basically said to me, I'm impressed. Welcome to the big boys club.

"2Pac is the greatest rapper of all time," Carlos says.

"Well, I don't know about that."

Don't get me wrong. I genuinely do like 2Pac. I grew up in Southern California, after all. But the GOAT? There's no way. He's a compelling figure for many reasons but too many others can rap circles around him.

"Listen to All Eyez On Me," Carlos says.

"Illmatic is better."

"What the fuck is that?"

It's the classic and hugely influential debut album by Nas, in case you're rooming with Carlos and Patrick Star.

"Life's a bitch and then you die!" Ruben sings.

"That's why we get high! 'Cause you never know when you're gonna go!"

"Damn, Ant!" David says. "Who would have thought?" 

It's unclear whether he recognizes "Life's a Bitch", Illmatic's track three stunner, or if he's simply surprised that I made a weed reference. 

"What else are you bumping?" David asks.

"Wu-Tang. Souls of Mischief. Big L—"

"The Based God?" Carlos says. "He fucking sucks!"

"That's Lil B, dumbass."

Dude doesn't know Big L from Lil B and he's never heard Illmatic. And yet here he is, trying to lecture me about hip-hop. Get the fuck out of here.

"Whatever. You're fucking old," Carlos says.

Touché. But I'm trying to keep up. I'm certainly on the Playboi Carti and Lil Uzi Vert bandwagons. "wokeuplikethis*" and "XO Tour Lif3" are great. I have a hard time understanding the appeal of Migos though.

Carlos grabs some bags from the edge of the container. When he turns to dump them into the proper gaylords, I glance at the radio. It's beckoning like a glowing pickup in a video game. I can't resist. Being cool is overrated anyways.

I tune to Live 105.5. "Good For You" by Selena Gomez is playing. 

"Hell yes!" I say.

My coworkers laugh.

"Of course you would listen to this bullshit!" Carlos says.

Bullshit? Ok, I get it. So it's totally cool to want to fuck Selena Gomez. It's totally cool to mime and graphically detail the sexual acts you'd perform on her if given the chance, as a few of the guys did a while back when a Spring Breakers DVD came through the warehouse. Respecting the art she creates, though? Nah. Too much.

"Wanna show you how proud I am to be yours," I sing. "Leave this dress a mess on the floor!"

Two yeas ago one of my favorite music writers, Katherine St. Asaph, wrote some brilliant work inspired by "Good for You". Her Singles Jukebox blurb, in which she rates the song a 9 out of 10, is a masterpiece. And in a review of Revival for Time Magazine, she vividly wrote that the song "makes looking good for her man sound like searing a part of herself dead." Despite such a convincing case for the song's merits, however, I can't bring myself to like "Good For You" all that much. It's boring and rote and I totally prefer "Hands to Myself". In a place like this, though, I'll fucking take it. After all, remaining myself while simultaneously playing "dude" well enough to avoid ostracization by my coworkers is a balance I struggle with every time I step foot into this warehouse, so it feels really good to fill the room with a piece of my world for once while these fuckers are forced to deal with it.

"I just wanna look good for ya, good for ya," I sing. "Uh huh."

"Alright," Carlos says as the song winds down. "It's over." 

He tunes the radio back to hip-hop just as Anna screams "Break!"

"Fuck," Carlos says as he turns off the device. ***

As usual, I beat the entire crew back to the dock. I hop into the container, turn on the radio and adjust the station.

"Reck a less bee hayve YA ah!" the radio pronounces.

Zayn Malick! Totally over One Direction, rhyming.

"Turn that shit up!" Donald says as the guys finally find their way back to roll-off. "This is my jam!"

"Let's start a boy band, Donald!" I say.

"I'm down!" 

David laughs. Carlos shakes his head.

"I'm seeing the pain, seeing the pleasure," Donald sings. He's not kidding; he genuinely seems to like this song. "Nobody but you, 'body but me, 'body but us, bodies together!"

While I'm thrilled to have a temporary companion in poptimism, I must point out that this song sucks. I wish I could play "Little Black Dress" instead. I wonder what the guys would think of that particular track, which pits a traditional dude's reverence for classic rock against his hatred of boy bands.

"That's your last one," Carlos says as "Pillowtalk" gives way to a commercial. 

He tunes back to the hip-hop station. "Hold On, We're Going Home" is playing and I have to stifle a laugh. Be careful what you wish for, I think to myself.

Carlos can't stand Drake. He's told me as much. He's a fucking pussy were his exact words. Of course, he'd be loath to admit that now, when control of the radio is at stake. I decide to stoke the fire.

"'Cause you're a good girl and you know it!'" I sing.

"Why do you like literally the worst shit?" Carlos says.

"I can change the station if you prefer," I say as I reach for the radio.

"Leave it!" he says.

"Yes, daddy!"

As soon as he turns his back, I tune back to pop. Mass groaning ensues as Shawn Mendes goes on about stitches. Carlos, however, is silent. He's standing still as a statue, staring me down.

***

If the warehouse gave out game balls at the end of each shift, Carlos would have more than the rest of roll-off combined. This is despite the fact that the dude is hardly physically intimidating. Indeed, the contrast between his tough guy persona and his tiny 5"2' frame is a gift that keeps on giving. One time, in an exercise designed to lighten the mood after a slog of a safety meeting, management made the entire staff of the warehouse line up on the floor of the line, single-file, tallest on the right and shortest on the left. There were approximately 30 people in the building and only a single woman was standing to the left of Carlos. It took the roll-off team hours to get all the laughter out of our system.

Carlos isn't particularly funny or clever either. While his insults come fast and furiously, they tend to be the predictable nonsense you would expect from someone that still considers "gay" a burn in the year of our Lord 2017. It's the same sort of mockery I've been dealing with my whole life. The words themselves don't really bother me.

But Carlos will wear you down through sheer attrition. His short fuse, gangbanger ethics and the fact that he values his pride over his job give him a willingness to escalate that's difficult to compete with. I once witnessed him empty an entire can of shaving cream onto the face of poor old man Kenneth. He also once swung a bag of hard toys, with all his might, at Donald after the two got into a heated argument. Then there was the time he was in a bad mood and discreetly coated some furniture with that aerosol "snow" stuff—the kind that people use on their windows as a Christmas decoration—in the hopes that some naive rube would ruin their clothes.

So I'm not sure what Naive Rube was thinking in perpetuating this tug-of-war over a stupid radio. Perhaps I felt like I deserved a fucking break. Roll-off already has a radio, after all. Sure, Anna controls the station. But everyone seems fine enough, usually, with the soul and R&B she prefers.

In any case, I'm not in the mood for Carlos' shit today.

***

I place a box of books at the edge of the container, right in front of Carlos.

"Are you just gong to stand there?" I ask.

"Give back the radio, you fucking pussy!" Carlos says. "Nobody wants to hear this pop shit!"

I know, dumbass. That's why this is so much fun.

"Give it back!" he repeats. He swipes for the radio but I grab it and place it out of his reach.

Carlos slices a bag of clothes with his pocketknife.

"I'm going to fuck you up!" he says. "Stupid little bitch! I'm going to fuck you up!"

"Cool story, bro."

"Are you really not gong to give it back?"

I laugh. Look, this entire thing is petty as fuck but the dude's entitlement really is something else.

"Give it back simply because you told me to? I'll pass but thanks."

"I'm going to give you one last chance," he says.

"Oh noes! Make sure you play some Justin Bieber at my funeral."

Carlos is fucking seething. He pulls the still-as-a-statue move again in an attempt to intimidate but roll-off simply functions around him. Nobody else seems to care much about the radio war and that's fine by me. When Carlos finally realizes that his protest isn't going to work, he grabs the box of books and gets back to business. Apollo for the win!

As an alternative kid with a preference for dark clothing and bulky accessories, the sun has long been the bane of my existence. This is especially true as I age, as one of the ways I temper insecurities about my ever-expanding waistline is by burying myself in layers. Today, however, the sun is an unlikely ally in my ongoing struggle against Carlos. It's 100 degrees out, see, and when it's this hot outside the container becomes almost unbearable, the metal walls stubbornly retaining the heat in a way that feels like you're working in a giant oven.

Pushing donations from inside the container is typically a two-person task but nobody else is up for it today. And the emptier it becomes, the safer I seem to be getting from Carlos' antagonism as I place the radio further and further from his reach. For a glorious hour I have the device all to myself. Ariana Grande! Lady Gaga! Hailee Steinfeld! Rihanna! I'm singing along, dancing like a maniac, and feeling pretty damn good. Then I hear a loud crash. 

I turn around. Carlos is standing at the foot of the container, a crate of dishes in front of him.

I've seen this before. God forbid there's glass around when Carlos is angry because he'll start chucking it, his aim loose enough for probable deniability but accurate enough to make life hell. 

He grabs a plate and throws it my way. It shatters near my feet. 

"Calm the fuck down!" I say. 

"Give me the radio."

"Come and get it.

Carlos hops into the container. Fuck. Here we go.

Of course, he's not grabbing anything without going through me first. It's too damn empty in here. I step towards him to obstruct his path. We meet in the middle of the container. Our faces are inches apart.

One, Mississippi. Two, Mississippi. Three, Mississippi. Four, Mississippi. Five, Mississippi. Six—

"Fuck this gay ass music," he finally says. Then he turns and walks away. *** A short time later we finish unloading the container. Two hours remain in the workshift but supervisor Stella tells us that we won't be getting more trucks until tomorrow. She assigns the guys to other tasks in the building while I stay behind on the dock to tidy up.

For good measure, I empty the batteries from the radio and throw them in a bin designated for hazardous materials. Then I smash the radio on the floor, throw the pieces in the electronics gaylord, then pull it inside the warehouse.

Give me my damn game ball.

[ghostiehatesithere]

Carry On Chapter 3

Lotor wasn't surprised when he learned of Malrvotor’s escape. He wasn't surprised but that didn't stop the disappointment from forming in his chest. It also didn't escape his attention that the Galra Empire had almost immediately lost Malevotor's home planet mere days after his escape.

His generals had also been greatly disappointed by his absence, especially Zethrid and Narti. Narti was the first if his generals to ever be introduced to Mal. She had been a mere servant girl that had been placed in his care to serve him. She didn't say much but her reaction times were amazing as well as the way she could sense the world around her without eyes.

Narti found comfort in the fact that the Prince was just like her but was nearly cowarding behind the prince when he first took her to meet Mal. She had heard the sickening sounds of his battles on the rare occasions that she was forced to work at the Pit and made sure to avoid trouble so that she wouldn't be thrown in with him. No one would miss a blind cub that never spoke and she tried to use that to her advantage to escape the ire of her superiors.

She knew Malevotor by the scent of blood that lingered around him after every match. Death has almost become something she directly associated with the Kelekonian king. She had thought that she had somehow angered Lotor and that he was going to allow Malevotor to dispose of her. However to her surprise the Prince spoke casually with the large Kelekonian. He introduced her as his friend and she had to fight herself from cringing when the stench of blood grew strong with Malevotor's approach.

He sniffed at Narti for a while and she couldn't bring herself to move, thinking that one wrong move would be her last.

"She has no eyes," he had noted aloud with neither disgust or derision in his tone like others.

"She was born without them," Lotor had excitedly explained to the former king. "I think father assigned her to me because of that and because she's a hybrid like me!"

"Why because of her eyes?" Mal had asked in confusion.

"She can't see! Can't you tell?"

"I can see that she lacks eyes but plenty of my people can be born without eyes or just one. They have more difficulty than others getting around but they find ways to see in their own way."

This intrigued Narti. People without eyes? Just like her? She had been led to believe that the very absence of eyes was an abomination as well as the impurity of her blood. Yet he had completely brushed off the latter and changed her life about the former.

Acxa had came next. She was a hybrid slave, mockingly given to Lotor by one of Zarkon's generals. Lotor felt as though his father was placing the "undesirables" under his command to remind him of all that he was and all that he wasn't. His contempt for them will always extend to his son despite their shared blood, maybe even because of it. Lotor had been the first to actually care about her.

She had stumbled upon Mal's lessons with Lotor and Narti completely by accident. Or not depending on who you asked. She had noticed the way that Lotor and Narti would sneak off in the middle of the night cycles and head down to the Pits. One night she had followed them and nearly caught a heart attack when she caught the Prince and Narti fighting an alien nearly twice their combined size.

Without a second thought, Acxa leapt into actionn ready to defend her prince against the imminent danger. It wasn't until she had been pinned down by Mal's tail did she realize that the fighting had ended. They had all stared at her with wide eyed shock. It was in that moment that she realized that she had entirely misunderstood the situation and got into to something that she didnt know that she needed.

Mal had liked her loyalty and devotion to Lotor but had also admonished her for it. "It's admirable that you want to protect Lotor but you must always understand that there is a time and a place for protecting. You have to decide when you must protect and when you must win."

This was a particularly hardd lesson that Mal had to beat into her with each lesson but she did it. Though there were still times when she would throw caution to the wind and stick her neck out for Lotor at the entirely wrong time.

Ezor and Zethrid came as a pair. They had been appointed as bodyguards which was a slight on both them and Lotor. Ezor and Zethrid because Zarkon refused to have half-breeds in his military, able to hold a position of power and Lotor because Zarkon gave his son bodyguards that he deemed was scraping the bottom of the barrel. What does it say about Lotor if his father employed the very half-breeds he deemed worthless as his personal guards. 

Zethrid was very vocal about how she felt about Lotor, thinking him a spoiled prince who knew nothing of the struggle of the people beneath his station. Ezor didn’t care one way or another about the small prince. Zethrid was full of rage and stronger than the average Galra. It actually amazed Mal when he learned that Zethrid was actually a huge fan of him. She had attended many of his matches and admired how he had yet to lose a match. He always looked so calm in even when you could practically smell the rage that permeated his being while there. 

She wanted to be as strong as him and was incredibly jealous when she found out that Lotor had been training with her idol. She demanded to join the training session and was shocked and impressed when Lotor stood up to her. Despite his shorter stature it felt like he was towering over her when he met her gaze and told her no. He didn’t back down even when she threatened to tell his father and that made her reluctantly respect the runt. He made it explicitly clear that he would introduce her when he was ready and not a moment sooner. He even took a little petty revenge by dragging his feet to introduce her. 

Mal was particularly amused by her because she always demanded that he fight her. She was particularly impatient when he took his time consider how he would train her, It was obvious tat she was strong and even had the potential to become stronger than him in terms of pure strength. However, it was as she was sparring with the others that he realized that Lotor’s greatest strength was her greatest weakness. 

She didn’t think. She would get easily frustrated and fly off the rails into a violent rage. She had skill but very little considering she solely relied on her brute strength. It would be easy for a quick and clever opponent like Lotor or Ezor to be able to manipulate her uncontrolled anger into a victory. 

Ezor’s biggest problem was that she was too easily read. You could tell what she was about to do just by looking at her face. Upon telling her as much, she huffed and glared at Mal. “Yeah, I know.”

Mal gave her the best “oh really” look, not appreciating the teenage attitude. “Knowing doesn’t mean anything if you’ve learned to accept it. This is a fatal flaw that could end up killing you Red. Do you want to die?”

Ezor pouted sheepishly and crossed her arms, properly cowed, “No.”

“Then quit the grumpy teenager act and listen. You need to find your game face,” Mal had instructed and continued to explain upon receiving a confused look from Ezor. “It’s the expression you’re most comfortable with which means that you won’t have as hard of a time keeping it up.”

It took a while but Ezor found her game face in her smile. She explained that she enjoyed the way her blood would roar in her ears and her heart pounded in her chest when she fought and she couldn’t help but to smile while fighting. It wasn’t a knowing or bloodthirsty smirk like Lotor or Zethrid. It was a genuine smile of amusement. Mal congratulated her for her achievement.

“You’ve got a good grin Red. It would unsettle lesser opponents and frustrate others,” he’d said.

Lotor was riding a high after his fight against Throk that helped him gain the favor of the empire. He’d ordered Throk to be transferred to the Ulippa System to prevent any possible trouble later on before heading back to his rooms where he changed out of his military garb and into a loose pair of pants as he examined the geode that Mal had gifted him.

It’s warmth was still steadily pulsing, although he couldn’t help but to notice that the pulse was a lot slower than usual and he couldn’t help but to worry. Even the glittering white flecks in the dark crystals weren’t shining as brightly as they did before. What did this mean? Was something wrong with Mal? He’s not dead otherwise it would have gone cold and lost all color so what is going on?

He found neither answers nor rest that night as he prayed to the stars that Mal was alright. He needed to know that there was still someone in the universe that he could trust no matter what. His generals were around but they didn’t completely understand. Not like Mal. 

He promised himself to set aside time to establish some form of contact with Mal or his people as soon as he stabilized his position as ruler. He needed the people’s support whether his father miraculously got better or not. Maybe he could even study why Kelekonians’ bodies rejected quintessence and how they managed to survive without that which seemed to be present in every other living being that he’d come across. But that will have to come much later.

Hey everyone this is the end of the third chapter and I’m glad that you all have been enjoying the story so far! So far I’ve been presenting things solely from Lotor’s POV and what Mal means to Lotor. In the next chapter I will be delving into Mal’s side of things. How he feels and thinks in relation to Lotor and his generals. Keep in mind these are his babies but he is at the point where he’s letting his babies make their own mistakes. It won’t stop him from agonizing over where his kids are and “casually” asking about them occasionally but I digress. 

@starfaring-princelotor @motheroflittlelions @fandomsoffeelings @done-with-your-shit-shirogane @kirahhhh @legendofcarl @lotor-for-emperor @marvelheaux @yanderemommabean @lotorrential @planet-jumping-warrior

[rue-by-another-name]

Agreed. This one is for you Anon, and for @harry-writings, the sweetest of sweethearts. I got a little carried away. 

--

The first time Harry saw the sweater, he didn’t know what to say as he looked down at it in his hands. It was soft, like extremely soft, and he knew that would bother him considering the elementary planets on the front. It was a perfectly good sweater but those planets ruined the whole thing.

“Love, you know I can't wear this,” Harry called from the living room where he was sitting on the couch, rubbing the knitted fabric between his fingers as he sighed. “It’s ghastly.”

“What?!” you cried from the kitchen. At first Harry had thought you’d gotten it for him as a joke, the planetary system all spread around around the collar is if he was Ms. Frizzle awaiting his Magic School Bus.

But the more he gave you an incredulous look, the more he realized you’d actually gotten this as a real present. 

“Well it ...” Harry didn’t know exactly how to phrase this without hurting your feelings. “It’s just ... m’not a primary teacher, ya know?”

“It’s from a designer,” you snapped, stepping into the hallway from the kitchen with the cutest glare on your face.

And Harry knew this. He now got a kick out of the fact that you’d walked into a real department store, like an actual real fancy one, and out of all the clothes you could have picked for him to go to work, you’d decided on this one. 

“Babe,” he leaned back on the sofa with the sweater still in his hands and watched as you made your way over to him, stepping over some of the wrapping paper from the previously discarded present packaging materials while holding up the bowl of soup in one hand and water in the other.

“You are just the hardest to get presents for, you know that Mr. Styles?” you huffed, feeling slightly annoyed that Harry hadn’t found the sweater as adorable as you had. Sure, he was right about it being a little big on him, but you were nervous that if he went to return it for another size, he would come out with someone else entirely.

You liked the sweater.

Harry hummed, placing the sweater aside as he leaned forward and reached out for your shirt, pulling you to him between his legs as he nuzzled his face into your slightly protruding stomach. “You’ve already given me the best gift though, Mrs. Styles.”

You placed the glass of water on the table beside the couch before carting your fingers through his hair as Harry repeatedly kissed you pregnant belly affectionately. You weren’t showing much, but your bump had just started to really grow and Harry hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you.

“You’re keeping the sweater,” you whispered, tilting his chin up to look at you as Harry pouted, “And you’re wearing it to your mum’s.”

“Wha-” Harry started to protest but you raised a finger, along with an eyebrow, and Harry scoffed. “You’re killing me woman.”

He stood, kissed your forehead, and tossed his shirt of rather quickly before reaching for the sweater. Yeah, it was a bit big on him. He had to roll the sleeves a couple times and the soft knitted material hung just below his bum, but he looked cute with his shorter cut hair and baby scruff.

Plus, you thought, when you went in for a hug and he engulfed you lovingly, the soft material encompassing you was soothing.

You liked the sweater.

The second time Harry saw the sweater was after Christmas. The sweater was forgotten for a couple months. It sat on Harry’s side of your walk-in closet, just on the second shelf from the top along with his other “things I just need to go through, is all,” he’d said. 

In reality, it was all the clothes he hadn’t picked for himself, and was avoiding having to return. They were the shirts from his mum that he packed when you went home, and the pants his sister had gotten him for work that he wore for her rehearsal dinner. 

And the planetary sweater.

You started growing out of your clothes rather quickly once your stomach grew bigger, and while rummaging through some of Harry’s bigger t-shirts for bed, the sweater basically fell on your head as if to stop you from all your riffling. Walking out of your closet, Harry looked up from the book at the sound of your presence, his face tilting slightly to get a look at you over his reading glasses (the same reading glasses he half the time refused to wear because he declared it made him an old man at the mere age of 27).

“Look who it is,” Harry chuckled, tossing his book aside along with his glasses as he sat up, in nothing but his pajama pants, to pull you towards him as you kneeled on the bed in front of him between his parted long legs.

“We really need to go shopping for more maternity clothes,” you sighed, “I’m busting out of everything and it’s awfully uncomfortable when teaching all day.”

Harry hummed as his hands rubbed over the soft material resting comfortable on your stomach. This was his favorite thing in the whole world, but it only got better when he felt a little nudge.

The small gasp you gave and the strangled cry Harry made only confirmed you’d both felt the kick - the first kick - and you met eyes for a moment before both placing your hands on your stomach awaiting the second one. 

“Look at that!” Harry cried, feeling another kick as he brought your hand to the small little protruding feeling. It was an odd sensation, but you reveled in it to see the tears in Harry’s eyes. “Oh that’s fantastic,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“She likes the sweater,” you smiled, making Harry give you a pointed look for more than one reason.

“First off, love, it’s a boy. I can feel it in my bones. And secondly, it’s not the sweater.”

But as you fell asleep that night, the soft material keeping you cozy and warming Harry’s bare chest, Harry couldn’t help but think that, damn it, it might just be the sweater.

The third time Harry saw the sweater was after you’d brought your first daughter, Stella, home. You’d named her Stella because it was Italian, for ‘star,’ but Harry also ground your gears by admitting it was also after his favorite All Time Low song, Stella. 

You thought that was ridiculous. 

Where the time spent in the hospital was all fine and well, it was when you brought little Stella home that all hell seemed to break loose. Anne had told you she’d lend you a hand whenever you needed, and though your heart longed and cherished the family you now finally had in Anne and Harry’s family, you and Harry had had the conversation that you both needed to be able to rely on each other and figure it out as first-time parents. 

But now you were second guessing that decision as you and Harry jogged across the hall to Stella’s nursery for the third time that night as she screamed with cries. 

“You were so cute,” Harry whispered as he picked Stella up but she continued to cry, “Until you opened your cute little mouth. What is going on with you little star?” 

“She can’t be hungry,” you clutched your boobs, “I feel like there’s nothing else in me.”

Harry pouted as he rocked the little babe, sighing as you paced back and forth nervously. “Could she be in pain?” you asked, “Is her diaper too tight? What if she -”

“Sweetheart,” Harry hushed you, “The more you worry, the more she’ll just cry. I think ...” Harry thought for a moment before handing the little one off to you, “I read in a baby book that sometimes skin-to-skin contact can help.”

“You just want to take your shirt off,” you hissed, watching as Harry pulled off his shirt and gestured for you to hand Stella back over. For a moment, as Stella’s little head rested against Harry’s chest, she was quiet. You and Harry stared at each other in awe, you jumped around silently cheering a bit too soon before Stella started crying again. 

“Where’s her blanket?” you asked, racing back into your room as Harry followed you. Your room was a mess, an absolute pit of disaster, since Stella had been born. The two of you were so busy now with your little star, that you’d barely done laundry. Stella’s yellow blanket, the one full of stars from her Grandma Anne, was nowhere in sight as Harry called for you nervously as Stella continued to cry. 

“I can’t find it!” you cried, “I can’t -”

“Then find something soft!” Harry snapped, looking back down to Stella and cooing at her as he rocked her anxiously back and forth. 

“Okay okay here; give her to me,” you ushered as you grabbed the softest thing you could find by touch and bundled it into your arms. Harry gingerly handed Stella over, and after a couple whimpers, Stella slowly, and cutely, fell asleep in your arms. 

You and Harry waited to celebrate this time, knowing you’d done so prematurely, but after around five or so minutes of your sleeping babe soundly breathing in your arms, you and Harry were finally able to sigh in relief. 

“What is this?” Harry asked, lifting up the arm of whatever was wrapping his daughter comfortably. Instantly, he knew what it was and he couldn’t help but scoff, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” you asked nervously, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the bloody planet sweater,” Harry shook his head, “Of course it is.”

“What?” you gasped, “No!”

“Yes,” Harry grumbled and sat down at the end of the bed, head in his hands, “Do you know what this means?”

You shrugged, “That our daughter can finally sleep?” 

“That we have to keep the blasted thing,” Harry grumbled, “Jesus.”

“Oh hush,” you cooed.

You went to put Stella back down in her crib, and when you came back to the bedroom you found Harry sitting at his easel, pencil in his hand against the canvas as he rubbed his eyes. You walked up behind him and ran your hands through his hair before down along his shoulders, resting your cheek against his back as you wrapped your arms around his torso. 

“I know you like the sweater,” you whispered. You kissed along his shoulders before kissing the top of his head and wrinkling your nose. “You smell.”

“I don’t remember the last time I showered,” Harry admitted, easily running the pencil along the canvas. “I want to sketch her right now, ya know? Right when she’s her littlest. She’ll never be so little ever again. So little.”

“I think you need some sleep too,” you chuckled, “You have all the time in the world to draw her. Years and years to draw her,” you whispered, “But in this moment I think you should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, “Before I murder a fucking sweater.”

For the next couple of months, you and Harry both changed off wearing the planetary sweater often. In fact, whenever you needed to put Stella down for a nap, you would switch out who needed to wear it in order to lull her to sleep. Harry, though he didn’t want to admit it, came to love the sweater and bask in the comfort of it once Stella was asleep as the two of you curled up on the couch in the hopes of getting some sleep as well. 

Going back to work, the first picture Harry put on his desk of Stella was a picture of you and Stella - your little baby girl bubbling as you carried her, a laugh on your face, and the planetary sweater hanging on your body comfortably. 

Harry hated to admit it, but he was eternally grateful now that you’d bought him that dumb sweater, no matter how tacky he’d found it originally. 

The last time Harry saw the sweater was when Harry pulled the last of Stella’s luggage from the boot of the car at uni. He ran his hand through his greying hair, sighing as he watched you and Stella walk out of her dorm after checking her in. 

“Okay,” you clapped, “Stel’s room is on the second floor. Isaac, Phillip, we only brought you two so you can carry your sister’s luggage so please, be careful?” you chastised, watching your teenage twin boys grumble under their breath before Stella ruffled both their heads as she grabbed her backpack. 

Stella, following in her mother’s footsteps, and wanted to be a pilot. Much to Harry (and a bit of your own) chagrin, she wanted to be end up in space by the end of her college career. 16-year-old Isaac and Phillip however, were more than glad for their older sister to rocket up into space at any time. 

You had told Stella over and over that if she really wanted to be a pilot, really wanted to go into space, then she would have to prove her worth. And time and time again, Stella had proven her worth tenfold. So here you were, loading her things into her dorm room, and Harry wanted to cry. 

Stella was basically the spitting image of you as she bloomed into adulthood, and as Harry watched from the doorway as she directed Isaac and Phillip on where to put her things, rolling up the sleeves of the well-worn planetary sweater, and smiling at you as you kissed her forehead. 

You and Harry had talked about this endlessly - you would drop Stella off, help her move in, make sure she had everything she needed - and then you would leave. You would definitely leave, easily. 

But now you and Harry were standing in the doorway, watching as Stella put a picture frame of the three of you on her desk, put up a vintage NASA poster, and tossed pillows at her brothers to move them off her bed. 

“If we don’t leave now, I’m going to kick one of these girls out of their room and move in,” Harry mumbled to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and holding you close. “I’m not kidding.”

“Hey,” you looked up at him and pushed a stray curl from his forehead, “At least you’re finally getting rid of that sweater.”

“I love that sweater,” Harry whimpered. 

After your goodbyes were done, the tears were shed, and you had pulled Harry by his collar out of the dorms and towards the car, it was now just the four of you watching Stella wave from her window as you drove away.

“Someone’s got to tell her that sweater is ghastly,” Isaac snickered.

“She’ll make no friends,” Phillip agreed.

“Hey,” Harry said, “Your mum bought me that sweater. It’s vintage. It’s a collectable. It’s from a designer.”

Phillip snorted, “That doesn’t change the fact that Stel’s a nerd.”

“I was a nerd,” you gasped, turning to the twins as they laughed at you. “And look where I am now!”

“You were a hot nerd,” Harry mumbled, shrugging, causing the twins to react and cringe and you to lean over and kiss his cheek. “My little space nerd,” Harry cooed. 

[2spun122]

I really hate when you spend years in a relationship just for it to end. Kind of seems like a waste of time really. But it is what it is. The fucked up part was that it wasn’t our choice. It was her narcissistic Son and his sociopath wife, who use their children as pawns in their self justified game of power and control issues.

After years of watching how they systematically severed communication with each close member of his family, (never because it was in the best interests of the kids, but because of reasons such as: they didn’t follow their specific list of what they were told to buy as Christmas gifts for the kids...), I saw all the signs. Yeah, that seems like a normal reason for justification- because his Grandmother loved the kids and wanted to get them a few extra gifts, right? Just because she didn’t follow his wife’s orders, she was cut off from seeing her great grandchildren! And similar BS reasons for justification for yanking their kids out of people’s lives, for several other family members. This is just to give you an idea about their general character.

Now, he works all day while she attempts to appear the perfect stay at home mother on Facebook. Yet finds creative excuses to drop the kids off 4 of 7 days each week. One time, she even brought kids by daily for an entire week, because she was supposedly going to work- each day wearing her uniform for a job at Thrifty Ice Cream shop. We didn’t question it, until one night we decided to go into her work to get kids ice cream... guess who had quit nearly two weeks earlier? You guessed it, the Sociopath! But because we love the kids, my ex overlooked things like that.

Ironic thing is that I told my ex 4 years ago that a day would come that they would try to yank the kids from our lives too. Because I did some research online, and learned about narcissism and sociopaths. It was like this couple’s character trait checklist! She said that I was an idiot, and that they actually cared about her, as opposed to how they didn’t really care about all the other family that was ‘cut-off’. Of course, they did. And she was near suicidal and depressed for the 2 weeks during each of the 2 seperate times the played their head games, making my ex believe she would never see the grandkids again...one of which was most effective, because it was during Christmas!

Due to the fact that his wife can only pretend to be the perfect mother for so long before it, and I quote: ‘ cuts into her Me time’, she had to make amends with my ex. Never once apologizing, a telltale sign of their lack of empathy. Instead, buying her a new phone, and periodically bringing her random cosmetics...even going as far as to try to hang out and trick my ex into thinking that they were actually caring about her! At that point I realized that they may periodically and temporarily manufacture a bullshit reason to keep her from seeing the kids, just to remind her of their almighty power- but they needed her as their on call babysitter. I tried to warn my ex of their games, but that only drove a wedge between us, because she didn’t want to believe I could be right.

For years, I put up with them showing up whenever they wanted to demand she keep the kids. Our plans never mattered- plenty of times wasting purchased movie tickets because she had to babysit instead of go. They once even started drama because she told them that she could not babysit, because she needed to go with me to my fathers funeral! And that is when I knew that they began to see me as an obstacle for their manipulation of my ex, and of full control. And years ago, I warned my ex that one day they would try to break us up. I questioned whether I should leave then, but didn’t in the hopes that we would work together to avoid their accomplishing that if and when they tried.

So they started to go behind my back and talk shit about me, or tell her bullshit like they saw me flirting while I was at work, etc. Whatever they could to drive that wedge. We actually had the strength to trust each other, and persevered. But I know that sociopaths are relentless. And that they divide, cause chaos, and pit people against each other while they sit back and wait to jump in and ‘save the day’.

Fast forward to recent times. Covid hits, so we are around each other a lot more. Her son was lucky enough to be in a sector that pretended it was essential to stay open, so he continued working, while I could not. (Used Car sales is hardly ‘essential’.) This also means his wife would be seeing her kids much more, which she dreaded. Because I was home more, and getting fed up with them doing things like bringing up every ‘gift’ they’ve given her, or verbally tearing my ex down by saying things like she was a bad mother when he was growing up... and she started to actually believe that. It was all because of reasons such as: she told them her and I wanted a night alone, and so they had to keep their own kids at least one night that week. 6 out of 7, you think would be appreciated. More like expected.

So they hated that there were more times they were denied in their babysitting demands, because I put my foot down. I hated seeing how they treated her like an emotional yo yo. But I warned her again that they were sociopaths, and never gave a shit about her truly. And all of the ‘bonding’ and gifts were all part of a leash system. I urged her to see through their bullshit. And she did. For a short time, things were semi normal. We still spent time with the kids over the weekend, and the rest of the week was us. Seemed normal, and fair. I knew it was the calm before the storm.

I was right. The few weeks of ‘normal’ was so quiet because they were devising their master plan to finally remove the only obstacle over full control over my ex... me. So they concocted this story saying that everytime we had the kids over, we were ignoring them to spend time with each other... wtf?!? They said that the oldest child told them that repeatedly. When I called bullshit, and suggested we all sit down together to see if the oldest kid really felt that way or not. They said no because that’s too traumatic for the child. So we didn’t see the kids for a week, and I saw my ex slipping into depression again, fearing being cut off...

I finally called them out with support from the 2remaining family members that hadn’t yet been cut off. They agreed that their ‘reason’ was bullshit without all sitting down with the child to verify if this was true or not. Because if it was true, there is no trauma in listening to a child’s feelings. Of course, it was shot down because they are the parents, and it’s their decision. And since we questioned them as parents, (that my ex would never have done that on her own)- that it is a defensive tactic on our part, indication in their minds that it must be true that we ignore the children and only pay attention to each other! And in an attempt to back up their claims, they said that while their daughter was hanging out with her friend, his parents overhead her telling him that she was sad because we ignore them to sit and cuddle or something like that- even going as far as to say that parent came to them threatening to call CPS for neglect if they brought them to our house knowingly. When I requested to speak with that parent, like adults- request denied.

So the most crucial step in their plan came next. They said that the kids were never allowed over while we were together. And if we couldn’t comply that we could not see the kids ever again. A week passed, and all we did was argue. I knew where it was coming from, and saw it was her subconscious way of trying to push me away. And, even though I didn’t have the means to, I knew of only one way to enable us to stop arguing, and to be allowed to see the kids- I had to move out. They knew that I couldn’t afford to because I had just spent a lot of money on the kids birthdays, etc- they knew because they pretended to care and got my ex to confide our financials to them in an otherwise harmless conversation...not to mention they knew my car was wrecked from being hit by a drunk driver parked in a parking lot while we were inside a McDonald’s eating.

I told her that this was their plan all along, and assured her she would see the kids soon, and that it was another head game.

So I packed up what I needed and moved in with my brother. She agreed to let me use her car because I had just been hired at a new job. And two days after I was gone, she had the kids for the weekend. Like magic, huh? Problem was that the kids missed me. And they called their mom asking if I could visit them. She (passively-aggressively) agreed, not because she cared about her children’s feelings, but because they didn’t want to appear to be heartless parents. Maybe because they knew that, like always, both kids always cuddle with us and fall asleep with us in our bed. Apparently, that is the worst decision ever, because when they found out I fell asleep there- they gave final ultimatum that if we wanted to be together as a couple (after 15 years) that in their minds that was choosing us over the grandkids.

So I packed more of my things I left at the house, and left again- even though there’s no room for any of it in my brothers 1 bedroom apartment. Over the next few days, my ex wanted me to come over and stay a few nights because we missed each other, and the kids were spending 2 nights at her mothers. After work I went by and it was nice. Of course, the next night she’s distant and starts looking for arguments. Come to find out it’s because as soon as her son and daighter in law pick their kids up from her moms, they wanted her to babysit at 10am, for a few days- so THEY could spend time alone together. What a power trip! We argued because I was trying to point out how fucked up it was that they could keep their own kids not for a second- but bring them from one babysitter to the next, preventing her and I from spending time together?!? But I knew that it was hard for her to be put in the middle. I realized that I cannot keep doing this, because in the end, I would never expect her to have to choose.

She pleaded that I just wait to see that it would just ‘blow over’. I agreed, but warned her that they would never change their mind. I knew I should have ‘ripped off the bandaid’ sooner than later, but gave her the hope...Two weeks pass where I come by sometimes when kids are not there, or I’m not working. It was bearable, until a few days ago. I am over, and out of nowhere she says I have to go because they demanded to drop kids off 6am, and she knew since I got off work at midnight that it would be too hard to make sure I was awake and gone by their scheduled time. So, back to my brothers-when I stopped by before work the next day, so was being standoffish. Come to find out kids never came over...weird.

So the next two days are my off days. She wants me to come over and I did. When she gets call from them about wanting her to babysit the following day, my ex acting weird. I hear the daughter in law say ‘since I haven’t asked in last few days it’s not a problem if you babysit tomorrow, is it?’ When she is off phone, she realizes she was caught in a lie, and gets defensive admitting she made up that kids coming over when they really weren’t, because she needed time to think. I was pissed that she asked me to come over, and that she could’ve just told me that. Come to find out she needed to think because she was starting to see that I was right and that getting me out of the picture was their end game. And questioning her plan of waiting for it to ‘blow over’...

So I told her that I can’t do this anymore. It wasn’t fair being a pawn in their power trip. And as much as it hurts, that this was the end of us. I also had to realize that as much as I love those kids, that they can no longer be a part of my life anymore, because their yo-yo games hurt too much, and the kids have been put through this several other times- having loved ones cut off suddenly. Upon research, sociopathic parents do this to keep control tricking children that they are the only true constant and perfect people. It’s just so fucked how people can be such pieces of shit stains, and passing that way of parenting on to their children...

It’s going to be hard, but I cannot continue to waste any more time in something that is a pipe dream- and not a good one. Especially since each time I remove more of my things from the house in the attempt to take steps to give/get closure- all we do is argue. Sociopaths are cunning, because they seem they are in the right, knowing that letting go causes resentment hate sadness despair, and all the other feelings which lead to argument by human nature. So then they will say, see we are the one and only constant in your life too- and as long as you do as we say, everything will be okay! We will protect you! Fucking waste of DNA.

What I’ve learned about sociopaths, I know that in the end, they will also turn on each other- ending in as destructive of a path as they’ve made everyone else around they’d lives in the past. The sad part is knowing their children will be stripped of any true feelings, and continue their psychotic and destructive legacy.

[gracewithducks]

“The Next Right Thing” - Faith at the Movies: Frozen 2 (preached 1/5/2020)

During the month of January, our worship services are based around current movies! We started this week with Frozen II. There are spoilers here, so consider yourself warned!

 A brief summary of the movie was shared for anyone who hasn’t seen it:

 In the first Frozen movie, we met Anna and Elsa, two royal sisters in the kingdom of Arendelle. Elsa has magic powers to control ice and snow; she has to learn to let her sister share her secret, and Elsa learns to embrace and control her powers.

 In the second movie, everyone seems happy and content – but Elsa is hearing a voice no one else can hear. When magical powers force the people of Arendelle to abandon their kingdom, the sisters set out to find out the truth about the past and right some unknown wrong. They follow the mysterious voice into an enchanted forest, where they encounter enemies who turn out to be friends, and discover the truth about the past. Their grandfather, when king, had offered a “gift of peace” – a dam – to the neighboring people; however, the dam was a trap, and their grandfather’s fear started the violence which now forced the sisters from their home. In order to right the wrong and make peace, the dam must be destroyed, even if it means destroying the kingdom of Arendelle in the process.

 And, without spoiling everything for anyone who hasn’t seen the movie yet – and it’s well worth seeing – there is a happy ending!

  When our oldest daughter was five years old, she was obsessed with the movie Frozen. She watched it over and over again, until she could recite every single line and sing every song along with every single character. She sang “Let It Go” for a talent show; she received an Elsa dress for her birthday, and she wore that dress to her birthday party – and for Halloween – and just about every single day after school. When she wasn’t in the gown, she was wearing any of a dozen shirts and outfits featuring Elsa’s face. Even though I tried, repeatedly, to tell her that Anna – Elsa’s sister – is actually the hero of the story, not to mention the character with orange hair much like my daughter’s own hair, no one could compete with Elsa’s sparkling blue dress and soaring theme song. In fact, our daughter loved Elsa so much that she was angry with her dad and me, asking us repeatedly, “Why didn’t you name me Elsa?”

 Our youngest daughter is now five, and she sleeps in Elsa pajamas. Earlier this year, she chose to use her own money to purchase yet another new Elsa doll – which she carries with her everywhere and sleeps with every night. She has an Elsa swimsuit; for Christmas, all she asked for was – and I quote – “all the Elsa stuff.” In the last year she has worn and worn out four different Elsa dresses, and she still changes in an Elsa dress after school whenever we give her the chance. But I knew that we had really come full circle when, not too long ago, our five-year-old asked, “Why didn’t you name me Elsa?”

 So when I tell you that the new Frozen movie has been eagerly anticipated in our household, I hope that you understand exactly what that means. Finally, finally, finally, we got to see the movie. And it did not disappoint.

 There’s a lot in this movie: there are of course lots of silly jokes – like the unmelt-able sentient snowman obsessed with his own mortality; there is a pure 80s power love ballad; there are singing reindeer and adorable creatures and catchy songs. And there are even more gorgeous dresses with which my girls are now obsessed.

 But this movie also has an incredible amount of depth. My husband – who’s also a pastor, and also preaching about faith that the movies (and who doesn’t look nearly as good in a princess dress as I do) – my husband Mike and I have been having fun wrestling with all the different themes and possible directions this Sunday might take.

 There’s the snowman’s theory that water has memory – a theory which actually carries the plot in some significant ways – and which you will hear about in a baptism sermon someday.

 There’s this journey that the sisters go on; in the first movie, they learned how to be sisters, how to come together and love one another, but in this story, they learn that loving doesn’t just mean holding on tight, but it’s possible to love one another while still learning to let go and each stand on her own.

 There’s the subplot where Anna’s boyfriend Kristoff is trying to propose to Anna, but keeps bumbling and messing things up – and the realization that even when we love each other dearly, sometimes, we still say and do things exactly wrong.

 There’s the reality that so many terrifying enemies turn out in fact to be allies and friends, while the real enemy, the real evil, is found much closer to home – and one of the greatest lines of the movie, when Elsa realizes, “Fear is what can’t be trusted.”

 There’s Elsa’s realization that the person she’s been searching for, the one who can give her answers about the meaning and purpose of her life – is herself.

 There’s the power of loving your enemy, which has its own magic and starts us on the road to making things right.

 And of course, there’s a whole lot of consideration to inherited systems of injustice, to generational privilege and prejudice, to the ways our fear and greed cause harm to others and to all creation, and how – eventually – the consequences of our actions will come home to roost.

 And that’s all good stuff. And I could preach a month or two worth of sermons just on this one “kids’ movie” alone.

 But I’m not going to. Instead, today, I want to focus on one specific character, one scene, and one song.

 And as fate would have it – because I ordered my costume before I’d even seen the movie – as fate would have it, today, I want to talk about Anna.

 In many ways, Anna is the secondary sister, the one who never really emerges from her sister’s shadow – even though, as I said, she emerges as the true hero. But Anna seems okay with her role; she loves her sister, and all she wants is for Elsa to be safe and successful.

 When Elsa hears a mysterious voice, even though she can’t hear it herself, Anna insists on going on the journey with her; she promises, “I won’t let anything happen to her.” Whenever Elsa tries to leave Anna behind, Anna runs into danger right after her sister – until finally, fearing for Anna’s safety, Elsa literally flings her away, sending her down the river in an icy canoe.

 And Anna ends up escaping the cold river, hiding from earth giants, trapped in a dark cave – literally, she ends up in the pit. While there, she learns the truth about the past; she glimpses the memory that Elsa left her behind to discover, the wrong that needs to be set right. And what she realizes is that – there’s this dam, this dam which was built as a supposed gift to the kingdom’s neighbors, but was in fact a trick, a trap, and it was Elsa and Anna’s own grandfather who struck first against his unarmed ally, and started the violence which led everyone to this place.

 Anna realizes that, to set the wrongs right, she needs to destroy that dam – even though it means that her home, her sister’s kingdom, will be flooded and destroyed. The people have already been driven out of their homes by the angry nature spirits, and now she knows why: it’s so they’ll be safe, when the wave of water comes.

 Anna knows now what she has to do. She explains to her companion, the loveable living snowman Olaf, and she begins to search for a way out of the cave.

 But then snowflakes start to appear.

 And Olaf realizes he’s flurrying – the magic that holds him together, Elsa’s magic that holds him together, is failing; the snowman is starting to fall apart.

 And Olaf says, “I think Elsa went too far... Anna, I’m sorry; you’re going to have to do this next part on your own.”

 Then, while Anna holds him, Olaf says, “Hey Anna? I just thought of one thing that’s permanent: Love.”

 Oh friends, there’s a sermon there: Olaf has been struggling with how everything keeps changing, throughout the whole story, trying to find something that doesn’t change – and in his final breaths, he says, “I finally get it: it’s love.”

 While Anna gives him one last warm hug, Olaf flurries away.

 And Anna is alone. Anna, who struggled so much with being alone in the beginning of her story. Anna, whose whole life has been in so many ways defined by others – by the prince she was willing to marry, even though they’d just met; by the sister, who struggled with her own secrets and powers; by her friendship with Olaf, by her relationship with Kristoff – Anna is alone.

 This moment finds Anna weeping in the pit – the pit, the lowest point, the place of hopelessness and despair, which we find throughout scripture – that’s where Anna is. Literally, she’s in a deep, dark, cold cave. She thinks her boyfriend abandoned her for a new friend and some reindeer – he didn’t, but that’s another story; she thinks he did; she thinks he left her behind. Her sister literally threw her down the river, and based on the disintegration of Elsa’s magic, Anna assumes her sister is lost – drowned, as their mother had warned them, in the river of memories; drowned, and not coming back. Olaf has turned to flurries in her arms. And she’s learned that the only way to finish the story, the only way to make all those sacrifices mean something, is by finding a way to destroy a dam and, in the process, destroy her own home.

 This is Anna’s Garden of Gethsemane. This is Anna’s “why have you forsaken me?” This is Anna’s “let the cup pass from me.” This is where Anna’s grief threatens to drag her under. This is her lowest point; this is the pit of her despair.  There in the cave, she curls up into herself, and she cries. And then she starts to sing. And I’m not going to sing for you – but I want to read for you the lyrics of Anna’s song:

 I’ve seen dark before, but not like this This is cold, this is empty, this is numb The life I knew is over, the lights are out Hello, darkness, I’m ready to succumb   I follow you around, I always have But you’ve gone to a place I cannot find This grief has a gravity, it pulls me down But a tiny voice whispers in my mind “You are lost, hope is gone But you must go on And do the next right thing”   Can there be a day beyond this night? I don’t know anymore what is true I can’t find my direction, I’m all alone The only star that guided me was you How to rise from the floor When it’s not you I’m rising for? Just do the next right thing   Take a step, step again It is all that I can do The next right thing   I won’t look too far ahead It’s too much for me to take But break it down to this next breath, this next step This next choice is one that I can make   So I’ll walk through this night Stumbling blindly toward the light And do the next right thing   And, with it done, what comes then? When it’s clear that everything will never be the same again Then I’ll make the choice to hear that voice And do the next right thing[1]  

 These are the words Anna sings, as she continues to cry, as she finds a way to climb out of the pit towards a sliver of light. This is the song, the drive, that compels Anna to wake the sleeping giants, almost being crushed herself in the process; this is the theme that gives Anna the strength to stand up to her own people, who try to stop her – the power that assures Anna that there is something more important than protecting the status quo. Sometimes, all you can do is the next right thing: even when it’s hard, even when you’ve lost everything, even when it means sacrificing what little you have left, even when it breaks your heart: take the next step, and do the next right thing.

 Anna becomes the hero again, because Anna is willing to sacrifice for the sake of love and for the sake of what’s right. And she learns that loving doesn’t just mean holding on, but loving sometimes means letting go.

 And Anna – the younger sister, the sister with no magic, drooling, snotty, awkward Anna – Anna finds the courage to do the next right thing.

 The story has a happy ending of course, because it’s a Disney movie. But Anna doesn’t know she’s in a Disney movie any more than David knew he was in the bible when he faced down Goliath, or Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus, knew that they were in the gospels, or Paul and Silas knew they’d escape the dungeons when they decided to go ahead and sing.

 Anna doesn’t know. She herself admits: I can’t look that far ahead – it’s too much; it’s too hard to see, too overwhelming. But what I do know is the next right thing.

 These days, we have so many excuses not to do the next right thing – whether it’s standing up for the kids who’s being bullied, or speaking up when our friends make an inappropriate joke, or restructuring our health system so no one goes bankrupt because they get sick, or redistributing wealth so no one goes hungry in the richest nation on earth, or making education affordable, or taking climate change seriously – we have lots of excuses: if I speak up, I might be bullied, too; if we change things, it might hurt the economy, it might change the way I live my life, it might mean we have to make sacrifices and it will be uncomfortable and it will be hard.

 But it’s still right. And we are always called to do the next right thing.

 We stand at the beginning of a whole new year. We know that there are challenges to face this year, and they can seem so very overwhelming: looming war, a church-wide schism, a planet that is literally burning, the continued struggle to face down systemic violence and injustice, and speak up for our neighbors and for all creation, and we can’t help but realize just how far we still have to go – as Anna says, “It’s too much for me to take. But break it down to this next breath, this next step, this next choice is one that I can make.”

 We can’t do everything. But we can take the next step. One breath, one step, one choice at a time, friends, let’s choose to do the next right thing.

   God, we thank you: we thank you for your willingness to face the Garden of Gethsemane for our sake; we thank you for joining us in the shadow of death and pit of despair. We thank you for your voice, which whispers in our hearts, calling us forward, guiding us towards the next right thing. Give us the courage to get up; give us the strength to speak the truth even through our tears; help us to face the difficult stories of our own past; help us, always, to do the next right thing. In Jesus’ name we pray; amen.

[1] The Next Right Thing written by Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez © Walt Disney Music Company.

[thesoundofplunder-blog]

Conan by Modiphius Games

Ever since I first saw Arnold Schwarzenegger swinging a sword in all of his muscled glory, Conan the Barbarian has fascinated me.  It was one of those films that I learned to appreciate anew when I grew up and realized how much effort must have gone into making that film, and how awful it might have been, yet wasn’t.  If you want to know how bad it could have been, look no further than its sequel, Conan the Destroyer, which killed the franchise faster than a broadsword to the face.

Ok, it actually could have been worse - there are plenty of movies in the genre that were.

But Conan the Barbarian was superb, and while it may not have been completely faithful to the original stories of Conan by Robert E. Howard, I feel like the stories owe a lot to the film for introducing a generation of impressionable moviegoers to Howard’s work.

And while I was too young to have seen it at the cinema (I wasn’t actually born yet), I will one day look back and say that I’m old enough to remember when Modiphius Entertainment released the Conan roleplaying game using the 2D20 system.

I’ve let the cat out of the bag now - if you read no further, then at least know that I like this game.  A lot.  If you’re still reading, then let me explain why.

Also allow me to preface the rest of this review with the fact that I’ve only run the quick start adventures - one found on the publisher’s website, and one given away for Free RPG Day 2017.

To Race The Thunder

I downloaded the quick start PDF, To Race The Thunder, from Modiphius’ website a couple of weeks ago, and in between my day job, preparing for two job interviews, running two Savage Worlds games and spending quality time with my wife and kids, I managed to read through the rules and get a feel for the game.  At that point, it still seemed complicated to me, and I thought perhaps I’d bitten off more than I could chew by agreeing to run it for Free RPG Day.

But I arranged for Thom, a good friend of mine, to come over on a Saturday night, and rather than watching England beat Argentina in the rugby, we pretended he was an adventurer in Hyboria while I threw Pictish barbarians his way.  The adventure was ideally designed for 4-6 players, so Thom taking on the Pictish horde on his own had some hilarious consequences.  For instance, I described how the enemies were swarming over a homestead, trapping the family inside, then checked how many there were exactly: 3 for each character.  Oh.  There are three.  They are swarming.  All three of them.

The other hilarious consequence (although I’m sure Thom will disagree) was that in 3 hours of gameplay, 4 characters met their grisly end.  Thom would then pick up a new pregen, who would wander down the road and find the body of the last poor sap to play at being a hero.  It’s a system that feels brutal, but very appropriate to the setting.  When I later played the Free RPG Day quick start - The Pit of Kutallu - there were 4 players, and one still died, kicked to death by pirates.  Players have to learn that things can go very bad, very quickly.

Momentum

I won’t go into detail on the game mechanics, since you can download the PDF and read for yourself.  But I will talk about what seems to be the universally most loved element of the system, Momentum, as well as its counterpart, Doom.

Many systems have some sort of mechanic for what to do when a player rolls above and beyond what they need to succeed.  For instance, in Savage Worlds, when you get a raise on your attack, you deal an extra 1d6 damage.  In Conan, you generate Momentum - tokens that you can use to make things go your way.  This includes rolling extra dice (to increase your chances of success), dealing extra damage, and almost anything you can think of.  If you generate Momentum and don’t use it, it goes into a shared pot that any player can draw from in a moment of need.

Conan is pretty rules light, which I love.  Rather than having a rule for every different thing the players might want to do, the game encourages you to use Momentum.  Want to disarm your opponent?  Use Momentum.  Want to swing on a rope and kick the pirate captain into the sea?  Use Momentum.

The GM has his own resource, too.  It’s called DOOM!  When you need Momentum but there is none in the shared pool, you can instead pay the GM Doom to achieve your goals.  This means it will come back to bite you later, but works surprisingly well at rewarding proactive players.  If your back is to the wall, paying the GM 3 Doom to roll an extra 3 dice on your attack usually pays off - the extra successes you are likely to generate end up as Momentum, so that the needle swings back in your favour.

And certainly the needle does swing,  Wildly.  In the two games I ran, the players would find themselves devoid of Momentum while I sat on a mound of Doom.  A few rounds later and our roles were reversed.  The key way of generating Doom during combat seemed to be reactions, which brings me to the other thing I love about this system.

Reactions

In most systems, defending yourself from harm is a pretty passive experience.  You load up on armour, toughness, parry, or whatever your system calls it, and hope that your opponent does not exceed that number.  While this often represents your character ducking and weaving or actively blocking blows, it becomes uninteresting for the player being hit.

Conan does away with that.  You can choose not to defend yourself, in which case your opponent only needs 1 success to hit you.  This is a good way to get killed quickly.  Alternatively, you can choose to gift 1 Doom to the GM and perform a defense reaction, in which you roll against your parry skill to try and cancel out your opponents successes.  This feels MUCH closer to how parrying should be, especially since parry is a separate skill from fighting, meaning that you can be good at landing blows, but not very good at defending yourself from harm.

And every time you want to defend yourself in the same round, it costs you 1 more Doom than last time.  As a result, most characters will get 1 free parry from carrying a sword or having the right ability, making it easy enough to defend yourself from a single opponent.  But as soon as you find yourself under attack from 3-4 opponents, it starts costing 6-10 Doom every turn just to counter your opponents attacks.  At this point you get the sense that it you don’t deal with them quickly, you are doomed (quite literally).  Even if you do get hit, certain items like shields allow you to actively try and soak the damage, rolling to cancel out damage that would be dealt to you.  Making the player roll dice when they are under attack increases the sense that they are in some measure of control, rather than waiting to be told how many hit points they lose.

Conclusion

This was a short review for a short experience of the game.  I haven’t tried magic, character creation, or any of the stuff that turns this into a campaign rather than a one off adventure.  But just looking at the one off adventure, I was very impressed by what I saw.  My players were equally enthused, talking about the Momentum swing after the game had finished and eager to try again.  That’s when you know you’re onto a winner.  For my players, they didn’t care so much that this was the world in which Conan "trod the jewelled thrones of the earth beneath his sandalled feet”.  They were raving about how fast and frenetic the game was.  What is best in life?  To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentation of the GM!

[therewas-a-girl]

What do u like about Wildqueen?

Anon i love that u asked me this question (i cant sleep so this is great).

Rene is ex military; he was dishonorably discharged for doing sth morally questionable because of something he believed he had to get done. He regrets that deeply (though im not sure he regrets what he did as much as the results of it), as seen in the episode after he was tortured, and he is haunted by his failures , which he sees as a sort of chain that make up his life.

now, thea knows how that feels. She would be able to relate to the discipline, to the dedication that might be ingrained into someone from a military background. and also to bending of general morals to get shit done and/or compromising herself and her integrity for something. (Because she did go with Merlyn, compromising herself cause she wanted to be stronger) I don’t think she would hold what he did against him, or judge him; nor would he hold it against her that she did sth very daring to get control of her life again.

Both Rene and Thea tried doing good with what they were left with, after their failures/tragedies/disappointments. Here is where Rene and Thea might have interesting discussions though, because the WHY of this varies for them. Thea’s morality is much more fluid than Rene’s, I feel. Rene seems to have the whole ‘this is right and this is wrong’ thing going on, while Thea seems more of a ‘this is right for now cause it gets the job done or works for me’ kinda girl. (she has limits obviously) She is not really a joiner or a by-the-system kind, while Rene was military. [what could have possibly prompted a man with such contempt for anyone telling him what to do, to join the military? maybe he was running away from something  - his family situation  - and saw the military as his only escape?] I don’t think he really like being within a structure that tells u what to do, though he could have made friends and found a family of his own there. After his discharge and what prompted it, its also just as probably that he is very disappointed/disillusioned by it. (Personally i doubt that he likes being part of a hierarchy because he has serious authority issues which thea shares and in both cases it stems from parental abuse). Anyway i just know that when it comes to why they do the stuff they do, or why he does and she stopped, those two could have some interesting conversations.

Not to mention that they both would totally relate to each other when it comes to the fuckton of trauma they have been through. Just once i would like to see someone react humanly - as in, the way I do, not the way arrow characters react to fucked up shit that happens to that - to what Thea has been through. I mean, can u imagine? Rene would lose his shit if he knew that

‘yeah i was stabbed through the heart with a sword and almost died and then took a dip into a magic hottub and then got super bloodthirty and THEN ALMOST DIED AGAIN FROM THAT SAME WOUND". ‘u were stabbed.’'Yeah’'Through the chest’'Yup’'By an actual sword? ’*a beat* 'what kind of fucktard psycho uses a sword? ’'oh u would be so surprised. Actually thats bad. With the kind of record the team has, u need to learn to handle one.’'A sword? o_O R u shittting me??’'I shit u not’'Wait wait wait. You took a dip into this pit and now youre like… alive. ’'Yeah’'…dude… thats way weirder than im prepared to handle.’'I KNOW RIGHT!!! ’

(Idk what that up there is, ignore it. Itbsounds more like me talking to thea 😂)

Rene is instinctively protective of those that he percives as needing protection. He went against olivers orders to help a little girl who was in danger in the II ep; because he probably didnt even think about what the Green Arrow would say or do to him. But he also treated Evelyn as an equal and never babied her. (Cause arrow forgot she was a kid but anyway). Thea would most definitely apriciate that and also find it highly refreshing after olivers constant worrying about her and malcolm taking away her agency at every point.

Not to mention that Rene is exactly the kind of dude to find Thea’s ability to kick his ass with one hand behind her back incandescently hot. U gotta respect a guy who respects and is turned on by female power.

He fights hard for what he wants - he is determined and Thea would respect that cause so is she.

Also notice how he always kept his flirting very casual, never pushy never putting anything on her, mostly fun. Cause thats a good point in his favour and would be in Thea’s books too. And how she dismisses him but in a kinda half amused half annoyed way. Its rather hilarious. And i love that despite her shooting him down he never gets bitter about it. Those two times he just kept on smiling. I bet their flirting would be so agressively playful.

He is very observant (as far as I’ve noticed he is the only one that brings in the evidence for felicity) and im thinking he is very good at noticing when ppl change patterns of behavior. he didnt realize what the change meant in Evelyn, in terms of emotions, but he was able to pinpoint exactly /when/ it had happened: after they learned oliver was a the Hood. —> Thea is super smart emotionally and has this amazing radar about when ppl’s *feelings* shift. Oliver and moira never fooled her with their 'were gonna pretend for theas sake’ shtick. She didnt know why but she knew sth is up. That’s great material there. Id be willing to explore that. The good and the bad. The way they might pick up on each other’s moods, tendencies. Good and bad days. The different ways they would notice stuff about each other: Rene by noticing when she does things differently, when she deviates from her routine. Thea noticing when he is angry or happy or annoyed about something, learning how to associate his expressions with his feelings. The two of them baffling each other on how they notice these little things that the other wouldn’t think to notice about anyone, or that they didn’t think anyone noticed about them.

It’s fun to think about.

Rene is exeptionally straightforward and honest. Thea would love that about him. Both would speak their mind frankly to each other since neither is more sensitive than the other.

Rene seems to concentrate on things he does well - mostly physical stuff, stuff with his hands (i noticed this in the crosover. While the nerds were doing their own thing rene was calmly sitting down doing his own thing, handling his weapons i think). He’s probably a kinetic learner, like Oliver. And is very comfortable around ppl who do well with their own things, which Rene might have no idea how to do. I just mean that he is comfortable in his own skin and isnt threatened by other people's power or inteligence. (That moment when Felicity delegated to him and Rory to do that analysis thing, and Rene was totally chill admitting he had no idea what felicity had been talking about and that he Rory and Curtis were the smart ones). And this brings me back to Thea being absolutely charmed by this kind of quality because Rene can manage to be sure in himself without being arrogant.

Also circles back to him loving that he can actually learn stuff from her, fighting-wise. And that would really boost Thea’s selfconfidence because i can just see Rene being flirty about it at first and then surprising her by taking her very seriously and truly wanting to learn.  And in turn she would be a good teacher because though not always the most sensitive, Thea is patient. She would love it that he is sure in himself that he would think nothing of asking her to teach him. And that he respects her and her skill to want to learn from her. Something that nobody has asked her before. And in turn, she would notice that he is an amazing team player and that she can actually play off of him when it comes to having a laugh or teasing the other team members cause theyre both sich little shits. (im also thinking that Rene’s specialty in the field would be recon - because he is so good that noticing when the environment changes, and keep track of patters and routes and stuff like that)

Rene was physically abused by his father. Thea was psycologically abused by hers. They would be able to regognise each others hurts and false-steps naturally and it would add another layer of understanding to their relationship but also a kind of tenderness and protectiveness for each other. I feel like neither of them is much of a cudler in the traditional sense of the word but they would be able to understand each others need for affection and the occasional fear of it. I mean - their scars are symetrical in some way so they would understand each others impulses a lot better than most have before them.

Despite his history tho, rene loves kids and seems hopeful about having kids (abused children will tell u that growing up into that kind of person takes strength and most certaily, goodness), which tells me that there is a lot of hope inside that man. Thea seems to be struggling to grasp onto some kind of hope, for a normal life, a normal self, something to give her meaning. They could help each other find that hope within themselves. Rene could have a positive thing or two to share with thea even, since she is more of a stark realist while rene seems to be more positive.

He is so fucking upbeat about things he actually enjoys. Like the christmass sock that evelyn gave him. Remember that smile? How eager he was and how he tore into that gift - that was precious and so pure, in the real sense of the word, not the tumblr one. I think even after all hes seen rene - and i think this is his best character trait - still has that boyish wonder intact. What makes him an idealist no matter how hard he protects himself with that jaded attitude. Hes not jaded - hes pragmatic and has issues.

And thea, oh my god, she needs someone who can really just have fun with her again. Someone who would delight in having a good time, who would love to laugh with her. Who would teach her how to see the wonderous and the joyous in the world again because i think she is having such a hard time this year. (Im very suspitious of the extreme change she has made from last year to this year and how stubborly she clings to this new status quo. Not that she shouldnt want to get away from the violence - that is an a+ reasoning for her. But her stubborness to keep away feels like fear. And i want to know what she isafraid of and why. Why she doubts herself) Im not at all convinced she is doing as well as she fronts and even if she is, she seems so serious all the time. She used to love parties - not the drug and alcohol kind but the 'together with my family and friends’ kind and rene dies too. They would have the most outrageous christmass ever. Thea would totally spoil him with all these eccentric gifts that are rpobably super inner jokes between them and rene would have a blast decorating the tree with her.

The fights would probably be very explosive cause theyre both hotheaded ppl and where thea can admit she was wrong, rene would need a little more work but im willing to bet that it wouldnt be so hard in the face of someone he loves and considers equal to himself (it was harder for him to apologise to oliver cause its a power thing and a dick measuring thing and a pride thing - elements that would be a non issue cause there would be no such disparities with thea)

Theyre also both very physical ppl and very expressive ppl so im guessing sex would be such fun for them and theyd love to try new things and just go for whatever they want.

Look i could go on. But these are all the surface level stuff i could think of. Im sure there is more. For the most part, what got me into thinking i could rly like the idea of them is the fact that around her, rene is a total goofball (i just love how sincere he is in his admiration without once seeming creepy) - i like seeing him like that and i would love to see thea laugh more. I just think they could be good to each otherband that there is a story there.

[theexperiment-hq-blog]

Sample App - Lex Luthor, played by Admin Lex

OOC Info

Name: Lex

Age: 21

Pronouns: she/her

Triggers: (redacted)

Second Choice Character: N/A

Discord: (redacted)

IC Info

Muse Name and Alias: Lex Luthor

What is your primary canon(s) for this character? Smallville through s3, though I don’t care much for the particulars, just the friendship between Lex and Clark is mostly what I’m after, and of course Lionel. After this it becomes simplified pre-nu52 comics canon. Lex’s views on Superman and his ideals/beliefs are taken from the Lex Luthor: Man of Steel comic.

Approximate Age: 50

OTPs, BroTPs, NoTPs:

OTP: Lex/Clark, big time, although I am more than happy to play it onesided, which is just as fun. Other ships I have are Lex/Bruce, Lex/Dick, Lex/Oliver--basically, I’ll just pair him up with any of the male heroes.

BroTP: Lex/Diana, Lex/Mercy, Lex/Kara, and I love having Lex play father to Kon. Lex becoming part of the superfam in general is something I’m weak for.

NoTP: Nothing in specific, though I do play Lex as gay so ships involving ladies are out.

Give us a bulletpoint outline for what your character’s history might look like:

Lex was born into the extremely wealthy (but new money) Luthor family, son of business mogul Lionel Luthor and his wife Lillian.

When he was 9, in Smallville on a business trip with his father, Lex was caught in the same meteor shower that brought Kal-El down to Earth.  Lex, a sick and asthmatic child, was all at once cured after the meteor shower, though he lost all his hair from exposure to the Kryptonite radiation. It wouldn’t be until much later, doing his own research on his condition in his 20s, that Lex realized the exposure to the radiation had also caused him to become a metahuman. Lex’s abilities are quiet and easy to hide: A superhuman immune system and increased healing factors. As of being abducted, only one person (Jason Todd) is aware that Lex is a metahuman.

No longer the perfect Luthor heir, Lex was regarded with disinterest by Lionel (who hadn’t established a particularly fatherly relationship with Lex before, either) and somewhat discarded once Lionel found out Lillian was pregnant again.

Shortly after Lillian gave birth to Lex’s brother Julian, she realized Lionel’s true intentions--to eventually pit the two brothers against each other for who would get to be the true Luthor heir. Terminally ill herself, and afraid that once she was gone there would be no one to protect Lex, she smothered Julian in his crib, reasoning it was better to have one dead son than two sons damaged and tormented by their father. Lex, once he realized what happened, told Lionel he killed Julian by accident, in order to protect his mother.

After Lillian and Julian were gone, Lionel had no choice but to raise Lex as his heir.

Excelling in his schoolwork, Lex graduated high school at 16 and went off to Princeton to study chemical and biological engineering (Lionel was, predictably, not impressed with his son’s desire to be a scientist instead of a businessman).

Admittedly, Lex did much more partying than attending class, quickly spinning out of control. He never failed a class, but... also had to spend two months in rehab after an overdose.

Lionel decided, five years later, that enough was enough and forced 21 year old Lex to come back to Kansas. Not to Metropolis, like Lex had assumed, but to be exiled to boring, middle of nowhere Smallville to run a LuthorCorp fertilizer plant as a punishment, Lionel having hopes that Lex might… shape up a little.

Upon arriving in Smallville, however, Lex wasted no time in accidentally crashing his Porsche into the river—only to be pulled out and resuscitated by a teenage boy, whose name happened to be Clark Kent.

Lex and Clark became fast friends, despite disapproval from both of their fathers, and despite Lex’s nagging feeling that Clark had been keeping secrets, lying to him all along. He set out, naturally, in search of the truth—was Clark one of the superhuman mutants that plagued the town due to the mysterious meteor shower? Was he something else entirely? Lex became obsessed. With Clark, with  the meteor rocks, with the super powers, obsessed with finding out the truth, and it was this obsession coupled with Clark’s need to protect his own secret at any costs that tore their friendship apart, as close as they had become.

Lex returned to Metropolis three years later, and took up a vice presidency at LuthorCorp while finishing his studies at Metropolis University. For the next few years he focused his energy on quietly expanding his own sphere of interest in LuthorCorp with the intention of dethroning Lionel, whose business practices had become a little too unsavory for Lex’s liking, and who also had no intention of handing the business over to his son.

One boardroom coup later, a livid Lionel Luthor was removed from his position as CEO and forced into an early retirement. Lex rebranded the company as LexCorp and cleaned up business practices considerably. It was around this time that the costumed entity the newspapers dubbed ‘Superman’ surfaced in Metropolis.

Where the citizens of Metropolis saw a savior, Lex saw the destruction of human potential. As Lex understood, it was the drive to be mythic that inspired greatness. It was inherently dangerous when something real became mythic, that we then lose the part of ourselves that yearns to be great. Because when faced with a myth? We can’t win.

The Justice League formed not too long after, and Lex found himself threatened by not only the Alien, but an entire organized council of superhuman beings that thought they had the right to govern humanity’s decisions, stifling the potential of mankind to rise up and handle any obstacle thrown at them. The League, Lex was certain, would mean the accidental destruction of the common man. A council of superhumans and aliens could not be trusted with this sort of power. Mankind, Lex maintained, should be responsible for itself. This was the main reason for his descent into supervillainy, and all his schemes to date have been directly targeted at the heroes, with as little civilian involvement as possible. There are risks Lex cannot afford to take.

Lex has also kept his name impeccably clean in the public eye. Lex being a supervillain is not common knowledge.

His most recent project is complicated to describe, and Lex won’t define it himself if asked. The Justice League, of course, assumes Lex was attempting to create a superweapon, cloning Superman like that. Lex disagrees with the word cloning, seeing as his DNA was also in the mix, but... how do you explain that this was one fucked up, last ditch effort to have a family? Anyway, a father-son supervillain team sounds stupid when you say it out loud. Lex lets them think what they want.

Interview

What would it take for you to switch sides? (hero to villain; villain to hero; neutral to either)

Lex laughs, actually laughs, and it’s silvery rather than malicious. There’s a knowing edge to his easy smile. He leans back, relaxed, amused rather than hostile--as he’s sure some of his villainous peers would be.

“You know, I don’t think the allegiance lines are as clear cut as they would have you think.” It’s just a touch dismissive. They, like a curse, it falls from his lips scornfully. “Their side has stooped to heinous acts too, haven’t they? Is it so hard to think those of us who oppose them are capable of good, too?”

If you ask Lex, nearly everything he does is good. Still, he plays along.

“If the world were in danger, I suppose. I couldn’t see myself not stepping in to protect my fellow man. It’s a shame, isn’t it, how often mankind gets caught in the crossfire of their cosmic disputes?”

And as playful as his tone is, there’s something hard and sharp underneath too.

How would you describe yourself? How would your friends describe you? How would the public describe you?

This is an easy one. He’s answered the same question dozens of times, magazine interview upon magazine interview, how does one define the famous Lex Luthor?

“Ruthless,” he throws out carelessly, that smile still playing at his mouth. Lex rarely looks out of place, never uncomfortable, never phased, never anything but put together and prepared for anything.

He’s a good actor. He has his dad to thank for that. Don’t get caught, don’t cause a scandal was the unofficial motto in the Luthor house, and Lex still finds himself repeating the words decades and decades later.

“I’m sure that’s one you’d hear from any side. Charismatic. Powerful. Intelligent. A gifted strategist. Sexy, if you read the magazine spreads,” and there’s another laugh here. “Of course, if you ask the Alien, I’m sure the description would run the gambit of morally corrupt, megalomaniac, power hungry. And several things it wouldn’t be polite to repeat. I won’t pretend not to be any of those things, but I’d also agree with the public assessment.”

If you could gain any superpower/swap your superpower for another, what would it be and why?

Swap your power for another? Well, if it were up to Lex, he’d have no power at all, as dependent as he’s become on his superhuman healing. He toys with the question in his head, debates on just flatly saying he wouldn’t take a superpower, but...

“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to fly,” Lex settles on finally, an odd tone to his voice, a shadow over his words. “When I was younger, I thought it would be the best thing. You read the comic books too, right? There was that superhero they milked the hell out of, Warrior Angel, and what kid doesn’t look up to some fictional hero and want cool superpowers like theirs? It’s funny, looking back on it. Kill your darlings, or so the phrase goes. Now, I’m more curious what it is he sees, looking down on this world like God above men.”

What is a secret you have never told someone?

This question gives him pause. Lex doesn’t particularly like giving away his secrets, but then, who does? Fine, he’ll throw them a bone. There’s a lot he could say without saying too much, omitting names and dates and identifying details.

“You know how they say you never forget your first love?” And any lingering genuine humor is gone from Lex’s voice now, just an amused sort of ruefulness lingering. “Would you believe I’m still hung up on mine, thirty years later? Maybe it’s the idea of him.” Actually, Lex is pretty sure that’s exactly it. When Lex thinks of him, it’s as that fifteen year old boy, certainly not the Alien.

Lungs full of water; a smile like the scorching sun glinting off the river; golden corn fields as far as the eye can see.

“I was in my twenties, he was a teenager. Our fathers hated each other. We were from completely different walks of life. All excellent reasons not to say anything about it, and I never did, but at the time I used to think I would have followed him anywhere, I would have done anything to keep him, even if it was just as a friend. Made it hurt like hell when he turned his back on me.”

If there was one choice in your past you could change, what would it be?

Lex’s eyes narrow slightly, a frown settling into the curve of his lips. He looks older, without the slight smile. He’s had a long life, a lot has happened to him. But if it’s only one thing he could change, one mistake...

“I would have been at Cadmus Labs they day they took my son,” and it’s about as cold as he ever gets in public these days, icy rather than a slight coolness. He’s made a point of doing that, referring to Kon that way, as his son--and Kon-El is an abhorrent name. Lex thinks of the would-be birth certificate, locked away in his desk with all the other forged papers that would have allowed the boy to legally exist. He was a Luthor by birthright, Lex is the one who wanted him, the one who created him with his own two hands, hours on end spent in the lab. “Perhaps I could have, ah, prevented their acquisition of Superboy.”

If you had one day where you could do anything you want, free of consequences, what would you do?

No doubt they’re expecting some grand scheme, the death of Superman perhaps, or a plot to dissolve the Justice League once and for all. The truth is far less exciting.

“I’d track down my father, wherever it is he’s retired to.” Lionel could be dead, for all Lex knows. He hasn’t gone searching for him, and anyway Lex is sure if he tried, Lionel would be trying to block him at any corner. He hasn’t spoken to his dad since the takeover. He’s not sure what he’d say, there’s always been too much unsaid between them, but it’s... it’s easier, looking back on this as an adult, to reconcile Lionel’s actions with the fact that despite everything, Lex did love his father.

Extras

Lex is half Mexican through his mother. He speaks Spanish (and several other languages) fluently, but his accent is slightly southern.

A few years ago, with some information stores stolen from Brainiac, Lex was able to crack the Kryptonian language and work out the rules of grammar and a vocabulary of a few thousand words. It hasn’t been especially useful yet, but half the fun was learning it in the first place.

Prior to being abducted for the Experiment, Lex had been drawing up plans to run for President in 2020, which is, incredibly, unrelated to his status as a supervillain.

He has a scar bisecting his upper lip from the single time Lionel hit his son--he had forgotten to take his wedding ring off. This is the only still visible scar on Lex’s body, as the rest of his injuries happened after gaining his healing mutation.

[gracewithducks]

An Inch of Grace (Genesis 37:1-4, 12, 18-27)

When I was preparing to become a pastor, we did all the things that you’d expect budding pastors to do: we studied the bible, and theology, and church history, and pastoral care, and prayer practices. We even, eventually, learned a little bit about how to make a budget and how to run a meeting and how to get your church conference paperwork done without losing your religion. But one of the things that surprised me, that I wasn’t really expecting to do, was some very interesting work in family systems theory.

 Family systems theory says, basically, that your family of origin shapes who you are, and by examining your family’s systems and stories, you can better understand who you are and decide who you want to be. Your family of origin is the family that you come from: your parents, and step-parents, and grandparents, your siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles: the important people who, for better or for worse, have helped to shape your life and make you who you are. What might it mean for you to have grown up as the oldest or the youngest or the only child, to have been close to your cousins or estranged from your parents, to live through divorces or deaths, to consider patterns of mental health problems and addiction and all the other pieces that come together to shape our stories.

 The conversations surprised me because, by the time we’re adults, we like to think that we’ve made ourselves who we are – that we’ve outgrown the baggage of being the punchline for our brother’s jokes or listening to our parents fight. But the reality is, while we can grow and we can heal from our hurts, we also carry them with us… and when we sit through a meeting where conflict escalates to fighting, or when we are hurt by an offhanded comment by someone we trust, all those old insecurities can come rushing right back in.

 When I sit with couples who are preparing for marriage, I always ask them: tell me about your family. Tell me about your parents. Not because we’re destined to become them, but because what we’ve seen, what we’ve experienced, shapes and impacts who we become - for better and for worse.

 Every time I open my mouth and my mother comes out – or, for that matter, every time Michaela opens her mouth and I hear my own voice come out – I am reminded just how true it is. Our families shape us: our expectations, our traditions, our legacies are powerful indeed.

 Today we continue the story of the first family of family, the family we meet in the book of Genesis. And today we are reminded that family traditions transcend generations… and unfortunately, in this family, the legacy that’s handed down is a legacy of rivalry, and scarcity, and competition even to death.

 Today we meet Joseph, whose grandfather Isaac was pitted against his half-brother Ishmael, until their parents decided there was room for only one son in their hearts and in their homes… and Ishmael was sent into the wilderness to die, never spoke of again.

 Joseph’s father, Isaac’s son Jacob, was one of two brothers, twins, who were at war even in the womb. And as they grew, each parent picked a favorite twin; the family was split in half, taking sides, and Jacob tricked and stole from his brother, and his brother plotted to kill Jacob, and Jacob had to run away to survive.

 And Joseph’s mother, Rachel, was one of two sisters, each pitted against each other, constantly being compared to each other, always wanting what the other has, neither one ever being content or ever feeling safe and secure in her own self.

 These are Joseph’s parents: two people whose sibling rivalries destroyed their own lives. You’d think that Jacob and Rachel would know better, that they would be able to look back at the devastation that their parents playing favorites had wreaked in their own lives. You’d like to think that they’d be determined to do better by their own kids – and maybe they were, but it was just too hard for them. Or maybe they couldn’t even recognize how they were repeating their parents’ and grandparents’ mistakes; they were so steeped in the old family ways, so steeped in that climate of competition, that it was impossible for them not to pass their rivalries and jealousy on to the next generation.

 By the time Joseph is born, Jacob already has ten sons: most of them by Rachel’s sister Leah, the unwanted wife, and a few through Rachel and Leah’s surrogates, who were drawn into the sisters’ rivalry. Rachel was always jealous of Leah’s sons; Leah was always jealous because Rachel had Jacob’s heart… and the two women used their children as pawns, as markers on the scorecard where they were both trying to win.

 Finally, after years and years of desperation and disappointment, finally, son number 11 is born: and he’s Jacob’s eleventh boy, but he’s the first from Rachel’s womb. And because he is the son of his most beloved wife, little Joseph becomes his father’s favorite, too.

 How quickly Jacob forgets! How quickly he forgets how much it pained him when his father favored his brother and ignored him; how quickly he forgets how his mother’s preference for the younger son had torn the family apart. He forgets how he had to run for his life, because when he was growing up, his parents did not have enough love to go around.

 Jacob forgets. Jacob forgets, and he starts down the exact same road: he is so taken by Joseph, his miracle son, the son of his favorite wife, son of his old age… that he showers gifts and favors on Joseph, much to the pain and frustration of the ten forgotten older boys.

 It doesn’t help matters that Joseph really does seem to be special. He’s a dreamer; just like his father once met God in a dream, Joseph starts to have dreams of the future, and the way that things one day will be. But he’s young, and he’s spoiled, and he’s as oblivious as his father to his brothers’ resentment… so he uses his dreams, his gifts, to beat his brothers down even more.

 And they start to hate him for it.

 And then Jacob gives Joseph a coat. It’s a new coat – which is really saying something, because in a family with ten older brothers, you have to bet that hand-me-downs are the norm. Joseph should be running around in patched and threadbare clothes, but instead, his father gives him something entirely his own, a coat that’s brand new.

 And this coat is special: different translations give us different reasons why – perhaps it’s a coat of many colors, a beautiful piece of artwork, a coat that is meant to be admired, to draw attention to its wearer; a coat that is so lovely it certainly can’t be worn out to work in the fields. Or perhaps it’s simply a long coat, a coat with long sleeves – which may not seem so special, except that you would never wear a long-sleeved coat to do an honest day’s work; it would be ruined. Colorful coats and long sleeves were for those who were privileged or pampered enough to avoid hard labor…

 …and for Joseph’s brothers, who have spent their whole lifetimes in hard labor for their father’s sake, this coat is salt in their wounds; it’s the last straw. They’ve had it with this spoiled little brat of a brother; they’re done.

 Cain killed Abel; the relationship of the two first brothers in history ended in death. And Ishmael was sent to die, and Jacob had to run from his brother’s murderous plot… and the story repeats itself again. Joseph’s brothers start looking for a chance to get rid of him.

 Another generation turns to violence and death, because of jealousy, because of sibling rivalries, because there just isn’t enough love to go around.

 This is the generation that will either make or break Abraham’s family story. God called Abraham, and promised to make his family a great nation, and through them, to bless all the families of the world. God called them to look beyond themselves, to trust in God’s abundance, and to be a part of making a world full of justice and compassion and grace. But so far, all they’ve managed to do is turn on one another; instead of abundant and overflowing blessings, they’ve fought for scraps which never seem to be enough. We’re getting close to the end of Genesis: this could be where it all ends. This messed-up family is running out of time.

 When Joseph comes out into the fields in his fancy coat, his brothers are enraged, and they throw him a pit. This, I think, has to be where, for Joseph, it all comes crashing down. This is where he realizes that all his dreams, his comfortable and sheltered life, are in fact incredibly fragile, nothing but a house of cards on a foundation of clouds. As he sits in the pit, hearing his brothers up above debating how best to get away with his murder – it has to feel, to him, like the end.

 He has fallen, in an instant; he has reaped what he didn’t even know he was sowing; he has come into the family inheritance of bitterness and pain. And all his dreams: his dreams of power and glory and changing the world – all his dreams are going down the drain.

 Meanwhile, Joseph’s brothers are debating, trying to figure out what to do. And interestingly enough, it’s Rueben, the oldest son, Leah’s firstborn, who speaks grace and encourages his brothers to show some restraint. Rueben is the one whose inheritance and place in the family is most threatened by the blatant favoritism his father shows Joseph, but Rueben is also the one who says: wait. Let’s not kill him.

 Rueben shows grace. I don’t know why, but I find a lot of hope in this fact: we always remember Joseph as the hero, but it’s Rueben, in this moment, who starts to turn the family story around. He starts looking for another solution than violence and death. He starts trying to figure out a way that all his brothers – even the one he hates – that they all might prosper and live.

 Rueben shows grace… but he is surrounded by nine other angry brothers hungry for vengeance. While Rueben is trying to figure out how to get his brother out of the pit and back home safely, is brothers come up with another plan: Let’s not kill Joseph, they decide; what’s the gain in that? Let’s just tell dad he’s dead, and let’s sell him as a slave instead.

 Not exactly a resounding and shining moment, but it’s a start, and in this case, it’s enough mercy that God can work with it. The story isn’t over yet.

 To Jacob, I’m sure, it still seems like his dreaming his over. And in truth, his life will continue to be a cycle of up and down, rising high and falling low, rising higher only to fall farther still. It isn’t the first time it feels like everything is lost, and it won’t be the last time he watches it all slip away - - but the story isn’t over yet.

 And that’s the thing about God’s dream, to bless all the families of the earth, to create a new community built on justice and grace – it’s a fragile one, and there are times it seems like it’s a pipe dream, a hopeless fantasy, slipping through our fingers and drifting away.

 There are times when we know how Joseph must have felt in that pit: hopeless and lost, sure that it’s all over. This is where our story ends.

 But consider the power of one person willing to speak mercy, even just a mustard seed of compassion, an inch of grace – enough to open the door to hope once more, enough for God to creep in and remind us: it’s not over yet.

 We can be that person. We can be that voice of compassion; we can be the one who says, don’t let it end here, not like this.

 And we may not get it all right. We may not be perfect. Rueben wasn’t. He was still hurt by his father’s preference for his brother, and he was also too afraid to speak the truth, willing to let his father believe that Joseph was dead rather than let their father hate all the brothers all the more for selling Joseph away. Rueben wasn’t perfect. But let’s not belittle what he did do: he did what he could. He offered enough mercy to keep the story going: and sometimes, by God’s grace, that’s enough.

 We are all shaped by our family traditions: from grandfather clocks to casserole recipes and Christmas stockings and stories we tell over and over again, we are shaped by our families; there is so much we do in our lives just because it’s what we’ve been taught, what we’ve learned: “This is who we are, and this is what we do.”

 We are shaped by our families, but the very impact that our heritage has on us means that we are powerful, because what we do can shape generations still to come. Our decisions, our actions and our choices, can make new traditions; we can be the ones to teach future generations, “This is who we are, and this is what we do.”

 There has been a lot of talk about heritage and history lately. And we need to know our history, we need to have our eyes opened to what we’ve inherited – so that we don’t just keep repeating it, over and over again. We can make a new future; we can make a new way. In our homes, in our families, in our church, in our nation – we can be the ones who speak grace. We can be the ones who offer compassion. We can be the ones who open the door for God to turn it all around.

 It’s not over yet. Thanks be to God.

  God, you know how our families and our stories have made us who we are. For all that has blessed us, we are so thankful. We thank you for favorite recipes, for jokes that still make us laugh, for traditions and stories that keep us grounded, that keep alive our connections with family members who have passed away and those generations still to come. But God, you also know that our heritages and stories aren’t always good ones. We carry in us the weight of the choices our parents have made, the baggage of their mistakes as well as our own. And sometimes we find ourselves, without even realizing it, repeating the same old mistakes over and over and over again. Help us to believe that you really are a God of resurrections, of transformations and new beginnings: and if we let you, you will help us write a new story. Give us the courage to speak as much hope, to offer as much mercy, as we can – to choose who we will be, and begin to create traditions and a heritage of grace. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

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

This sermon has marinated in Jessica LaGrone’s reflections on Joseph in her book Broken and Blessed: God Changes the World One Person and One Family at a Time. Though some readers may be distracted by the consistent male language for God, LaGrone nevertheless offers great depth of insights in the lives and lessons of the first family of the bible, and I am grateful for her work.