#and like my anxiety levels have been INSANE the entire winter

[jimmyandthegiraffes]

knew id break down properly eventually but wasnt planning on doing it on the floor in my mothers bedroom bc i didnt wanna walk the dogs lol

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.29}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

The very moment Robin was back inside the castle, every possible doubt about what she was about to do had vanished entirely if it had ever been existent in the first place. On her haste down into the dungeons, people jumped out of her path at the mere sight of the sinister expression on her face, and honestly, she was more grateful than ever that nobody dared to as much as look at her for too long. Sometimes a reputation was a curse, sometimes a saving grace. Right now the latter was the case.

She didn't say a single word when she opened the door to the potions classroom in one swift move. Still stayed silent when she made her way through the rows of desks and students, straight to the front where Snape was working at his desk like always during detention. She didn't need to say a thing, and yet all eyes were on her in an instant. The students' many ones in surprise and nigh intimidation at her mode of entrance, Snape's merely in instant concern. He knew that she wouldn't just show up here, bursting into detention if it wasn't for a matter of utmost importance. So she only looked at him in silent confirmation of what they both knew was happening right now.

"Detention is over. Get out. Now." Snape spoke up with a brief glimpse at his students, in a tone to match Robin's grave expression. Then however his eyes found and never left hers as he rose to his feet in an instant to round the table to come over to her side as if the rest of the world beyond them simply ceased to exist.

"But professor, it's still over an hour until dinner… Are you sure we're allowed to go already?" A young boy, probably a first year, remarked carefully, which earned him a few groans and curses from his peers, and an instantaneous but deathly glare from Snape.

"Question me again and you will spend the entire remainder of this term in detention." He snapped at the boy, then turned to everyone else who had stopped in their tracks or not yet started moving in the first place. "What on earth are you waiting for?! Is there a part of 'get out' you dunderheads failed to understand?"

It took exactly five seconds for the students to rush out the door while the echo of his words still ghosted through the masses of stone. Then, in the very instant the last people had left, the door to the classroom flew shut, was locked and warded in a now long practiced procedure that, to Robin's knowledge, was yet unbreakable. Ever since new year's, they had become more careful with their every step for a multitude of reasons. Morgan being one of them.

"What on earth-..." Snape didn't get further than that before Robin had dropped her backpack and winter robes on the ground and wrapped her arms around him so tightly that her muscles started quivering, urged into this impulsive need for closeness by the sudden and sheer overwhelming realization that she had come way too close to never seeing him again. In the end, it was a gift of fate that they were still here, still together. This thought as well as the hot rush of welling tears it brought along was only quenched when he held her tightly in return, and her composure collapsed once and for all.

Sure, there were more important things to be dealt with right now and Robin had promised herself not to let her emotions get in the way of that, but she couldn't help it anymore. Repression and putting on acts for her own mind only worked for so long. And thus she let herself dwell in his embrace for now, clawing onto him like a lifeline of reality, basking in the comfort and safety she needed now more than ever. The world could wait. It had to.

"Whatever it is, we will be fine." He said after a while of drawing soft patterns on her back, and Robin almost had to smile. She had never told him just how soothing she found that gesture, nor his voice and words of encouragement, but somehow he still had always known anyway. There was no measure for how much she loved him for that, for just knowing. "May I see for myself?"

"Please do. I couldn't logically explain what happened anyway, not even if I tried." She sighed in return without even having to ask what he meant, and then waited for his presence in her mind as she had felt it so often before. It was a truly pleasant procedure at this point, like a gentle caress, like the patterns on her back. And therefore sharing her memories of what had happened brought an immediate and breathtaking relief to her troubled mind as much as his presence did to her soul. The panic faded, the anxiety and sickness made way for reason and even a strong sense of safety. She might not need him to protect her… but she still was more than glad to know that he wouldn't let anything stop him from doing so anyway.

For a while longer neither of them spoke, even once he had seen all there was, all there had been. His hold on her only tightened, and moments later the scratch on her eyebrow started tingling with the warm echo of magic. Perhaps she should ask him to teach her some of those miraculous healing spells… If fights over life and death were to become a normal occurrence in her days now, it might yet prove useful to have some of his tricks up her own sleeves as well. But that would have to wait; for now, she had to get over herself and deal with the more pressing issues. With a deep breath, she pulled back when she finally felt ready to face the world and the worries it brought at last. They could do this. Together, like always.

In the following minutes it in return took Robin quite a bit of convincing to remind Snape that, one, she had won the fight and had come out more or less fine after all, only cold and bruised, and two, that they had agreed that killing Morgan was still not an option. No matter how very tempting the idea was under the current circumstances. Robin did agree with one point though, when Snape said that if it ever came to a moment where it was either Morgan's or Robin's life, he wouldn't waste a second of thought to save her no matter what might be the cost in return. She did agree, even though she knew that it had never been meant as a question in the first place.

Indeed, the thought made Robin smile. He would gladly set the world and skies on fire for her if the opportunity should come, without a single doubt or hesitation, and while that thought should have been at least somehow disconcerting, the unshakable fact only made Robin feel ineffably proud. There had never been such a thing as 'normal' when it came to him and her… They had always been living by extremes. Living through passion for life. And in that intensity, in the way they lived and were going to live, she found her fear replaced by determination.

"I believe to have a lead on Morgan's reasons, to find out what this is all about. A start." She said, and was met with the most attentive, intrigued gaze in return. "Or at least I finally have an idea where to look for one."

"Other than his sheer insanity being reason enough, you mean?"

"Actually, I'm rather sure that he is quite as sane as you and I." Robin sighed, while a half smile found its way onto her lips nonetheless. "But no matter what he is or isn't, we will find out what makes him do what he does and we will put an end to it. In a different way than by killing him. A better one."

"You're terribly rational. As always." Snape replied in a huff, and yet let his fingers trace the outside of her hand in a feathery touch to replace some of the past embrace's comfort. It was remarkable how much better he had gotten with such simple signs of affection over the last few months, even if still ever so subtle. "I wish I had your level of optimism."

"I'm not optimistic, but realistic." Her half smile turned into a full one as she took the opportunity to interlace their fingers in return. "This mess with Morgan has been going on for almost seven years now, and I need it to end on my terms before it ends on his. We have to see to it that it does, and we will."

"Tell me more about your lead then; I must say that neither his words nor your thoughts on the matter made much sense to me."

"They didn't make sense to me either, until I went shopping with Cas and Jorien."

"You almost died, and then you went shopping right after that instead of coming straight back here?"

"Yes?"

"You hate shopping. And you almost died."

"Yes…?"

"I am honestly not sure if I should be impressed or irritated. You really are perfectly impossible."

"Why, thank you!" Robin had to smirk upon his incredulous expression, but soon enough her thoughts and expression went back to business as she tried to put the mess of thoughts into a stringent sentence. "To be honest, I just went shopping because I didn't want to let the girls down, and I hoped it would bring me some diversion from the events I did not even nearly understand at that point. But it was Morgan's words that made me think, and even throughout the hour where I tried to focus on other matters, they never quite left me alone no matter what. To make it short, I have an idea what he could've meant with some of what he said. The part about looking at my being but not me, the earrings and also comparing me to some other person who is me and not me at the same time."

"And?"

"The painting in the room of hidden things." Robin finally got out the very core of her thoughts, of her suspicion, and it didn't take more than that for Snape's mind to visibly halt at her words. "We have to find it and see if the woman who looks like me has earrings or not. Because then Morgan's comments-..."

"Would suddenly make a disconcerting amount of sense." He finished the sentence for her with a deep frown as his thoughts finally caught up with hers. "It still doesn't explain why he does what he does, but it certainly is a starting point indeed."

"The best lead we've ever had. And the only one."

"Then we cannot wait any longer." His tone went from considering to beyond determined. "We should be able to get up to the seventh floor unseen even at the present time, if we make use of the hidden paths in the castle."

"Lead the way then." Robin said with a small but sincere smile, then gave Snape's hand a gentle squeeze and finally let go to take her robes and bag to his office for safekeeping. The classroom was a mere shed in comparison to the fortress of spells that surrounded the office these days, and if today had proven anything to her, it was that she couldn't be careful enough. Not even with her belongings. After all, objects could be cursed just the same, and do perhaps even more damage than a simple one-time spell. She wasn't keen on finding out just how much more.

… … …

They made their way up to the correct seventh floor hallway in a matter of minutes, unseen in the rising darkness of the castle, and it again took only a minute and an illusionment charm to summon the grand door to the room of hidden things. The extraordinary place didn't fail to fascinate Robin even now upon their entrance, and she inevitably had to think back to the last time she had been here. The only time, to be exact, because she hadn't dared returning alone. A lot of things had been easier back then… But she wouldn't want to go back for anything in the world. She couldn't even bear the thought of going back to the torture that was loving from afar.

"Do you remember where the portrait was located?" Snape asked once he had closed the heavy door behind them, and broke Robin out of her marveling and memories. Yes, this reality was far better, no matter what.

"I, uh… I was rather distracted the last time we were in here." She admitted with a small shrug, which made him raise an eyebrow at her. Robin rolled her eyes in return. "I was trying not to jump at you for how close you kept coming to me, if you have to know. So no, I don't remember the path to the portrait."

"Pity." He sighed in feigned disappointment, then merely took her hand again and started walking off in absolute certainty where to go while pulling her along. Of course he knew where the portrait was… Robin had to smile against her will as she couldn't help rolling her eyes again. Insufferable idiot. Her idiot.

In a matter of minutes they reached the mountain of objects Robin very much recognized as the place she had discovered the portrait in nonetheless. The flipped chairs, the pile of pink teacups, the bucket filled with yellowed scrolls. Yes, this was the right spot indeed. But there was no painting anywhere in sight.

"It's gone…" Robin wondered out loud, brows furrowed and the hairs in her neck standing on edge. She hadn't quite considered that people other than them had access to this place as well… other people who might not have her best interest in mind, with the portrait or not. Or who came in here not to hide something, but to hide something that already was in here. The thought made her shudder.

"I can see that." Snape replied flatly, with very much the same irritation colouring his features and occupying his mind. His concern was all the more reason for Robin to feel everything but at ease in this place, even now that their hands were still tightly interlaced. Perhaps they were both scared to part again any time soon. But still, bloody portrait… couldn't anything ever be easy at Hogwarts?! Perhaps this room wasn't such a great place after all. Then again, maybe it only was almost getting killed that had her on edge far more quickly than usual. That explanation for her unease was more likely. Gods, she couldn't even keep her thoughts in line properly.

"Perhaps someone moved it while in the search for something else?" She suggested in an attempt to keep her recently regained calm. This was not a setback, that they hadn't found the portrait where it was supposed to be. It was rather a mystery, a riddle, and those were supposed to have edges and corners. Yes, that made her feel better about the situation. "I know tracing spells don't work in here, but perhaps we could have a quick look around nonetheless?"

"I have a better idea." Snape said with a thoughtful gaze at the spot where the portrait had been. Then – much to Robin's dismay – he let go of her hand and instead made them both move to the side, almost leaning into the next mountain of objects behind them as he went on. "How likely is it that Morgan, the perhaps only professor who has a habit of being constantly short of time, would spend precious minutes every morning and every night, according to his own words, to come here to look at the painting?"

"Unlikely, I should say. Practically impossible."

"Yes. And what does that thereby mean?"

"You just love to make me guess, don't you?"

Snape rolled his eyes, partially at Robin and also partially at himself if she wasn't mistaken, but then answered his own question nonetheless. "It means that he must have taken the portrait elsewhere. Either to his office or his private chambers, I presume."

"Oh bloody hell no…" Robin groaned under her breath, then leaned her head back into her neck for a moment to place that very logical piece of information into her mental puzzle. "I'm afraid you're right, but I still very much hope you're not. The thought-..."

"I know. It concerns me no less."

"Can we do anything to find out for sure before I break into his office for nothing?"

"Before we break into his office. Don't even think that I would let you do any of this alone." He protested immediately in a reproachful scoff, but when his words only made Robin smile ever so slightly, his expression mellowed out in return. "There is no way to be entirely certain about the whereabouts of the painting, seeing as the room's magic to protect its contents is older than the castle itself. We cannot undo it, not even nearly."

"Pity." Robin sighed in a mirror of his own favoured expression, which earned her a not-smirk before he went on.

"What we can do however is to trace a person's movements. If Morgan ever was in here, we should be able to see where precisely he went, which in this case is the next best thing."

"That's bloody brilliant!"

"Don't look so surprised…" He scoffed again, but the not-smirk lingered on even as he worded the according spell. It wasn't an unfamiliar or difficult one, but what made Robin feel both in awe and proud beyond reason was the very idea in the first place. Tracing the person and not the object was such an out-of-the-box approach to the problem at hand that it might as well have come from her own mind. But coming from Snape now, it made Robin realize all over again how much they had grown into each other's ways of thinking over the years. She couldn't help feeling proud of that even in a situation like this.

A mere few seconds later, the ground before them lit up with a straight line of glowing footsteps that came from between the mountains of things from the direction of the door. It led straight to the point where Robin vaguely remembered the portrait to have been, then it took a sharp turn straight back to where it had come from. No detours, no looking around. A straight path here, a straight path back.

"The spell only shows the last time he was here, not possible times before that." Snape explained, and Robin found herself nodding on instinct as her eyes followed the footsteps between the mountains where they disappeared from her sight.

"Yeah, I know…" She mused, frowning to herself once more. Obviously she knew the spell and its specifics, but something entirely else was nagging at her mind again, something she should take notice of but hadn't as of yet. It was terribly irksome.

"Perhaps a summary of the state of affairs might help?" He suggested, and it didn't even come as a surprise to Robin anymore that he knew exactly what was going on in her mind. In more instances than she could count, he just knew indeed.

"Very well, let's see…" Robin mused with a sigh, while they started making their way back towards the exit in a slow saunter. "Morgan wants to kill me. He is not insane, he rather seems to have a reason for what he does. One he doesn't quite agree with, or at least is somewhat troubled by himself. The chance that he can win a duel against me at this point is near non-existent, so his only chance is to catch me by surprise or trickery, like he did today. He would find it easier to kill me if I fought back, but he still doesn't plan to stop trying either way. He cannot stop for some reason, or so he says at least. He wants to kill me, and yet he doesn't want to see me dead."

"He has a twisted obsession with you, whether that be for you as a person or you as a representation of something or someone else." Snape went on in the wake of her words. "He clearly adores you, while yet he has an ineffable hatred for you, which makes him both enjoy and dread seeing you suffer. The obsession with you led him to take the portrait out of this room, which he came to discover by yet unknown factors. He came in here at least once and took the portrait out with him to presumably either his office or his rooms. There he looks at it every morning and every night, as for his statement, because he rarely sees the real you outside of class. Through that or perhaps for other reasons, he has formed some sort of bond with the woman in the painting, which he recognizes to be you and not you at the same time. He wants you to be his, and yet he wants you dead."

"Exactly." Robin sighed again. "That makes so much sense and yet it doesn't make sense at all. It's as if he is two people at once, at war over one thing he is made to do and one thing he wants to do. If you would've asked me a year ago, I would've said it could be an Imperius curse. But after reading the book Dumbledore gave me for my birthday, and you'll know this because we both have read it a gazillion times by now, the curse just doesn't quite fit in with the facts of the case."

"I agree. He is far too aware of himself and his struggle on either end to be cursed. Especially unlikely for an Imperius curse."

"Good… But that also means that nothing fits in with the facts. We have a bunch of new questions, but no answers whatsoever."

"Yet."

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[forever--darling]

the frat boy’s boxers - s.m.

college frat au

warnings: 5.7k words of new beginnings, first day jitters, and the meeting of the roommate

prologue

It was late, dark, and the sun was no longer looming over campus. Your pulse quickened and your palms were dripping in sweat as you stared up at the three story house. The window was left cracked open and you watched as the breeze swayed the white curtains from side to side. This was insane and beyond anything you had ever done but you knew it was unavoidable. If you wanted to get into Alpha Delta Pi, it had to be done. 

You could feel the lingering eyes of the sorority girls as they crouched behind a line of bushes and internally cursed. Emily had to set up a car wash by herself, Maggie had to teepee another sorority house, and those both sounded better than this; standing in front of frat boy central, forced to steal sophomore and hockey player Shawn Mendes’ boxers.

2 weeks ago

As you drove down the winding road, you couldn’t help but come to a stop in front of the entrance. The large stone sign stood proudly for all to see as they drove by and into the start of the next chapter of their lives. Tan bricks and copper letters stuck out from the sign marked the beginning of everything. In your packed black Volkswagen golf, you twisted your neck down as you stared out the window towards the sign. You blinked at it, hardly believing it was real and with a small uneven breath, you pushed your foot back on the gas and surged forward. Within seconds, you were back driving on the road, hands tightly around the steering wheel as your eyes scanned the newfound area.

Two years ago, no one ever expected that you would venture more than a few miles away from your house. That you would settle into the local university because that’s what your parents wanted. Or more specifically what your mom wanted. No one ever thought after what happened in the winter of 2016, you would have left your hometown in exchange for another state entirely. It was two years of being locked away in your house with little access to anywhere except school or your bedroom, and you had quickly gotten sick of its light yellow walls.

Your junior and senior year were spent bent over your homework and college prepping. You were doing anything to get you as far away from that place you used to call home. You needed to get away for a while, from your overprotective and over loving parents and your twenty-four-year old sister who had moved back home. 

You used to love high school. With so many friends and guys wanting your attention, it was a fun two years then somehow the other two went down the drain by the two people who procreated you. Junior and senior you worked your ass off and above all else, obeyed your parents and clearly it paid off when you finished third in your class. You obeyed your parents, so it came much of a surprise when you told your family that instead of the local university that only stood ten minutes away, you would be attending the University of Washington. 

It came to quite a shock, not only was the college in another state but on the other side of the country. Thousands of miles away from the only place you had ever known. It became even worse when you had packed up your car and refused to let your parents drive you. They were so shocked and so heartbroken that they barely were able to protest when you gave them a faint goodbye, long bone crushing hugs, and pulled out of the driveway.

Maybe, they were so certain that you relied on them and that town so much that you would never leave their sides. Or maybe they felt like they didn’t need a large goodbye and that you would be back in their arms within months of being away. That the thought of being alone in a foreign place would send your anxiety through the roof and ultimately drive you back home after what happened when you were just sixteen. 

You had thought about the incident plenty of times. It was what changed your family and ultimately broke it. It was that very terrifying memory that drove the scary thoughts that you would be back in that small town in records time. And throughout the whole drive that took days to get to your destination, the reality hadn’t set in until you saw that sign. It was then as you stared at the letters, that you knew that if you didn’t want to run then, you weren’t going to want to run back home maybe ever. 

Some time between graduation and driving onto campus, things changed in you. You felt like you when you were sixteen again except this time more free. Changing that obedient student who stayed in on the weekends to study for tests weeks in advance, to someone who wanted to go out and do all of the things she missed out on. She became someone that wanted to be the one who went out with friends and got drunk at parties on the weekends. 

She wanted to be the girl that went on dates with random college guys on campus. She wanted to sleep with a boy and then kick him out of her dorm room the next morning. Somewhere between being eighteen to nineteen, the old you resurfaced. Like your parents weren’t there, trying to hide the world from you anymore. You were now a young adult who was capable of taking care of herself. In fact you were a college student who had no intentions of returning home to just sit back in that sad house and stare at those walls all day, separating you from the world that you had yet to know anything about. 

Now here you were no longer dressed in those baggy grey sweatpants and holey oversized hoodies, face bare, with your hair pulled out of your face. Instead, hair flowing freely down your back, makeup gracing across your features as you wore a pair of tight fitted blue jeans with a white long sleeve t-shirt and a red flannel. Bunny slippers left lazily behind in the closet that was filled with your brother’s t-shirts and cozy socks. In their place was a pair of white converse laced tightly against your feet providing comfort and style. This was who you were at the moment and you couldn’t wait to go and have some fun. 

As you were pulling into a parking lot near the hall that supposedly housed your dorm, you had caught a glimpse out of your window at the quad. A vast green area filled with small paths and large cherry blossom trees. They scattered the lawn providing shade and comfort away from the raging halls and campus parties. There was a part of you that wanted to just pull the car over and run to get a better look at the area, but knew that you had other things to do like eat and unpack. Maybe sleep. You had been in this car for far too long and now that you were here, there would be plenty of time to explore later. 

Pulling the car into an empty parking spot, you turned it off and took the keys from the ignition, stuffing them into the pocket of your jeans. You opened the door and climbed out, stretching your arms over your head as you did so. Looking around, you could only see a few students hugging their parents goodbye all having tears in their eyes or traveling down their faces. You knew if you had successfully found the main hall to ask someone about where the keys to your dorm and schedule were that you would no doubt see the same thing but to a higher level. 

You could have easily stopped and asked the many students that had been walking around the campus, especially the ones that were dressed in purple school tee shirts, bright smiles pulled across their faces about where to go. But for some unknown reason, you kept driving towards Parker Hall, thinking that your roommate was probably already settled into your sharing room and could just escort you to get your keys and your schedule. It was the best idea you had at the time since you were a freshman and didn’t know where anything was. Also considering, you were there without your parents, your roommate was the only option you thought you had at the moment. 

You convinced yourself so much that you wandered into the building and up the stairs already gaining a sniff of the musty hallways that were coated in white paint. Your eyes scanned the hall that seemed to be empty with doors closed and already decorated with pictures and names of the girls that resided with them. Suddenly at the sound of a small hiss, your eyes directed towards the end of the hall and felt relieved at the sight of one door open on the end where a blonde girl was struggling to pull in a large mattress. Were we supposed to bring our own mattresses? You thought to yourself as you approached the girl trying to wipe off the confused and slightly frustrated look on your face. 

“Need some help?” you asked, your voice gaining the attention of the girl. 

Her head lifted revealing her smooth pale skin and large green doe eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail at the top of her head, curling at the end. She was around the same height as you dressed in a pastel pink sweater with a white collar and a pair of jeans to go with her squeaky clean white sneakers. Realizing you were talking to her, she nodded with a soft smile as you proceeded forward and grabbed the other end of the mattress. You began to push as she pulled, already feeling the mattress slowly shift forward through the door. 

“Were we supposed to bring our own mattresses or something?” you asked, glancing at the stainless plush padding in your hand as your grip on the corner tightened, feeling your nails sink into it. 

“No,” the girl replied, yanking at the mattress as her cheeks puffed out in discontent, “I just prefer it more than the ones they provide.” 

“So, is there a reason you are trying to pull it into your room by yourself then?” 

“Oh, yeah well I told my mom that I could handle it so she left and as soon as my roommate laid eyes on it she stormed out of the room,” she explained as the mattress moved forward about halfway into the room. “I’m Emily, by the way. Emily Willard.” 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you chuckled at her attempts to make introductions now of all times. 

After that, silence consumed the both of you besides the casual grunt or hiss as your muscles burned from pushing and lifting at the mattress. Minutes later, you had managed to get it all the way into the small quaint room and nestled into the wooden bed-frame that sat up against the wall of the room. It was opposite of the other bed that was already made and full of decorative pillows. You let out a loud sigh after the mattress fell into its place onto the frame and ran your fingers through your hair, feeling the small beads of sweat that had gathered at your hairline. 

“Thank you,” Emily smiled while bending over and holding onto her knees. 

“Yeah, no problem,” you laughed, smiling back at the blonde. 

As another minute passed, she finally stood back up seeming to have recovered from the lifting. She began to put a few boxes onto the mattress as she made conversation, “So have you gotten moved in yet?” 

“Actually, no.” you admitted, causing her movements to stop and look over her shoulder towards you, “I was wondering if you knew which room was Maggie… Harting’s. I’m her roommate.” 

“Oh, yeah. I met her. Dressed in leather. Total badass. She’s actually just across the hall, met her when my mom and I were unloading boxes,” Emily said, gesturing towards the hallway. 

“Cool. Thanks.” the words were short as your attention now was drawn to the hallway and your new roommate that you had yet to meet but now were intrigued by. 

“Not have your keys yet?” Emily’s voice perked up causing you to turn back towards her. 

You shook your head as your hand found its way into your jean pocket fiddling with the material on the inside, “No, I don’t know where to get them. Just thought it would be easier to find the roommate and ask her instead of question one of the purple greeters.” 

Emily laughed as you referred to the upperclassmen that were sprawled across campus ready to help and answer any questions to settle in the freshman or new students. “I completely understand. Well, if your roommate turns out to be anything like mine. Feel free to wander across the hall and I’ll be more than happy to show you where to go or help you move in.” 

“Thanks, that sounds great. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” you waved, stepping out into the hallway with a small smile on your lips. 

“Yeah, of course,” she replied reciprocating the wave before her door slowly clicked shut, leaving her to unpack and settle into the small room. 

You took a deep breath as you walked over towards the door that held where you supposedly were going to spend the next, however, months of your life with a stranger as your roommate. Staring at the empty wooden door, one that wasn’t covered in pictures or had a name written across a white board, you lifted your hand and knocked softly. Your heart was beating loudly in the base of your chest at the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Before you could even think it was pulled open quickly and you were met with exactly what Emily had described.

 Badass dressed in leather. A girl who was a few inches shorter than you stood on the other side of the door with dark black hair that had pink ends pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. She had olive skin and dark brown eyes that supported a black liner drawn with a wing. With black studded earrings that matched the black choker around her neck, she was wearing ripped jeans and a leather jacket that hung over the blue tank top she wore underneath. As your gaze fell towards the ground, they fell on a pair of chunky black boots that had safety pins sticking out of the shoes’ flaps. Slowly, as your eyes lifted back up towards her face, you were met with a smirk etched across her mouth, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly. 

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I was beginning to think you were dead or lost or not going to show up at all.”

You smiled sheepishly at how she was right with one simple glance at you, “Yeah and you must be Maggie.” 

“You bet your ass I am,” she grinned, throwing the door open to reveal her -- well your room to you. “So what did you lose your key already?” 

You stepped in slowly and shook your head as she closed the door behind you. Scanning the room, you took in the small space. On either side of the room, there were two twin size beds pushed up against the walls, one of which was still left bare. In between the two beds were two nightstands that sat under the only window. Just below each of the beds there were two desks sat up at the wall, yours being the one that sat really close to the door. 

Over towards the bed that Maggie had obviously claimed was two closets one that was probably already filled with her black leather and jeans. With just being in Emily’s room, it looked almost identical to hers except it was in the opposite direction, but you were too focused on trying to drag a mattress through her front door to actually take the time to really look at it. The room still looked not all the way settled though Maggie’s black bedspread was wrinkled and there were clothes thrown over the chair at her desk. She was already settled but with your side still untouched and completely bare, the room overall looked incomplete. 

Realizing that you had yet to answer Maggie’s question, you turned on your heels to see her leaning up against the door looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, no. I haven’t gone to get them yet. I was hoping you would show me where I’m supposed to get them and my schedule if you’re not busy.” 

She snorted out a small laugh as she pushed herself up and off the door, “Please, I’ve been here since this morning practically waiting for you to get here so I’d be more than welcome to escort you to your keys.” 

With that, she pulled open the door and strode out in the hallway giving you a view of the shave at the back of her head that was right above her neck. You stared at it for a second before you followed, closing the door behind you. From there you walked alongside her down the stairs and out of Parker Hall. She led you past the parking lot where your car sat, abandoned, and full of your shit towards who knows where. 

For the next seven minutes, Maggie walked you down towards the main hall passed the groups of settling students and towering pine trees. All while making conversation of her home. She lived around an hour and a half away with her parents, younger sister, and Nana. Her dad was a huge business man and had a lot of money which was partly the reason she was able to get into this college. Not once had she seemed bothered by her father’s money and was rather comfortable explaining to you what her relationship was like with him and back at home. She also talked about what high school was like and how she had broken off things with her hot boyfriend of four years that drove a motorcycle. 

Your favorite part was when she talked about her old friends and though people thought that they were bad news because they wore leather, they really were just hilarious outcasts that pulled pranks on each other all day. Just as you gained sight of the main hall that was lined with college students and parents all signing in and getting their own keys and schedules, you were pulled aside by Maggie’s arm gripping your elbow. 

“What?” you asked, eyeing her raised eyebrows and curious smile. 

You may have not picked up on it because you were pulled into her stories of home but she had easily noticed that you hadn’t said anything about yourself or your family. “You haven’t said anything about what it’s like where you’re from. Why aren’t your parents here dropping you off?” 

Sighing at the question, only made her raise her eyebrows higher and you knew that because you would be living with her for the school year that you wouldn’t be able to keep everything from her forever. “It’s a long story. Simple answer, I didn’t want them to so instead I just packed up my car and drove here myself.” 

You went to turn back towards the line but Maggie’s hand refused to fall from your arm and instead tightened causing you to look back at her, getting a little annoyed. “Wait, where are you from?” 

Taking a deep breath, you muttered the name of the small town and watched as no recognition passed over her face but only scrunched up further into confusion. “Where’s that?” she asked. 

“It’s across the country. Twenty-six hours across the country,” you replied, rolling your eyes lightly as hers widened, causing her brown orbs to broaden and her mouth to fall open. “Look I’ll explain as soon as we get my keys and schedule okay?” 

Her confusion instantly fell away and in its place was pure determination. She smirked and her head tilted to the side as a glint filled her eyes. Her hand that had still yet to fall from your arm yanked as she turned around and began to drag you up towards the tables that sat in front of the main hall. She pulled you behind her as she passed fellow new students and parents resulting in some to gasp or call out the fact that you were cutting. 

As you made it to the front, Maggie pushed aside a tall raven haired boy who was in the middle of asking the girl sitting at the table something, who was dressed in the same purple shirt you had seen on many people by now. He hissed as he stood off to the side feeling his mother placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He glared daggers towards Maggie and your eyes widened as his arm reached out to grab a hold of her leather jacket. 

“Hey, don’t you know it’s rude to cut. We all want to get settled in as much as you do, alright,” he hissed again, his chest rising up and down as he spat the words. 

Maggie finally turned to look at him, seeming unbothered by his killing glare so much that she sent a smug grin instead. “Oh, put a sock in it. It’s not like we’re going to stand around asking questions to stall having to say goodbye to mommy and daddy. We just need our keys and schedules then we’ll be on our way.” 

You could hear the gasp came from the boy’s mother at his side, causing his face to swell and turn red in anger but instead of stepping forward to spit more insults at your roommate, he looked away from her and began to tap his foot impatiently on the concrete ground. Maggie rolled her eyes at his childish antics before turning back towards the upperclassman that stood silent watching the scene play out. She was tall with straight honey colored hair and pale skin, her award-winning smile now vanished. Though looking like she was about to protest, she was silenced by Maggie’s piercing glare.

“Okay, we’re here to get keys and a schedule,” she said calmly, leaning down with her hands grabbing at the end of the table. 

“What hall?” the girl asked, her voice soft, still refusing to look up. 

Maggie bit onto her bottom lip as her index finger began to scrape against the table, “Parker Hall, Y/N Y/L/N.” 

Silently the upperclassman began to push through the files sat on the table and after about a minute or so pulled out a cream colored folder along with a key hung around a dark purple spiral wrist key chain. Holding out the folder and wrist band, Maggie plucked it from her hands and smiled sweetly, “Pleasure doing business with you.” 

She then took a hold of your elbow again and led you away from the table making sure to send a shit eating grin towards the boy and his parents. You were still shocked by the whole thing even as you were walking back towards your hall folder and key in hand. 

You began to thumb through the folder, locating your schedule that had your classes and where they were located but were pulled away from the wristband in your hand. The silver whistle was colliding with the set of keys causing a small clink as you walked. Your eyebrows furrowed on it and as you looked up towards Maggie, who was walking eyes glancing from the sidewalk to her phone, you spoke up to ask. 

“What’s with the whistle?” you asked, causing Maggie to look over towards you and the wristband in your hand. 

“U.W. rape whistle.”

“What?” you asked, surprised by the answer but realizing that it could have made sense with that it was a much bigger campus smacked in the middle of a city.

She looked back over towards you and perked up before opening her mouth for a high pitch voice to replace her own. “Blow it only if it’s actually happening.” 

You quickly caught on that she was imitating the upperclassmen or whoever clearly gave her the set of her keys and schedule. Chuckling, you shake your head and move the spiral wristband around your wrist putting the whistle aside from your thoughts. You didn’t talk again until you got back to the hall and as Maggie went to head towards the door she stopped upon noticing you walk into a different direction. She followed to finally lay eyes on your Volkswagen golf that was all the way filled from the trunk all the way to the passenger seat with boxes and suitcases. 

“Okay, wow,” she said, shoving her phone back into the pocket of her jeans as she watched you pull open the passenger door and grab a cardboard box. 

“What, didn’t I say that I drove here?” 

“Yeah, but I never expected this,” Maggie shrugged as you grabbed a backpack and swung it on your shoulders while taking another smaller box for her.

“Well, I did drive twenty-six hours and I don’t plan on driving back any time soon,” you admitted, closing the passenger door and heading towards the door of the hall. 

Maggie followed all the way in and up the stairs towards the hall. You stopped in front of your door as you noticed a blonde ponytail in the hall writing on a whiteboard with a pink dry erase marker. At the sound of your steps, she turned a smile instantly falling on her face as she saw it’s you. 

“Hey,” she said, moving away to reveal the door to her room. It was decorated with pink cut out hearts and flowers all surrounding a whiteboard that had ‘Lindsey & Emily’ written across in perfect cursive with the color pink. 

“Hey, nice job on the door!”

“We are so not doing that to our door,” Maggie leaned over to you, mumbling underneath her breath. 

Emily ignored Maggie’s comment, “Thanks, need some help?” 

You nodded, moving to open the door to your room, “Yes, please.” 

Once you unlocked the door, Emily held it open for you as you walked in and dropped the box that happened to be filled with books onto your bed, a sigh leaving your lips as you did. You turned back to the door to see Maggie following and setting the box at the end of the bed just as she a glance towards the blonde in the doorway. “Maggie, you’ve met Emily right? She’s just across the hall.” 

“Yeah we have,” Maggie smiled, sending a short wave, “Hey!”

 Emily smiled as you exited back out of the room and began to head down the stairs towards your car. They both followed you, hot on your heels when Maggie’s voice broke the silence as your vehicle came back into view. “So, can I ask questions now or do you need to wait until Em is out of ear shot?” 

You rolled your eyes playfully as you popped open the trunk and began to look at what had been stuffed in a day or so prior. “You can ask.” 

“What are you asking about?” Emily voiced, curious at her name being brought up by Maggie. 

“Oh, Y/N here lives in a small town twenty-six hours away and drove here by herself without her parents,” Maggie replied looking over towards Emily, who’s eyes had widened into saucers. 

“Maggie!”

“What? I have a feeling that she is going to be around with us for a while. She’s cool so she can probably know.”

You nodded as you picked up some boxes and began to place them on the ground for them to pick up, “Alright fair enough. You can ask two questions, that’s it. Then once everything is unloaded out of the car and into our room, I will allow you to ask more as I unpack. Okay?” 

They both nodded in agreement as they went to pick up the boxes. Maggie being the first to ask a question. “So why didn’t you want your parents to come?” 

Picking up another box full of clothes, you followed them as they turned towards the hall, “It’s complicated but basically I wanted to do this on my own. Prove a point, plus I didn’t want them to have to drive all the way over here and then drive back.” 

“Fair enough,” Maggie said, beginning to climb up the brown dirt covered stairs. 

“One more,” you stated voice sharp, “Better make it good because it will be at least twenty minutes before I answer any more.” 

“Why here?” Emily asked cutting off Maggie before she could get the chance, “I mean I can barely stand that I’m two hours away but twenty-six. Why choose Washington?” 

You were about to walk through the door of your room but stopped in the doorway, looking over your shoulder towards the two girls you had a feeling were going to become close friends of yours. You sighed, your eyes falling to the floor as you spoke, “It’s far away that no one knows who I am and I can get a fresh start, plus it’s so far away that I won’t have to go back.” 

*

After you gave two curt replies to the questions asked, the next twenty minutes unloading the car was spent talking about what the school year was probably going to be like, since they couldn’t ask any follow up questions until after everything was unloaded out of the car and up into your dorm room. You could tell that even though they were enjoying the casual conversation, Maggie and Emily were still well intrigued about your intentions of leaving home and coming here. You knew from just looking at them and hearing their lame jokes about the upperclassmen and the purple shirts, that by the time you were upstairs and in your room they would be jumping you with their questions. 

So much so that the second the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the three of you enclosed in the room filled with unemptied boxes and cases, they were basically screaming. After they calmed down, you stuck to your word and told them basically everything. Well most of it. 

The tragedy in your family and the secret with it, you couldn’t mumble out because they were basically still strangers and this was too important. Instead, you told them of what you were like as a kid and why your parents were so set on the idea of you going to local university or taking online classes. You explained the anxiety that had formed in your stomach as a teenager and why you had grown to be so used to blending in with everyone else. By the time you had said that you were here to start fresh and resign from your spot on the sidelines watching, there were smiles spread across both of their faces. 

The first one to speak was Maggie who had expressed her opinion by sending you a solute and yelling out, “you’re a doer not a watcher.” 

They obviously felt that it must be hard being so far away but admired your efforts to break out of your shell and flourish out in the real world. So much that within the next three hours, you all spent time in the dorm room unpacking and talking about everything about one another desperate to gain any information about the new friends you all had made. 

You were straightening out the grey comforter on your bed and fluffing out the pillows when you heard a gasp come from the other side of the room. You turned at the sound towards Maggie’s bed where she sat criss-cross-applesauce, leaning against the wall with Emily’s legs swung over her lap. Her eyes were wide in excitement as her mouth was left slightly parted showing the smile that had formed. You and Emily shared a glance before looking back towards Maggie. 

“What?” Emily asked leaning up on her elbows as Maggie sent a smirk from her towards you. 

“Oh, no. What is it?” you questioned, already having a feeling that whatever was going to come out of her mouth was bound to be trouble. 

Maggie was practically glowing as she moved from the bed and stood up causing Emily’s legs to fall from the bed in the process. “We are now college students and I say it’s time for us to celebrate.” 

“Celebrate, exactly how?” you asked cautiously as she crossed her arms over her chest and popped out a hip. 

“It’s the first day of everyone being back on campus there is bound to be a party somewhere,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

That’s when you noticed Emily sit up from the bed raising a hand to interject, “Yeah there’s one at the sorority house. Alpha Delta Pi, I think. Usually their parties are for sororities and fraternities only but my roommate said that because it’s the first official day of everyone being back that it’s open for everyone on campus.” 

“I knew that I liked you for a reason,” Maggie stated proudly, “So what do you say, Y/L/N?” 

“A party?” you asked, getting a nod from her causing her bun to bounce a little, “No, I don’t think so I haven’t even finished unpacking yet.” 

“So, you can do that tomorrow,” Maggie persuaded, moving towards your closet that held half of your clothes so far. She thumbed through it before stopping at one hanger that held an off the shoulder black long sleeve shirt that still had the tag on it, “Besides, didn’t you say you wanted to have fun.” 

At her smooth words and the hanger she plucked from within the rack, you felt your heart flutter with nerves. As your eyes scanned from the smug look on her face towards the shirt, and then to Emily who sat with a raised eyebrow and sweet smile, a smirk fell onto your lips with ease. “Yeah, I guess I did. So where’s this sorority house located?”

a/n: hey! here’s the first party of my new series and sorry if it’s a little boring but I wanted to get introductions and the reader’s backstory out of the way. don’t worry shawn will be in the next part! :)

next part

[palmtreepalmtree]

Alright, this one is long overdue for an anonymous friend who really wanted me to review The Healer.  So after a short pause, here is another edition of

The Worst Movie on Netflix Right Now™

Heavy sigh.

Alright.  Let’s talk about this one.  

First off, I have to do some pretty serious content warnings, cause I know some people have been receiving some bad news recently and this review goes someplace you might not expect so, I love you guys, but please be aware that this review deals with: cancer, terminal illness, kids with cancer.  

Now back to the bullshit.

This is basically a movie about a fucking dumbass dude who has trouble making obvious decisions.  

SPOILERS AHEAD (are you new here?)

The main character Alec Bailey, begins the film as a total fuckwit.  He lives in England (somewhere about) and owns a failing electronic handyman business that he calls “The Healer” (in the most pathetic stretch of narrative bullshit, but okay) and is in deep gambling debts to the Russian mob. 

As our story begins, Alec discovers that he has a long lost rich uncle who makes him an offer: the uncle will pay off Alec’s debts if he agrees to live in Nova Scotia for a year.  The uncle will make all the arrangements: plane ticket, work visa, place to live, etc.  All Alec has to do is stay in Nova Scotia for a year.

OH NO!  WHATEVER SHALL I DO?!?  WHAT AM I GOING TO DO IN REMOTE NOVA SCOTIA FOR A YEAR AFTER ALL MY FINANCIAL CONCERNS ARE TAKEN CARE OF?  

HOWEVER WILL I SURVIVE IN SUCH A HORRIBLE PLACE?11?!?

I BETTER THINK IT OVER.

*eyeroll*

He finally makes his decision after getting chased by mobsters trying to collect on his debts.  ...like I said.  He’s a fuckwit.

So he moves into this beautiful house in Nova Scotia.  There’s no internet, which is a legit bummer, but his uncle has arranged a car for him to get to town.  Seems like a pretty good gig.  Even if it is going to be brutally cold come the winter months.  

Well as soon as Alec arrives in town, everyone seems to know and be expecting him.  He puts an ad out for his mechanical engineering services, again, under the name “The Healer.”  Well........... that goes awry in ways you would expect.  Suddenly, people start showing up requesting his physical healing services.

The thing is, the people from town seem to expect him to actually be a healer.  They keep referring to a secret and to him being “the chosen one.”  There’s no explanation for this.

Then there’s like... this whole weird interlude where Alec seems to kill the town priest, played by Jorge Ramirez (can someone please find this dude a good acting gig? my dude has decent comedic timing, he’s better than this shit). And Alec gets arrested.  Even though the priest got up and walked away.  All of this seems like a weird spinning of wheels before the actual plot.  Like why is this happening.  Why?  

Eventualllllllly......... his uncle shows back up and fesses up (in the most elaborate way possible).  People in his family have a gift.  Every other generation, someone is chosen.  And they have the gift of healing.  Based solely on being near to someone who is destined to be saved.

The gift can only be activated around their 30th birthday (if this sounds unnecessarily elaborate, that’s because it is -- and I’m even cutting shit out like the secret basement and portraits on the wall, blahblahblah).  The day after the birthday, the chosen one must decide.  They can choose to accept or decline the gift of healing.  Alec is given until midnight that night to make his decision.  WILL HE BE THE CHOSEN ONE?  WILL HE BE THE HEALER?!?!1?1

I mentioned that Alec is a fuckwit right?  

*Hagrid voice* YOU’RE A FUCKWIT, ALEC!

*squints*

Annnnnnyhow.  Alec goes to the town church where everyone is gathered at midnight (with thank you signs and a big round of applause) and he dashes their hopes.  HE WILL NOT BE THE HEALER, NO!  Even though it comes with no readily apparent downsides or costs.  And he’d be able to relieve the suffering of others with no cost to himself.  No, fuck it.  He’s going to go home.

The town takes it pretty well, all things considered.  The few people who had already been healed by being near him make speeches of gratitude.  They all wish him a happy birthday and tell him he’s welcome to stay.  Like these people are insanely understanding about him declining the gift of healing.  INSANE.

It’s worth noting that we’re about halfway through the movie at this point and we haven’t met one of the main characters of the movie.  

IN COMES ABIGAIL.  Cancer kid extraordinaire.  She is 14 years old.  Her parents have driven 7 hours to see Alec.  Their daughter is dying of terminal cancer, and all they want is for Alec to spend some time with her and give it a shot.  But she’s a pretty self-possessed kid.  She convinces the reluctant Alec to just hangout with her for the weekend to buck up her parents and give her parents some hope.  She doesn’t believe in the healing, so no harm, no foul.

And finally we’ve hit the meat of our story.  Will Alec be able to save Abigail now that he’s declined the gift?  Will he regret it?  WHY DID HE DECLINE THE GIFT!?1?

SPOILERS (really can’t discuss this movie without them)

It turns out, Alec had a brother who died of cancer.  And they were incredibly close.  In Alec’s words, “he was my everything.”  But now he deeply regrets giving up the gift.  Now he’s worried he can’t save Abigail.

You know what, man?  Same.

SO WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TURN DOWN THE GIFT!??!?

Listen.  Listen, listen.  I don’t know a single person who has been touched by cancer who wouldn’t jump at the chance to have a healing gift.  I mean, what the fuck.  Death sucks.  Losing someone you love from any kind of illness sucks.  Especially when it feels even remotely too soon.  And cancer is a particular type of FUCKING BULLSHIT.  It sucks.  

So it’s really fucking hard to understand why this FUCKWIT turns down the gift to begin with.  Death and suffering is not abstract for him when this movie starts!  So why we should feel sorry for his resulting anxiety, now that he has met someone who is directly negatively affected by his fucking BAD DECISION.

Anyhow, the rest of the movie is basically an exercise in how charming Abigail is and how much fun we can have with her before she goes off to die. Which like......... OH-FUCKING-KAY!

It should go without saying that this movie has a happy ending.  The music swells where it should.  The romance is consummated.  Abigail is healed.  All is going to be well with the world.

As a movie, this one has some weird fucking choices.  First, all of the music cues in this movie are just wrong.  “Faith” by George Michael is not a song about believing in something --- unless that something is having sex with someone who hurt you before.  And the lighting in this film is so beautiful all the time, it looks like you’re in a fucking ciallis commercial, even when you’re in the freaking police station, wtf?  

And last, the writing is just weird in places.  Like why have the love interest lie about being a lesbian through 90% of the film?  Why?  It’s not a good joke!  And  It is COMPLETELY fucking baffling to me why the good news of this story is delivered off-screen instead of on-screen.  If Abigail is going to be okay, why couldn’t she come back to Nova Scotia to tell him?  Why couldn’t she deliver that news in person!?  That’s just bad writing.  What the fuck is that?

But whatever.  

On the credit side, I think Oliver Jackson Cohen knows what he’s doing as an actor.  He’s not Oscar-worthy yet, but I believed him.  When he talks about his brother, I felt that.  And that could not have been easy in such a fucking weird script.

But as much as I’d like to end this review right here, there’s more.  Cause...

..........that’s not where the movie ends.  Not entirely.

As the end music plays, the movie is dedicated to Paul Newman who established summer camps for seriously ill kids.  And then we see images and videos of the kids all over the world enjoying activities at these camps.  

And that’s where this critique stops.  Sorta.  Paul Newman was a legitimately good person.  And his legacy of caring for sick kids carries on to this day, as was evident from all the footage.

But here’s the thing: healing as it’s depicted in this movie does not exist.  But easing the suffering of others does.  I wish this movie had been about that.  I wish it had been less focused on miracles and weird family legacies and selfish fuckwits and more about the kind of healing that Paul practiced.  But I guess that movie isn’t as fun, and it isn’t as hopeful and uplifting.

In the non-movie version of this story, Abigail Bryant died in 2014 at the age of 20.  Her obituary still appears online.  And it is still receiving comments and photos from cancer survivors and fighters, many of them who found her through the film.  And they talk about how the movie touched them.

On that level, it doesn’t matter what I say here.  It doesn’t matter that there are weird parts of this script or that healing like this is a fantasy.  This movie does its job.  It touches people.  And if it inspires just a few more people to give money to help relieve suffering, then that’s all that matters.

Ronald McDonald House Charities Cancer Research Institute Hole in the Wall Gang (Paul Newman’s org) Serious Fun Children’s Network (established by Paul Newman)

[melon-kiss]

Screaming, Pt 4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Link to the part on AO3

____________________________

I hear voices over the black fog of my unconsciousness but I can’t be sure they’re real. I think it’s the doctors. They try to revive me. I hear that I have a stable pulse and I breathe. Good. Or whatever.

When I open my eyes, I’m sweaty and frightened. My T-shirt is so wet it changed its colour to dark grey. My hair is sticking to my face. My eyeballs go from one side to another in an utter madness. I notice it’s already dark outside. Doctor Mike lights up a small lamp on my nightstand. I think he suspects me of being scared of darkness. I’ve never been. Now he’s right. He says comforting things, like: “You’re safe now” or “I can see you’ve been tortured”. But “torture” doesn’t even cover it. I’ve been through a vivisection. Sherlock gutted me out and now I  know for sure he did it on purpose.

I fight insomnia for very long hours. When I manage to fall asleep, I hardly find any rest in it.

I toss and turn endlessly. It never gets better. The bed sheet is too hot or too cold. The dreams I have are horrifying. All the memories I’ve kept safely tamed resurface and haunt me. Suffocate me with their weight. They’re my burden now.

They burn me out. They wreak havoc. I feel every cell in my body ache as I remember the pain of all the words unsaid, all the moments not lived. I see the bright blue eyes, always looking through. I hear the voice. It lies to me. Does it, though? It says: I... I love you. And again, quieter: I love you. It hurts because I’m sure it’s insincere. It couldn’t be any other way. He’ll never love me like I want to be loved. He can’t give me safety and protection. He can’t support me. He can’t be with me. He can’t be with me. He can’t be with me.

I scream. The hot air rips my lungs into shreds. My voice is hoarse and piercing at the same time, it echoes in the entire building. I scream as though being cut in two; a primal shriek finds its way out of me. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane - otherwise the pain would be unbearable. I want to be dead. I scream so loud the night staff comes to my room every fifteen minutes to wake me and assure me I’m safe but it doesn’t take long for the circle to go around again. They finally give up and inject something into my arm. The dangerous mix of fear and pain is numb now. It doesn’t vanish; it’s covered with a warm fluff of the meds. It’s there. He’ll never love me the way I want to be loved.

My eyes are stuck on one point on the ceiling. I want to scream but I can’t.

 * * *

 The cold late-autumn air lashes my face when I place my foot outside the door. I wrap the scarf tighter around my neck. It’s difficult to keep yourself warm when there’s not much of the fat tissue in your body.

My therapist says it’ll get better. I don’t know. I don’t think he tries to lie to me. I choose to believe him. He also says that I’ll never fully recover. My psyche is broken beyond repair. LSD killed me and didn’t do it at all. All I can do is to try to make the best of it. “Regaining your memory was the most important part,” he said once. “And you’ve succeeded in it.” I think he hopes that there’s a chance for me to get back to my old self in that. I’ve lived with my missing memories for over six months and today is the first day I feel good enough to leave the house. I’m going to face death. Many deaths.

I walk down the London streets and the air soaks up in my lungs. It’s cold but in a pleasant way. The hot air gets out of me with carbon dioxide. I breathe in the chill oxygenium with my eyes closed. I relish the moment. I never know when my brain will snap and turn everything into endless sadness. I don’t have fury attacks anymore but instead, I wake up in the middle of every night, screaming. The scream eventually turns into cry. I curl up in my bed and wait for the pain to let go. It never really does but its level decreases to the point I’m able to live with.

Being yourself. What does it even mean? Whatever I do, I’m me. I’m me when I walk down the London streets, heading to work. I’m me when I jump out of my bed and choke someone. I’m me when I throw up because my body cannot contain the anxiety caused by my fugue. I’m me when I scream my head off in the middle of a night. I’m me when I kiss someone I love. I’m me when I cry because I couldn’t be more broken. I’ve learned to simply accept whatever comes to me. This is who I am. A mess. Fixing me is a job for a lifetime.

I’ve been missing the lab. I throw myself into work because it helps me soothe the suffering. The relief is temporary but whatever works, right? I love the sound of the glasses clinking against each other. I love how my brain focuses entirely on bringing out my scientific knowledge and it almost resembles the mind I used to have. These are the moments when I know the old Molly Hooper is still there. She didn’t die because she always wins.

 It’s almost dark outside when I turn off the lights. I take a short look around to make sure I’ve cleaned everything up. I push the door open and fix the handbag on my shoulder. I walk out into the corridor, pale-y lightened with the cold hospital lamps. I raise my head up and freeze.

He freezes as well. He’s changed; weaker, sadder. His blue eyes widen and I can see his breathing stops. His mouth are open in an utter shock. He’s speechless but doesn’t look away. He swallows with difficulty.

“Molly.”

The soft whisper fills out the space of the corridor. I begin to get dizzy and my heart rate quickens rapidly. I take a small step back and cling to the door behind me. I’m close to hyperventilate. He makes a move towards me but I start visibly shivering in response.

“Molly...”

He’s filled with guilt which adds a fair weight to his movements. His eyes, usually cold and focused on looking through his mind palace, are mild, even glossy. His eyebrows frown in worry. I’m sure he pities me. I don’t need his pity. I slide down the door and sit on the floor with my legs pulled to my chest. I see his coat getting closer with a corner of my eye. My body trembles strongly. I let out the tears.

“Leave me alone,” I whisper.

He stands in place for a while and walks off eventually. When he’s no longer in the range of my eyesight, I curl up on the floor and cry. He can’t be with me.

 * * *

 I’m slightly cheerful on my days off. The winter is pretty ugly this year; it doesn’t look like the ones I remember. No fluffy snow and colourful lights. But maybe I’ve just gotten too old to see them? I think it’s sad. We become adults and forget all the beauty we’ve had as children. We forget that the key to happiness is not only in winning the jackpot but also in seeing the little things and enjoying them. In finding a four-leaf clover and thinking: “Today I’m going to be lucky”. In hearing your mum is going to make your favourite biscuits because she loves you so much she could do anything to see a smile on your face. I sound like The Little Prince, don’t I? When your brain tries to find its way back to sanity, you happen to have a lot thoughts. Trust me.

I deliberately step into every grey, muddy-snowy-watery puddle and smile. My shoes will get soaked up for a while but I enjoy this childish activity until I can. I just hope my groceries won’t slip out of my shopping bag to fall into one of these snowy monsters. I think about the small but pleasant stuff: like ordering a pizza and watching a film. My brain loves turning into tapioca. Well, it doesn’t, I do. I also bought brownies and can’t wait to stuff my stomach with them after the pizza box is empty. For a moment I think of the poor person who would have to go through my stomach content if I killed myself tonight, and then shake it off. I don’t want to die but I don’t have much of a will to live as well. I’ve learned not to joke about suicide around other people, though. It turns out death is a difficult matter for normal human beings. I wouldn’t know, I’ve always been very practical about it. It doesn’t scare me that much. Well, maybe a little because I’ve never been through this. They say I have but I don’t remember a shred from this moment. I’ve regained a memory of being strongly hit in a head in my house but then... it’s all darkness. The next thing was the hospital ceiling and the conversation The Three Horsemen of Madness had in my room.

I’ve loved watching trash telly (and not only this) because it keeps my sadness and insanity at bay. I’m well aware of that. My therapist didn’t have to tell me this but he did it anyway. He even asked if I wanted to do anything about it. I didn’t but he says (because the matter obviously wasn’t dropped) it would work out for the best because a broken heart cannot be mended by watching stories about other hearts being healed. I thought he was supposed to help me keep my post-LSD psyche under control but it seems I couldn’t have been more wrong. When I look back at the memories I’ve retrieved, I can’t help but think... maybe this craziness has always been with me? The way I sewed my happiness with his skin, desperately, utterly, unconditionally, obsessively... Omnipresent but invisible. Courageous - with a rabbit heart. The smallest spark of hope I’ve ever seen kept me by his side. Maybe LSD only sped up what was inevitable: a nervous breakdown. Although I wasn’t really weak. My heart just popped, heavy from all the sorrow it has carried for five years.

Now, after being completely broken, I’m learning to live in a world without him. I don’t blame him - after all, it was me who asked him to leave me alone. I thought he would fight for me but I’m glad he didn’t. My insanity would feed on the scraps he would throw me, reliving the annealed wounds with a red-hot steel. He doesn’t come to Bart’s or maybe he does but he’s good at avoiding people. And sometimes, when everything seems fine and I’m home alone (which is always), I fill out the silence with singing. I choose the saddest songs I know and sing. I bet my neighbours have had to call an ambulance to save their bleeding ears at least once but I’m a psycho. I can do whatever I want because I don’t care.

I’ve recently watched Eclipse and I sing a song from its soundtrack under my nose when I unlock the door. The door clicks and I enter my completely dark house. I don’t turn on the lights and enjoy the fact that it’s already dim outside but it’s too early for the street lights to turn on and shine into my kitchen. I stand in the entrance room and soak in the emptiness. It fills me out and seeps into my bones. This is where my body find its way to the state of default. I put my shopping bag away on the floor and untangle my winter shoes. After that I move the groceries into the kitchen, almost tiptoeing, as though afraid of waking someone up.

I take off my coat and scarf, putting them down on the kitchen counter. I start unloading my shopping bag, thinking about the pizza I’m going to order. I’ve gained some weight, maybe a little too much but that’s all right. I couldn’t care less about my body. If I had to worry about my appearance as well, I would definitely kill myself.

“My love has concrete feet, my love’s an iron ball, wrapped around your ankles, over the waterfall...”

“If I didn’t know better, I would think it was on purpose.”

A glass bottle of a carrot juice slips out of my palm as I jump in a complete horror. My socks soak in the sticky liquid but I can barely seem bothered by this. I turn on the heel and look at the utter darkness in my living room. The same moment the street lights turn on and a beam of weak light falls on his face as well. I feel my body trembling. I want to back out but there is no escape - he could catch me any time. Not that he would but the fear takes over my mind.

“You... you broke into my house?” I ask, panting. A panic attack is around the corner.

“I entered your house without your knowledge,” he replies, utterly steady. “There’s a difference-“

“What are you doing here?” I put on a tough act but we both know it’s a ruse. I don’t care. I don’t want him to break me again. I might never recover.

“I came to see you.”

I scoff.

“You could do it the normal way.”

“Would you meet me, then?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

I’m pressed against the refrigerator and I feel a pain in my back as the metallic door resists to my spinal bones. He makes three steps forward. He takes off his gloves and shoves them into his coat pockets. He takes if off as well, with no rush, and throws it away on my couch. Without unlocking our eyes, he approaches me. I’m sure I’ll tip over the refrigerator in a second because he’s so close there can’t be more than a foot between us. He stops. My head is dizzy and I feel like throwing up but then he squats and begins to collect the shreds of glass bottle from the floor. I’m sweaty but relieved. The tension leaves my body and I exhale loudly.

It catches his attention. He looks up at me.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

I scoff again.

“It doesn’t matter.”

I turn around to face the kitchen counter and find paper towels but they’re on the opposite side. I glare down and see that the juice is everywhere but my socks are completely soaked up, so it wouldn’t be smart of me to walk off to the bathroom for a mop. Besides, I could step into the cracks and that was not the point of his help.

He finishes and throws the glass away. He remembers very well where my bin is. After that, he wordlessly goes to my bedroom and comes back with a pair of dry socks. I can see that he spread a bit of the juice on the floor but his gesture successfully disables my frustration. He sticks out his arms towards me. I hesitate. What is he planning to do? I slowly reach out to his arms but he slides them under my armpits and lifts me up over the juice, placing me on my small kitchen island. Then he disappears in the bathroom and comes back with the mop. He wipes out the floor. Not a word slips out of his lips.

I slowly take off my wet socks, watching his every move. I put the dirty socks away next to me and reach out for the paper towel. I dry my feet out while Sherlock cleans up my kitchen floor. Even my old self would say that only a lunatic would find it possible. Cheers to all of us, crazies. I put away the used paper towel as well and put on my new socks. I start to swing my legs a little bit as Sherlock finishes the cleanup. He walks off to the bathroom to rinse off the mop for the last time and comes back to me. I can’t look away somehow.

“Thank you,” I say in a hoarse voice. I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, nor be an intruder.”

I shrug.

“It was just a carrot juice. I’ll drink more water, then.”

My legs swing more and more intensively. I know what it means and so does he, so I force myself to stop because a smirk crawls up on his face. I feel my cheeks burning up and I instantly regret tangling my hair into a pony tail. This is probably the most normal thing that happened to me in about nine months.

He places his hand next to my left thigh and leans on. I feel his perfume and something in me shivers. My heart rate goes wild but I cannot force myself to look away. He puts his palm really gently on my right cheek and his face is so close I can see every pore on his skin. I give in and let out a quiet exhale. I close my eyes and my body is fulfilled with warmth as his lips lock with mine. He moves a little to stand fully in front of me and takes my face in both of his hands. His lips open more and more eagerly as he doesn’t see any objection on my side. My legs clench around his waist, I throw my arms around his neck. I pull him closer but it’s difficult to say whether I’m motivated by the kiss or the simple need of a hug.

I feel awaken. My body’s warm, pulsing with every beat my heart does. For the first time in many months I feel alive and I relish this moment because I know that in a minute, everything will end.

And it does.

I push him away a little too hard. He has to take a step back to prevent a fall. The passionate fire turns into anger.

“Don’t do it.”

I feel a twinge in my chest seeing pain in his eyes. He looks as if I just crushed his last hope. His blue eyes are tired, miss their old spark. I hate myself for pushing him away and feeling the way I feel.

“Why?�� he asks.

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” I hiss through my teeth.

“What doesn’t?”

“Us.”

He winces and shifts nervously.

“What?”

I clench my palm into a fist and press it against my forehead, leaned forward. A forgotten suffering comes back to me. I’ve buried it so deep inside I was certain it was gone but it’s been waiting for me. A battle I didn’t want to fight starts right here and right now. And I, again, want to be dead and dead only. I close my eyes so tightly it almost hurts as does every cell in my body.

“We don’t make sense,” I utter after anticipating a less painful moment.

He starts breathing quicker. He’s as lost as he’s never been before. I imagine that’s how he looked like calling me to save me. Helpless in the face of the truth.

“How could you have fallen in love with me, then? ” he asks, hopelessness taking over him. “Despite all the pain I’ve caused you, all the things I’ve said...”

“I suppose love is a kind of madness,” I say, my unseeing eyes focused on one irrelevant point.

“Your love is illogical, since I’ve always been an utter cock.”

“Not always,” I reply, smirking weakly. “But we don’t love for the logical reasons. We love despite all the illogical ones.”

We fall silent. I enjoy my most sane moment for several minutes. It can disappear anytime.

“I love you.”

I raise my head up. It feels like my heart skips a beat.

His eyes gaze at me with pain I’ve never seen on his face. He almost pants, his arms are unfolded. He’s like a living target. He’s just showed me where to shoot and I stretch my bow, aiming for his chest.

“But you cannot give me the love I want,” I reply, my voice stifled. I finally sigh in exasperation. “We’re far two different. It would be a disaster of a relationship. Can you imagine yourself cleaning our flat every Saturday, planning our wedding, putting our children to sleep? Because this is want I want. But it would only hurt us more.”

“I can change,” he says.

I scoff.

“And that’s the point,” I respond. “I don’t want you to change. I love you the way you are. I love every part of you. But you cannot love me. You couldn’t have loved me before and you can’t do it now.”

“I think I’ve loved you long before,” he says in a weak voice.

I am... sorry. Forgive me.

You can see me.

You do count.

I’ve always trusted you.

Thank you.

The one person who mattered the most.

I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper.

You look well.

I’m worried about you, Molly.

I love you.

I gaze at him almost breathless. I blink and make myself utter a response:

“I love you, too,” I whisper. My eyes fill with tears. “But you cannot make me happy... Sherlock.”

His name tastes sweet in my mouth. I’ve missed saying it. Now I glance at his lips and think about the moments we shared a few minutes ago and back then in the hospital. I could share them with him forever. I would never get bored of him. But there would be times when he would forget about my presence in our flat, when he wouldn’t listen to me, chasing a lead. When he would be lost and I couldn’t find him.

And now... me with my mood swings and moments of insanity striking when the least expected. With my broken mind. Unfixable. Fucked up.

He suffers and this time, I’m the one to blame. I’ve broken the unbreakable man.

“I’ve turned you into something you’ve always hated,” I say. “You’re weak, you’re an easy target. You’re emotional and vulnerable.”

“As I’ve always been,” he replies. “You’re my strength.”

I wince.

“Strength? Sherlock-“

“You’re my strength because you’ve helped me understand myself better than anyone. I’ve never had to pretend with you. And... and back then in Sherrinford, when I realised how much pain I’ve caused you... no one ever has made me realise so much of me with so little words as you have. You are the reflection of my sensitivity. With you, I’m no longer myself.”

He begins to slowly get closer.

“But... But this is my point!” I protest. “It’s not a good thing becau-“

“It is a good thing because... what does it really mean - being myself?” He stops at less than a foot from me and scoffs. “I am myself in every minute of my life. I won’t miss my old self, though. I was a completely blind moron, who couldn’t appreciate people around him. And you’ve managed to look behind this curtain and see the man I am now. You’ve taught me to be who I am now.”

He smiles, lifting only one corner of his lips but he knows. I try to back out and escape his look but I feel that I don’t want to. My body is slowly giving in. It is so warm. It feels so good. I love him so much.

“But the old Molly may be no longer there. I’m a mess now,” I mumble, trying to avoid his gaze.

He cups my face in his palms again and places our foreheads together. I can’t resist. I don’t want to resist. I lose control over my head and I’m not even worried. A pleasant wave of chemicals floods my body and they’re better than any of the antipsychotics I’ve taken in the past nine months. I’m still a mess. I know that Sherlock will regret his decision one day when a switch in my brain goes off and I’ll stand at a rooftop (flashbacks will kill him, though). But I’m tired of trying to be normal.

“So am I. When I found out that Eurus had attacked you... I was both furious and hurt. I was torn. I still feel guilty over the fact that I couldn’t have prevented this and that she could have killed you. I was ready to bring hell on Earth. Maybe you’re a mess... but you’re also somehow a piece of puzzle that’s missing from my messy life.”

I feel the warmth of his breath on my face, the softness of his hands on my cheeks. His curls tickle my eyelids. I so weak.

“Oh, come on,” he whispers, “just give in already.”

I giggle and lose myself completely. I want to scream... but everything I do speaks louder than words.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 4: Winter

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Four: Winter

Note: This will be interesting. It’s not every day that I get to just write like this. Time to spread my wings a little and just dig into this.

-~-

A little more than two years ago…

Blistering cold and exalted, tranquil solitude. 

That was what the small town of Lympha was known for at the time. 

Ever since it had been founded countless centuries prior, people had ventured there to escape the overcrowding, poor living conditions, and noise that came from larger settlements. Most had been looking for an opportunity to live somewhere where opportunities abounded and resources thrived, and those that didn’t succumb to one of the region’s trademark winter storms were likely to discover just what they’d hoped to find.

It was a pilgrimage of sorts to reach the local, even in modern times. For nearly half of the year, the region was consumed by what weary locals had affectionately -or perhaps less affectionately- dubbed the “Bitter Night”, a state of seemingly neverending darkness that came with winter and was unusual given the global location of the secluded town. Thick black clouds shrouded the area in what felt like an endless winter at times, contributing to an unusually high percentage of residents suffering from almost yearlong bouts of seasonal affective disorder. It was as though the small population of fewer than two thousand residents was trapped in the iron grip of a nameless and unrelenting foe with which they hopelessly battled against. There were members of the town that had spent their whole lives there, but the majority left after less than a decade, unable or unwilling to cope with the constant cold darkness.

The silence was also a factor to take into consideration. While the peaceful silence that came with an early morning’s snowfall was something that many had come to treasure in areas of the world that we’re not constantly buried under snow, that could not be said for the residents of Lympha. Most of them were accustomed to leaving their homes for nonessential reasons due to the constant snow, leaving the area almost hauntingly quiet, a fitting backdrop for the heavily wooded fishing hamlet that set nestled between two large black snowcapped mountains, mirrored by the sizeable lake that spanned the distance between them. 

The natural beauty and splendor of the region could not be denied, but that did not change the fact that there was something eery about it that was difficult to put into words properly. Most of the locals avoided the surrounding forests with an almost religious dedication, warning anyone new to the town to do the same. And the longer that they stayed, the quicker they came to the same collective consensus. Most homes were a certain distance from the trees with only farmland bordering the thick, black woodlands. But talk of something wicked residing amongst the trees was rampant, and cattle tended to go missing during the long nights that the town was so accustomed to.

In spite of such obstacles, the small town did prosper. Exports of resources such as fish and cold weather fruit and vegetables fueled a comfortable life for the majority of the residents, and once a year during the coldest, darkest parts of the winter after the fall tourists had long since left and only the boldest locals dared to stay behind, most of the town ventured elsewhere on holiday and basked in the warmth and brightness of less supernatural pastures, savoring in their well-earned funds and taking a break from the ceaseless mists that blanked the region due to its altitude.

Despite the frequent travel, there was only one way in or out of the town. The nearly twenty-mile stretch of winding road that connected the remote village to the rest of the country was the sort of thing that only a fool would dare traverse under the cover of darkness, but it was serviceable for the most part. It had to be to sustain any sort of livable conditions for the town. Keeping it clear of ice and plowed for vehicles to pass was an essential part of the town’s functionality, and everyone felt the anxiety that came with the reality that at least once a year they would end up trapped where they were, unable to leave for any reason.

Most sane, normal people who didn’t call the settlement home avoided the Lympha outside of the fall harvest season, having no reason to go there. And that particular winter, the majority of the town had found no compelling reason to linger, either, leaving to escape what promised to be a bitter, hostile winter. Something was just different in the air that year, and it wasn’t the lingering fog. With the population down to just two hundred intrepid -or perhaps insane- prospectors, the town was essentially shut down, just as it normally was that time of year. And then the silence settled in. Everyone hunkered down and kept warm inside of their homes, only the vague flicker of warm light from inside of their homes giving any indication that the town was not, in fact, totally abandoned, it’s residents finally coming to their senses and writing it off as a lost cause before taking their families and their personal belongings and fleeing to a less spooky local.

But in spite of it all, there had been at least one person in Lympha who was willing to greet the Bitter Night with enthusiasm, a level head, and an optimistic attitude, and that was one of the newest additions of the community. After coming to town to experience the autumn festivities, the young man with the white hair that had whipped the entire town into a tizzy had weighed his options and decided to stay. Solitude had never unnerved V. He was accustomed to it, having spent the vast majority of his life up until then as a resident inside his mind as opposed to that of the physical world in order to escape the reality of the cruel world that he found himself in. But when he’d first traveled there, the silent, almost gloomy nature of the place had ignited something within him that he’d never felt before. To say that he’d felt compelled to stay would be a vast understatement, and there was simply something about the place that put him at ease, even if that ease and that almost tangible presence that he felt so comfortable with did precisely the opposite to everyone else.

He’d managed to find housing relatively easy, all things considered. There were always vacancies out towards the edge of town. No one wanted to live out there anyway, so the prices were considerably lower for much larger dwellings. Strange and unexplained events over the years had gradually pushed everyone towards the center of town leaving farmers to contend with the woods and unlucky landowners with residences that they needed to repurpose. Most were converted into rental properties for curious tourists, but long-term leases were not out of the question on the rare occasion that someone came to town and decided to stay. That had been a lucky break for him.

V realized quickly that he enjoyed taking long walks through the countryside, taking in the smoldering chimneys and feeling the crisp mountain air ghost across his face and through his hair. It wasn’t so much that he loved the cold, it was that he hated the heat with a burning passion, and was more than willing to deal with a few months of brutal cold to avoid it if that meant that the rest of the year was more to his liking. There was something tranquil about the area that put him at ease, and that was something that he treasured at that point in his life. Most people his age were just venturing out on their own for the first time, but he’d been that way his entire life. No, he was looking for something entirely different. A change of pace of sorts while he tried and failed to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life as the mounting pressure he felt from the weight of that decision slowly threatened to drive him insane. He could feel it’s tangible presence at all times, the weight never leaving him and never failing to unnerve him. It was his own darkness more physical than the dark winter that encompassed the town its self despite the fact that it was invisible, and that he knew he had another alternative that he could act upon if this did not pan out for him.

But he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted to devote his life to just yet, so here he was, walking up a lonely road towards the center of town, ready for the time being to clock into his easy-going day job and to then check out of reality for a few hours as he waited pointlessly for customers to come in despite the fact that they rarely did. Gaining employment at the local bookstore had been simple, given his love of books, and it involved minimal amounts of conversation or social interaction since foot traffic was uncommon. He worked open to close for six hours and then went home each day, taking the time in between to catch up on his reading and to contemplate the horrifying serenity that was his reality. What was he to do with himself when he returned to his home later on that evening? Play the violin for a little while? Would he actually cook something this time, or just stand in his kitchen and eat cold food out of a can in his fridge in the dark like the heathen that he was? It was too early to say. After all, he hadn’t reached his place of work yet. But was it so strange to make plans for the end of the day when the day had only just begun?

He found himself absentmindedly gripping the edges of his hood and pulling it down slightly over his face as he passed a few bystanders on the street. He didn’t need to see them to know that they were staring at him as he continued up the street. Practically everyone in every place that he’d ever lived did. In spite of the fact that all he really wanted was to blend in and be left alone by those around him, his stature and unique hair color insured that that possibility was nothing more than wishful thinking.

“Don’t pay them any mind. They aren’t worth it.” He said quietly to himself as he approached the front door of the building, ready to do his quaint day job. The lights in the shop were still out from the night before, and he made a mental note to turn them on before opening the shop this time. He repressed the urge to scold himself for his inability to tune out the world around him, noting that it was not his place to do so. Why should he be made to suffer so for a simple quirk in his DNA that he could neither control nor explain?

At times, there was a part of him that wondered where his extraordinary hair color originated from. Had that been passed down as a result of his parentage, or was it the result of a medical condition he didn’t know he had? Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask either of his parents these questions. Much to his disappointment, he had never had the pleasure of meeting either of his parents, and he had no way of knowing whether or not they were even alive. It was a fact that he lamented, but it was just one of the disheartening realities that he had to come to terms with as a result of being an orphan. The place he’d been forced to call home for the cursory years of his life had no answers for him, at least none that they were willing to share with him the last time that he’d asked, and there was no way he was ever going to willingly return there. No, he’d quite literally prefer death in that scenario. By a considerable margin, if he was being honest. There was nothing but pain for him in that place. That was how it had always been and how it always would be.

He worked to put the matter aside for the time being as he prepared to open the shop. There was a small number of tasks to complete such as checking the shelves for dust and, making sure that everything was accounted for, but nothing too out of the ordinary or difficult. He took off his winter coat and draped it over the counter before tending to his meager duties, absentmindedly contemplating how the rest of the day would go, Would anyone actually come in, or would he be left alone to read again today? He’d finished the book he’d been reading the day before, so perusing the shelves for his new literary obsession was something that he had to look forward to at the very least. He could run across the street to the bakery and grab something for lunch in a few hours. The elderly couple there were welcoming, if not excessively chatty, but they were skilled and he occasionally found humor in their musings. From what he could tell, they were fairly certain that people his age didn’t read anymore, and he was always pleased to know that they were wrong about that and that he could easily prove otherwise if he ever bothered to put that much energy into their words. It was unlikely, though. He didn’t tend to actively give other people that kind of satisfaction, and wasn’t entirely sure why he cared as much as he did. Perhaps it was because they were some of the only people he really interacted with in this town. Or maybe he was just tired of being treated as though he were something inhuman monster by those around him. It was hard to say, in all honesty. Experience hadn’t helped him develop a thicker skin, it seemed.

Pitty.

Before long, he’d finished what little prep work he needed to do, and turned in the direction of the front door. The light switch was by the entrance, and he needed to flip the open sign the right way around before the store could officially accept customers. As he fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater and headed for the door, something unusual caught his eye. The store sat at the center of a Y shaped intersection facing towards the central street. As such, he had a decent view of the central sprawl, at least when it wasn’t snowing like it was today. It was rare to see anyone running around, but that was exactly what had caught his attention. V turned away, not paying much mind to the unusual sight as he reached down to unlock the door. But just as he did, two more figures came running behind the first, gaining on them. He squinted slightly as he tried to make out their approximate ages, something in the pit of his stomach telling him that something about this wasn’t quite right. To his surprised disbelief, his hunch was confirmed as the two figures in black knocked the first individual down face-first into the snow and began to carry them off.

From there, several other bystanders entered his line of sight, all of them seemingly running in a panic as more hooded figures descended upon them and attacked with blunt force weapons such as bats and metal bars. When one man ran outside from one of the local shops and started yelling, the young white haired man immediately recognized him as the bakery owner and questioned why someone his age would get involved in… whatever this horrifying situation was. Clearly, he was trying to help, but what was he hoping to achieve in this scenario?

Before he could give it any further thought, the figure in black produced what appeared to be a thin sword and stabbed the man through the abdomen, knocking him down into the street in full view of the public and the man’s horrified wife, the latter of which was calling out for help in a desperate attempt to try and understand what was going on. The figure looked at her and then violently attacked the elderly man again, never once looking away from her as if to challenge her. He clearly wanted her to be silent, but V was unable to tell whether or not he was telling her as much.

V stepped away from the door, backing away slowly as the streets filled with panicked people, all of which seemed to be fleeing the strangers in black who has descended upon the town like a plage, their intentions unclear but clearly impure, to say the least. In his petrified haste to get clear of their line of sight, V slipped over a small handcart in the isle, earning a glance in his direction. He scrambled behind one of the bookcases just as the individual in black who had been stabbing the old man looked in his general direction, seemingly cheating what had to be certain death.

Horror overtook every muscle in his body as he realized that they were under attack, the impossibility of that reality finally sinking in. He had no idea what could’ve caused this tragic scenario, but that didn’t change a thing. The older man was more than likely dead, something that immediately made V kick himself internally for thinking badly of him just a short while before, but there had to be something he could do about all of this. It didnt take a Ph.D. to figure out that if he stayed where he was any longer, then he would more than likely end up dead. Someone had to get help, and he had to do something to save himself, lest he die at the hands of these mysterious strangers who had come to his quiet little town and painted the white snow-covered streets red with the blood of his neighbors.

V’s veins ran colder than the winter winds as he realized what he had to do. And if he didn’t, he was going to die. There was no time to hesitate. He had to get out of there.

-~-

Hey everyone! I hope you liked this chapter! Getting to explore V’s background a little is going to be interesting, to say the least. I’ll see you all on Friday, but for now, thanks for reading. I hope you’re having a good week! Once again, stay safe out there!

[potterandpreferences]

47 + 52 with Spence? ❤️

Prompt List

I set out to write this as a happy piece and then this happened 🙈 Hope you enjoy it! It's not set in any particular season.

47. What on Earth is that smell?

52. I'm sorry for your loss.

It had been eight days, sixteen hours and twelve minutes since you had last seen Spencer. He was currently on a case, far from local, and it was the longest you had been apart since you had moved in together. You understood that his job was important but it really sucked that despite having the same home address, it sometimes felt as if you were in a long-distance relationship. You had no idea how army wives and husbands did it, because you were reaching levels of stress that were far from healthy and Spencer had only been gone a fraction of a time their spouses were overseas.

As it was you had, for all intents and purposes, started nesting. The winter blankets you'd brought over from your old apartment were divided between the bedroom and the living room sofa, Spencer's pillow became a feature of whichever room you were snuggled up in, and you had cleaned the flat. Extensively.

Unfortunately, you'd run out of things to clean and you were in an upwards, restless phase of your stress cycle. You had to do something, because you couldn't just sit and stare at a clock without your worried thoughts driving you insane.

The best solution you could come up with was the bake. You knew Spencer would be home soon - he'd mentioned they were wrapping the case up the last time you spoke - and maybe he would like a fresh batch of cookies to come home too? It would surely cheer him up. No doubt a case that lasted eight days for the BAU team was horrific. And once you had baked, there would be more to clean.

Now normally, making a batch of cookies would be simple. You'd done it before, even as a child, so you knew perfectly well that biscuits were within the realm of your baking capabilities.

This was not the impression that Spencer got when he walked into the flat that evening. His nose wrinkled even before he crossed the threshold of the front door, the smell of burnt something hanging in the air despite the open windows he could see. But there was something sweet mixed in with the bitter scent, and he was sure he could smell gingerbread.

"What on Earth is that smell?" He called out, in way of greeting. It wasn't what he wanted to come home to, not really, but he was just so glad to see you that it amused him that something had gone wrong in the kitchen more than anything. Of course, that amused grin slipped away the moment he saw you wrapped up in several blankets on the sofa, leaning on the pillows from the bed, eating a tub of your favourite ice cream as tears trickled down your cheeks.

"Oh sweetheart, what's happened?" His tone was soothing, breaking you out of your miserable trance as you noticed for the first time that he was home. You perked up a bit, snuggling into his side as best you could when he perched on the arm of the sofa next to you.

His fingers slipped into your hair, softly massaging your scalp just the way you liked. You ate another spoonful of ice cream before answering his questioning, fighting back a new round of tears.

"I wanted to make cookies but they went wrong, so I tried to make another batch and they got burnt," you sniffled. You really had tried so hard to make a good batch but your attention kept slipping and you couldn't concentrate on what the recipe instructions were.

"When it became clear that cookies weren't gonna work, I bought some gingerbread men from the shop but by the time I got home they were broken. I think the ice cream fell on them," you added, glumly continuing to comfort eat even if the waterworks had stopped.

Spencer knew it wasn't right to laugh - the fact he could see you were wearing one of his cardigans and that your socks were mismatched were indicators enough that you had been particularly stressed and worried while he wad away - but you just looked so young and innocent. If your biggest upset in a day was that the biscuits you'd been attempting to make were burnt then he was a happy man.

"You know my team will always look out for me, right?" He reminded you gently, understanding that your irrational upset had fundamentally been caused by anxiety over him. "They'll always make sure I come home safe. Safer than the gingerbread men, anyway," he teased lightly, pressing a fond kiss to your forehead.

"Being silly," you muttered, pressing your forehead into Spencer's side in embarrassment. He'd been on scores of cases since you first met and you had never gotten this worked up.

Spencer frowned. "Hey, hey. Look at me, Y/N." He waited until your eyes met his, his hands cupping your face tenderly. "It's not silly. I do some stupid things when I get worried about you, too. That time we had a case in D.C. and you were in the city centre for work? I was a mess. Derek had to stop me putting salt in my coffee on more than one occasion and Emily had to double check I was labelling things correctly on the geographical profile."

You giggled slightly at that, enjoying the image of Spencer drinking salty coffee while someone else checked his normally faultless work. No doubt it would be horrendous, especially with the amount of sugar he tended to add, and Emily would love the bragging rights from correcting Robot Reid.

Wanting to change the subject, especially now that Spencer was home and there was no reason for you to be so worried because he was right it front of you, uninjured, you decided to tell Spencer what your biggest concern was in that instance.

"There's no more ice cream," you said, surprised and mildly impressed that you had eaten an entire tub without realising it.

"I'm sorry for your loss," your oh so loving boyfriend replied as he stood up, taking the empty tub to the kitchen. He was happy to move on from the conversation now that you'd stopped crying. Besides, he didn't need to talk about what your currently mental health was like. His profiling skills were for more than just catching unsubs. "I'm sure there's more in the- How many gingerbread men did you buy?!"

[glitterarygetsit]

Hi! I hope you are doing well. I have been following you a long time and I remember you saying awhile ago that you have seasonal depression. I have depression in general but I definitely feel the change of seasons especially when the days are shorter. Do you have any tips for getting through the winter and dealing with seasonal symptoms? I am taking vitamin D but I don't really notice a difference. I have thought of trying one of those therapy lights but am skeptical. Thanks for your time!

Hi! There are definitely things I do, but it’s a constant maintenance process, so I do have a tendency to sulk and not follow my own advice. I’m fortunate that my housemate/best friend/platonic life partner gets on my case when I start doing that, though, so if you have someone you trust to check in with you it really helps. (Some of the things, like meditation and journalling, might be something you can coordinate with a friend to check in with each other about). I’ve ended up with a bundle of tools which I use to varying degrees, and winter is still rubbish, but it feels a lot more survivable than it used to. 

Here are my tips, in order of cost:

1. Have a regular bedtime at a sensible time. Mine is 22:30, although I don’t stick to it perfectly. A really good routine is turning off all screens at 10, getting ready for bed, and reading in bed until no later than 11. I often end up watching TV until 10:30 and then going straight to bed, but I think that’s better than working or messing about online. I think that dark, short days messing with your internal clock is a big part of seasonal depression, so imposing some structure helps.

2. Start and maintain a gratitude or positivity journal. All you need to do every day is make a quick note of things that were positive. (“I went for coffee with Hannah” “My new trousers are super comfy” “I saw a cute bird!”) It takes about five minutes and it really cuts through the bland “everything is awful” mindset that depression tricks you into. Some days it’s harder than others, but I try to write at least three things every day. I currently have this one, but I’ll probably just get a generic mini notebook when I run out of pages. 

3. Practice mindfulness meditation. I started this for anxiety, but if you consistently practice (that’s really important) meditating gives you a lot more control over any kind of overwhelming feeling or emotion. Again, this is something I am bad at doing myself, but if you can manage to set aside ten minutes three times a week or so, it makes it a lot easier to say “okay, time to move on and think about something else” when you’re really low. I started off using the free trial of the Headspace app (which is a good introduction, but I don’t like the guy’s voice and the subscription is SUPER expensive) and now use the Buddhify app (one-off purchase of about $5). I’ve also heard that Insight Timer (free) is good.

4. Using a daylight lamp consistently is helpful, but it can be a pain in the butt if you don’t already have a morning routine which involves sitting in a specific place (e.g. for breakfast or work) where you can set up the lamp. You have to commit to using it daily, for a decent chunk of time (for me 40 minutes was best). I’m not using mine (FYI: this reasonably inexpensive one) at the moment because I’m responding well to my current medication. If I weren’t so lazy and used the damn thing, I’d probably feel even better. It’s hard to tell the difference from day to day when you’re starting out, but after I’d been using mine regularly I could REALLY tell when I hadn’t used it, so I’ll probably go back to using it for a while when it gets really dark.

4a. Daylight bulbs are a related option which mainly help with motivation and energy levels. I put daylight bulbs in my ceiling light year-round, which makes it feel like it’s brighter outsideand tricks me into thinking the days are a bit longer in winter. Make sure you’ve also got regular bulbs in side lamps in the evening, though, or you won’t feel able to get to sleep.

4b. I have never regretted buying my dawn simulator alarm clock, which I got after two years of wanting one but refusing to spend the money. If you have to get out of bed at a set time every morning they’re fantastic–they’re more a “functioning adult” tool than a mood one, in my experience. But I went from having to use half my day’s spoons to pry myself out of bed whilst wailing to just being a regular grump who hit the snooze button once or twice. I kind of wish I’d shelled out for a slightly fancier one so I could use my own music as a wake-up tone, but it’s fine.

5. Medication and supplements can really help. I know that especially for US peeps this can be a ridiculously expensive proposition, but if your objections are based on the idea that medication will make you numb or dull your creative edge or amounts to some kind of failure, and you haven’t tried antidepressants before, please try to put them aside. [EDIT: For the most part, this attitude is perpetuated by people who have never experienced ongoing mental health issues. A friend pointed out to me that some people DO have bad experiences with antidepressants, and in fairness, my own first experience with citalopram made me feel pretty numb! Those are real experiences. But popular culture seems to run with the “pills turn you into a zombie” narrative when other medications have been hugely helpful to me. I’m really glad I didn’t write off medication as a whole based on that first antidepressant. Based on my own experience, I’d say it’s worth experimenting a little if you have a supportive doctor.]

If you cannot access prescribed medication, or the idea of “chemicals” is too intimidating, consider taking St John’s Wort (I am not a doctor, please do your own research! It did, however, work well for me). It’s a herbal remedy which is the first port of call for patients with depression here in Germany, and it has very few side effects (basically: you absolutely MUST NOT take it alongside other SSRIs, it interferes with hormonal birth control, and can make you more prone to sunburn. Always let a doctor know if they prescribe you medications on top of anything you’re already taking).

I took about 1350mg of the over-the-counter stuff for about five years and while it wasn’t a silver bullet, it REALLY took the edge off of my depression when the health service was failing to give me the support I needed. Here is a Cochrane review of 29 studies of St John’s Wort’s effectiveness. Lack of regulation is a bit of a problem in terms of not knowing the strength of what you’re taking, which is why I ended up taking three of the Boots One-a-Day extra strength tablets daily before it made much of a difference. When I got to Germany, my GP here prescribed me 900mg which was just as effective. But as I said, there are barely any side-effects and you’d have to be taking a lot more than that to overdose.

I also find vitamin D helpful, and while I’m taking vitamin B12 because I think I just have low levels of it it does boost energy levels a lot.

6. I’m aware that this one is very privilege-dependent, but if you can–take a holiday somewhere warmer and sunnier. It might be worth bearing this in mind when planning your annual holidays, if your days off/finances are limited. Don’t feel like you need to hold the trip to “awesome holiday” standards–it’s just about getting some sun on your face. Last year my partner and I picked a location based entirely on the weather report and prices not being insane (we had a holiday booked which was cancelled because the airline went under and had to rebook with three days notice) and had a super chill time in Valencia.

Okay, that got super long–I hope it was helpful! Good luck dealing with winter. I’ve had years where I really wondered how I was going to cope with the misery year on year for the rest of my life, but as my coping tools have fallen into place, it’s become easier and easier.

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story 110

I bought a ring. The ring was meant to be a symbol for some newfound understanding that Josh was going to be near and dear to me forever. This was it for me. This was my marriage to him, regardless if he had a ring for me. This ring symbolized my devotion. His existence in my life would comprise within every fragmented atom in my body. I would never give up on him – and doing so would mean a piece of me would die. I couldn't imagine a life post-Josh. I had been lost my whole life, and now I had found what I was looking for and it was time to shut my eyes to everything else and take the plunge

I was I guess, symbolically through this glass ring – cementing a spiritual bond. I knew it was real. I felt it in the air outside of me, but also in me, and in his eyes. He was just slow to admit it to himself, and too stubborn to accept it. I had a curious faith that the winds of change had already set the scene for us. If either of us tried to walk away, no doubt we would accidentally stumble into one another once more. The part of me that had personal misgivings, I let that die. Living a half-love was no love at all, and I knew deep down that I had simply been afraid. I already knew I was trapped, and truth be told I didn't mind so much. There was no turning back now for him or for me. I had a feeling that soon enough, everyone else would be gone. Morally, things were a little hazy. A year ago, I would have been upset. Three or four months ago, I would have resented the morally ambiguous nature of all that had occurred. I had chosen to stop fighting the cruel indifferent universe though. And in so doing, I felt a strange new set of circumstances, and the ability to do more and be more than I had previous thought I was capable of.

I was taking enormous risk with my own psychological well being, but I reasoned that if it wasn't worth dying for, it wasn't love. I was weaving Josh into the fabric of my core existence and he was always on my mind. I am not sure that I had ever done that before, or had ever felt so connected to someone that I really ever could have. Zack had been a dim candle in a dark world, more of a concept than a concrete person. After a time, it had been difficult to really imagine talking to him, and when that finally happened obviously it was a disappointment. But Josh was more. On a pragmatic level, we were pretty in tune. I actually loved him and saw through him and accepted the imperfections. I didn't have to close my eyes with him, no matter how fucked up or disturbing he might be. There was nothing in the world that had ever felt better than to blindly jump off that cliff into the abyss of being in love. Submitting myself to this goal entirely made me for more real than I ever had in my entire life. I felt purpose pulsating through my veins each morning. A great deal of my past just felt either like fodder that I had been obliged to put up with in order to get to this point – worth a laugh at best. At worse I had to concede that the horrors of my youth were now to be understood as the very building blocks that created this set of circumstances that Josh and I should meet. Everything made sense now - I understood. And for a short time, the world made magical sense again.

Whitney and Allison spent more and more time that winter at my mother's house and for the life of me at first, I could not decipher why that was. There was a great mystery to it, and at first I thought it was just to piss Josh off, and anger Josh it did. The house smelled of too many people. It was dirty and there was always piles of filth on the couches so it was difficult and slightly unsettling to search for a reasonable place to sit. Things were sticky and you never wanted to know why. The lighting was painful and disturbingly dim. There was never any good food to eat in the fridge – just boxed mac and cheese mostly, and more often than not someone was fighting with someone else and they wanted to somehow find a way to get you in the middle of it. Whenever I went there, I was reminded of what I had managed to escape from. I am sure an ere of arrogant distance had succumbed to my person. This was no way to live, and for the life of me how could none of them see that? I had always lived through my dreams. There were no dreams in my mother's home. This was a place to decay.

Not that my life in my own room was great of course. I spent longer and longer hours in the dish pit, more time in Zany Graze than is worth mentioning in any memoir and I felt this sick nothingness when I came home smelling like oily food-water at the end of a lonely night. People seemed to like me for my work ethic. Men liked me because they thought I was cute. I related to no one and I felt sad sometimes. I just wanted to get home to Josh. I wanted to see his sparkling eyes happy and eager to see me. There was a lot of manipulation and negativity in the air, and deep down I was dreadfully alone and sad. But at least I was free from my mother and my father's hell. Working full time was worth the sadness and the bleak futureless painful reality of it all. I had at least my own hell to go home to and not theirs.

One day after work, I walked into the living room and was shocked to see someone, the very last person I ever expected to see in our living room, sitting on the couch with everyone else. It was David. He was there with Whitney and Allison – I assume they must have invited him over, and why he had taken them up on the offer I could not imagine. He hated me. Josh was sitting in the corner in his chair in the corner, surveying it all with a silent rageful curiosity. He looked cynical, insecure and a little on edge. David looked nervous. We made brief eye contact. He knew I was weirded out. His eyes were dilated. Something weird was afoot. There was a poised anticipation for my arrival with everyone. Why was my estranged brother sitting in my living room? Had I not left this behind me?

Everyone must have been aware at just how shocked I would be when I walked through the door, though David clearly anticipated it the most. Whitney was smiling ear to ear and for the most part – perhaps the most mindless of the bunch, Allison was the same as ever, looking delightedly oblivious that this set up was odd in only a way that a very naive child can be. Nothing seemed to be really happening, and yet in the dim lit room where I had been living my post-David life, I was taken aback to see him there. The room seemed charged with electricity. What the actual fuck is my estranged younger brother doing in my living room?

I nervously ran downstairs and got changed into my normal clothes. I was panicking a little, but I had somehow acquired the ability to autopilot while I panicked. I washed my face, looked at my own face in the mirror looking back at me knowingly, like the only other friend in the room that understood my confusion and shock, took a deep breath and then ran back upstairs to low-key investigate the situation. It wasn't going to get any better till I at least knew. I pretended to make a sandwich in the kitchen covertly. Josh was clearly feeling insecure about David's presence, that much was apparent to everyone. He felt like he was being challenged in his throne – which I thought was extremely strange. What did Josh have to worry about about my fourteen year old mentally ill little brother? Josh was twenty nine years old. He had a job. This place was practically his to do as he would with it. He was the leader in a sense. I came to the conclusion that Josh was feeling like he had to express his alpha position in the household, for whatever value he must have thought that merited because David was another male – and I hadn't realized up to that point how touchy Josh was about other men. I had only ever seen Josh comfortable around women. I listened timidly from my spot in the kitchen as Josh cynically bragged nervously about his knowledge of Nietzsche in a manner that was pretentious and absurd – an almost self aware practice in the very opposite of humble, and reflecting more on the reality that, like most people who think they understand Nietzsche, he probably didn't understand Nietzsche all too well at all. Which wasn't even important. What did Nietzsche have to do with any of this?

I stuck around to eat the sandwich but the anxiety of sitting in the living room got to me. How was I to respond? Didn't it seem a little insane for me to just sit there like the whole thing between David and I hadn't happened? And furthermore, as much as I liked Josh, he was acting like some intellectual pimp to seem cool and it was pretty embarrassing. I adored Josh. But sometimes in groups of people Josh could be a bit much for me. So I descended back into my lair downstairs. I had seen all I needed to see. Something was up. David would never ever have wanted to come here at all, partly due to anxiety, partly to my presence and all that entailed (I guess) unless there was a strong reason for doing so. What was David's motives? He hardly wanted to see me at our mother's and for him to come into my place where I lived, it was indication of something very strange indeed. And I guess, at least, it wasn't too long before I found out what that something was.

Allison, poor clueless Allison who had been pulled every which way that year in an attempt to find acceptance that she craved more than anyone I had ever known, had finally found out what was happening, but it came all too late. She came into my room and told me one night in shock when she found out. Her eyes were tear streaked. She was unhappy. She was hurt and confused, and maybe felt a bit used. Perhaps maybe somewhat jealous. Whitney had been courting David. She had been going to my mother's house with Allison in the guise that it would be fun to be with Allison, and in fact she was actually using the time to go down to David's creepy basement room and moving in on my very young, very mentally unwell little brother. And poor vulnerable David was of course ripe for the picking. Whitney must have seemed like an angel. Her age was clearly inappropriate, but David's ego would have it be that he was just that 'mature'. Whitney was in her mid twenties. David was fourteen. It was illegal at the time. David was far too underage, too inexperienced and vulnerable. This didn't seem real. It just never crossed my mind as a real thing that could happen. In a way it felt like my history and my future were melding. I didn't know what to make of that aspect of it all. I knew Whitney was delusional and crazy and kind of disrespectful, but this? What the fuck was wrong with Whitney? In my mind, I saw this pairing as so absurd and disturbing and vulgar on Whitney's part. It made me want to puke.

And David was taking the bate. He was young. He had been suicidal for going on six months. He was lonely, ego driven, angry and confused. I had to see this from his perspective. He was alone in that dark evil basement thinking about killing himself. He had simply stopped going to school. For whatever reason Idaho had simply let David's absence from school go even though he had stopped going by age thirteen. And then Whitney had descended down the steps and angelically seen his despair and weakness and she had become enthralled and intrigued and obsessed with him and he was too young to recognize that she was flattering him in the very empty way that Whitney is known for. They shared an interest in Bjork and Whitney had painted him pictures and moved in on him very quietly and quickly. She had an enormous amount of power over him. It was sick. It really was. It played out in her manipulative hands so well. She loved controlling and taking over Allison and David. I thought it strange that I could see through Whitney very early on, but it didn't seem that clear to my siblings.

Allison felt betrayed. She had seen Whitney as her best friend, and hadn't realized that Whitney had angles or hidden intent. Allison wanted so badly to live in a one dimensional world. It was well meant, but a little sickening. Whitney had been part of Allison's tapestry. She didn't see the layers. Didn't know how to look for the layers even if she wanted to. I am sure it was a terrible shock. I had tried to tell her about befriending Whitney, but when I had tried to tell anyone anything people didn't listen anymore and I was growing accustomed to sitting in the corner and simply smiling and letting people fall into the holes I had warned them about. And even when they fell, I still said nothing anymore. It wasn't worth my time. I had my own goals. I felt chosen for something better. Why waste my breath on people who hated me anyway? I felt sick to my stomach about this though – this was another thing altogether. I literally felt like some sick animal was living in my gut, clawing around desperately trying to escape. I couldn't shut this one off. David's life was kind of at risk here. I couldn't stop worrying about it. I knew this was not going to end well – whenever and wherever the end of it happened. This would wreck him in the end. I saw this as something that would perhaps even kill my brother eventually. David was that unstable – and for Whitney not only to disregard the fundamental age gap, but his stability as well... Whitney was sick.

I deliberated on what should be done. Nobody was really on the level anymore. It just seemed like everyone lived in a blur, including me, but I had to take responsibility and take the glasses off now and again. By this point, the concept that I might make people hate me for doing what I knew was the right thing to do didn't even factor into much for me anymore. It was more or less an afterthought. Everything I did or did not do would upset someone. I couldn't let my passions be dictated by the fear of unstable people rejecting me. Let them hate me. Let them despise me. I had accepted that niche identity of not giving a fuck about pissing off the 'group', and how frivolous and pointless it was to even care. Either it was because someone was mad at failing to control me, I reminded them of something they didn't like to be reminded of, or they felt guilty or jealous in my presence, in any case, I had decided to live less apologetically.

I wanted to go through the proper avenues. I guess I hoped there was a chance that Whitney could be made to back off. She had already fallen into various obsessions and love interests and fallen right out in the short time I had known her u to that point. Perhaps she would do the same with my brother if someone with some legal authority stepped in, like one of our parents. So I told my mother as soon as I could before work one day. I came to the house when I knew nobody else was there and I explained the situation in full. She was sitting at her laptop, hiding and listening behind the screen, as I let her know what was happening. I sat neutrally at the kitchen table, and explained the situation, about David and Whitney. She raised her voice and seemed angered that Whitney was doing this, promised to make it stop like some self-assured king that could yay or nay everyone's actions from her corner of the sofa and all would be done beneath her roar, but of course she never did anything of the sort in the end. In the end, she deliberated on Whitney's involvement in David's life, she talked to David about it, and in the end she approved of the 'arrangement'. Mostly, she just wanted to feel like she was benefiting from this.

The next time I talked to my mother, she was completely on board with Whitney and David's relationship. I was the new enemy for having told her – same old family meaningless drama. She had deliberated and thought it out. She told me that she 'liked' Whitney and thought this would be good for David to be taken in by this older woman. She implied that I was jealous of Whitney. She knew it was illegal yes, but she simply 'couldn't see what was to be done about it', and there was some chaotic element to it that she enjoyed I am sure. She believed David would never give up on the Whitney situation – which she did make a point there. Had she stepped in, she would have scared off Whitney, but David would already be damaged by the rejection. He may have tried to kill himself. I suppose it never occurred to her to have a chat with Whitney. My mother was on board with this chaos. I was furious and disgusted with her. I wanted to punch her in the face, but instead I stood there and listened to her ramble her excuses. I smiled politely and left. I suppose I should not have been all that surprised.

I told my father. He was still working at Home Depot still. He was adjusting to his new life after we had gone, and he didn't hide his drinking anymore. He sported a red well drunken face that hid nothing – and it was clear he felt empty and lost in his addiction but quite ready to follow it on to the bitter end. He seemed to have started dressing better for whatever reason. He wore a dress coat and a slouchy beanie, which made very little sense to who I had known him as, but he looked moderately cooler than he ever had when I had lived with him. It was strange to see him dressed this way. He was still the same asshole as ever of course. I didn't let him know much anymore because he seemed truculent when he was given even a little bit of information that he could use against us, but I was hoping that his adult streak would come through in the end as he at times could sometimes be very responsible.

But he was afraid to confront the situation head on too. And I should have known. He deflected responsibility for David and refused to get involved. He blamed my mother and seemed more jealous than anything that my 'mother and David' were buddies rather than him and David. He then proceeded to tell me the entire story of his divorce with her that had long ended well over twelve years ago – that I had heard a million times before, and been there for in fact to see it all happen. He assured me that he was the victim. He didn't want to face the current situation, that an overage woman was taking in his preteen son as her lover. His final say in the matter was grotesque and selfish. He was proud of David for 'bagging' an older woman. His biggest concern for David had simply been that due to David's love of alternative style and music, that David had been gay. Now that he knew David was not gay he could rest easy.

Both of their responses to me were criminal. Both my mother and father should have been tossed in a cell together, left to tear one another apart. It all could have ended very quickly had either one of them had a selfless bone in their body, and actually cared about David's well being. They could have talked to Whitney in person, looked her in the eye and warned her that there would be consequences if she thought she was simply going to 'have David'. Whitney was a coward more or less, and she was prone to being fairly inconsistent. It could have ended so easily then and there. She would have fled had she known there would be consequences. She was banking on the precise indifference my parents readily gave. In a sense, I felt like she was leeching off my family's dysfunction – something I really hadn't ever expected to happen on top of all the other things I had never expected to happen.

It left a heavy load on my shoulders. I would deliberate on what I should do all day at work, and then I would go home and think about it in my bed. I felt the moral dilemma in me churning sickly at all times. It hurt to think that now I was in the situation to make or break David's life. His life was being shaped forever. And nobody was going to do anything about it. If I made the stand, if I talked to the cops, or to Whitney, it would likely backfire. I felt like in the eyes of others I would be seen as an Iago like character from Othello, some scheming sinister cruel outsider who wanted nothing more than to destroy my brother as an act of jealousy. My mother was outright letting Whitney and David's relationship proceed – she was complicit in the crime. If I turned Whitney in, I would be turning in my mother as well – she had gotten very involved almost as soon as I had warned her.

Turning in my mother was something I had decided I would be ready to do. It hurt, really it did, but so much of her's and my father's life had been getting away with so much. They had caused so much damage. This could be the reckoning they deserved, and maybe a cathartic personal stance against their ways that had sort of wrecked me. I could divide myself off from my family forever – I really felt that disconnected. I loved my mom and the idea of seeing the hurt and shock and fury in her eyes did haunt me, but the idea of David's pain and future haunted me more. I could love her behind bars too, I reasoned. I was almost ready to move ahead with this plan. I would contact the police and turn everyone in. It felt like my mother was pimping my brother out. Essentially she kind of was.

But I didn't go through with the plan in the end. Where would that leave Maria's kids? They were living with my mother. If my mom got into trouble, the state would take them away. They would probably go somewhere bad. That would mean that Jasmine, Chantelle, JT and Ian would be sent away to another foster family – likely far away. I remembered the Smith family who lived next door to Ava in high school. I might never see them again. After all they had been through, they didn't deserve that. This should never have to fall on their shoulders

And I guess I was afraid. I felt complicit as well. Everyone I knew was complicit. Josh and I were the most anti Whitney David couple, but in the end we also complied. Nobody was ready or willing to turn Whitney in. It was hard to see her as a criminal I guess. She seemed in some ways, clueless. Perhaps she was. My parents clearly didn't see the pedophilic nature of Whitney's position with David as a problem – they saw her as an overgrown teenager. They saw Whitney as being David's age. They just fundamentally didn't see a problem with David being taken in by a woman well in her twenties. I couldn't guarantee that I was doing the right thing. I didn't know up from down anymore. Perhaps with all the other developments that had taken place over the course of the year, this was just one of those ugly inevitabilities, like WW1 or small pox. Should I fight against the universe? I felt like I had been fighting against the universe for a long time. I was tired. I was tired of trying to uphold decency in my family. I was tired of caring about everyone, tired of being everyone's moral compass. I just wanted to know myself, and I realized the more and more I knew myself, the less pure I was deep down. Who was I ultimately to say that none of this was not meant to happen?

So much of that whole year had been me reestablishing my morals – and being confused about right and wrong. I felt lost. I felt like the world made no sense and there was a cold and treacherously indifferent nature to the moral ambiguity of this situation and every other that came before and after. I wanted very much to find some core truth – find that golden thread of valued and meaning. I wanted to fight for something big, but when I closed my eyes the only thing I could feel really was this aching self knowing and this intense awareness of Josh. Some kind of external balance in the universe that would sort us all out in the end. We'd all fallen out of order, but gravity would put us all in our places eventually, for better or worse. And if that balance would eventually come, I wanted it to come soon. But I knew that in the mean time, I had to survive this empty and intense obsessive reality I was in. And there were so many battles in life I was not going to win. And what about my life? Was this the balance?

Maybe this was in some ugly way, the universe balancing things. How ugly, but David and Whitney, what if they were made to be together and me trying to be a good samaritan and end their relationship was actually the very nonsense that made this all happen to begin with. I looked back, and I could honestly stem all these situations I was now living in, my core identity, back to seeing Zack in the summer of 2003 by store, his long blonde hair on his teenage version head blowing in the wind. Had I not been in FFA with Zack, perhaps David and Whitney would not be running away together. When I thought about it more and more, the more I realized that I had unwittingly created this entire situation. This was on me. And trying to be some kind of hero, or some kind of cop in this situation wasn't going to just get me out of it. I had opened the door to the chaos.

I hated feeling so powerless. It had been criminal that our lives had come to this place to where it all had fallen on my head and I had to consider the gray in it all. A decent parent would have shooed Whitney away. But we were alone. Or perhaps everyone was alone, and morals were always gray, but for some fortunate people, they never had to fully question themselves. Someday, I knew on the outskirts of my awareness, David would understand how wrong and sick this had all been. That bothered me the most. Someday, when the tide came in, when we were two different people reshaped by our experiences and the decisions of today, we would look at one another and we would know. He was too young to see it now, but he would later. I knew that. I wanted so much to reach and talk to that incarnation of David – a version of him that was the age I was then, a young man that had some understanding. But he wasn't here yet. David was a ball of hatred now, more or less still a child. He was totally consumed by Whitney, and he had the approval of our mother and father. And Whitney was the only good thing in his life – it was impossible for him to understand otherwise. He would at this point never understand if I legally took recourse against them. And he might never understand.

Furthermore, I had to realize that if I took legal action against Whitney and David, my family would turn against me. For all my good intentions, nobody was going to back me up. They would cover it all up to save themselves, to save my mother's involvement, to save Whitney from the repercussions. Even Josh and Allison might turn against me. I had to see that in a realistic way. I didn't wield the biggest sword. If I made that move, there would be moves made against me. I didn't have the strength to fight anymore. I was starving in my room, I was lovesick half the time, I was miserable and sad after work in a way I didn't even know was possible. I could think lofty thoughts, but I knew I would break if everyone ganged up on me, regardless if I really cared or not anymore.

I knew my word against several other people's word might really mean nothing. It would be my word against theirs. And at this point Whitney and David could just be called friends. There was nothing illegal about Whitney talking to David after all. They could deny everything else. And Whitney seemed so sweet. I doubted judges or juries would look at her blonde self and want to put her behind bars. She wasn't what you would typically associate with a pedophile, with her blonde hair in pig tails and her big green eyes with long lashes. She seemed middle to upper class. It would be her and everyone else we knew against my word. I knew that. Nobody actually wanted to see Whitney incarcerated for having sexual relations with a minor, not even me. I just simply wanted her to get away from David. Unless I had concrete proof though, then nothing legally could actually be done. And it was doubtful that the state of Idaho was going to care about this, considering they didn't seem to bother with the fact that David had quit school three years before it was legal to do so. Idaho didn't care about people like David or me.

Having to morally step down from doing the right thing in this situation was one of the most difficult aspects of life I had to balance within myself and it permanently broke me a little bit. I woke up everyday feeling evil. Eventually it just became a part of who I was. I felt continuous guilt and shame. To this day I still struggle, after the struggle has long since died. I felt like I had to swallow a cold solid stone. It felt wrong and it choked me, and I felt and knew myself to be a weak person for not being willing or able in the end to actually go through with what needed to be done. I failed myself. And in the end Whitney and David's relationship was left to proceed without my having lifted a real finger to end it.

Josh kicked Whitney out soon after. For Josh, I think it was a double edge sword. He was at the grips of his manic depression and everything he was doing that winter seemed unhinged. He had been obsessed with Whitney all over again. He simply seemed like a man who was losing his mind. I was growing to understand that part of loving someone complicated and unwell like Josh in particular, was that things would not always be fun for me. I loved him and respected him and I would follow him into the abyss, it would be exciting and intriguing. I would grow and benefit in strange ways from knowing him. But he would not make me happy in the traditional sense. And maybe that was better. A life full of happiness is generally not the life of the artist. Josh brought the chaos out of me, the ugly and beautiful stuff that made my life meaningful. I would not always enjoy or agree with his behavior. But I wanted to be on the other side of the vale with him just the same, when the rest of the world was hostile. I wanted to protect him. I was committed and when I looked into his eyes, it was as though it had only ever been him. There was no past or history for me. Perhaps it had all been an illusion. My selfhood seemed shaky. And there was a strange brilliance and clarity, and vulnerability in Josh that I never found in anyone else. How could I ever leave this?

He would stomp around. I would come into the kitchen and find broken glass everywhere. I would hear him leave the house at one in the morning, which I later learned that Josh had a gambling addiction and was spending all the money he had and didn't have. He hadn't paid the electricity bill in months. There was a certain silent rampage with Josh that's hard to explain unless you knew him. He was rarely ever violent or loud, but you could feel his rage consume everything in the room when he was mad. I was particularly sensitive to it. Eventually I gained an inner thermostat to what he was feeling, before he even got home sometimes. I just knew his internal workings better and better. He'd passive aggressively lash out at us all – though of course my Cromwellian tendencies kept me safer than everyone else.

He and Whitney would fight the most. That was all the did anymore. Nobody wanted to chill and watch Saturday Night Live anymore. I could never tell if he was responding more to the inappropriate situation of Whitney and David's relationship and to some moral code that it was horrible and wrong – which he did seem more aware of than anyone else at the time, or if he was simply jealous that a younger man had come in and taken what was 'his' – which I was simultaneously aware was gross and stuff, but also I had a strange sympathy for. Maybe it was both. He was going crazy, and I didn't feel like I could really communicate with him at the moment, mostly because I needed my time to digest this new turn of events.  But I wasn't going to leave him. At any cost I would never do that.

Whitney at first planned on moving with her father after Josh kicked her out, but then she ended up staying with David at Wes's. It was development I would not have imagined in a million years. Had someone explained this scenario to me when I had been thirteen and Whitney had been that cute cheerleader a year older than me who was Zack's older sister – that my little brother who was just about seven years my junior, would be who he was and they would be living together in one of my mother's client's houses while he was in the nursing home, and Sarah was pregnant with Zack's baby and we weren't really friends anymore, and I loved Melissa from my class's older brother Josh and we lived together in a house in Clarkston, I wouldn't have believed it. Life had just become too fucking weird. But in that chaos it was almost as though something calm was at the center of it. I realized I had become kind of strange throughout the last several years. I was able to use chaos around me to balance myself out – and I found relief in that, even as it involved a lot of self reflection and risk taking. It was a full time job for me to use insanity around me to create sanity. When people were losing it around me, it was then that I felt most calm and most in control.

What actually messed me up was the quiet times and the strange chaotic energy that I had inside of me that caused me to self sabotage. I found that I was less impulsive while all this was going on. I didn't need to yo yo between eating and sticking my finger down my throat. I could just eat less than I previously thought I had been capable of. So I stopped making myself throw up, and just pushed myself to starve harder. I killed the bulimia I was developing and went into anorexia. But in the eyes of everyone around me, being thin gave me more value. I saw more value in myself when I looked into the mirror.

David spent one more time in the madhouse before Whitney and eventually everyone left. I wasn't there for most of it, but I guess what happened was, Whitney kissed David in Allison's bedroom, and Josh had decided for some reason to go outside the house like a freak and watch this happen from a window. He then confronted David in the kitchen later that evening and told David that Whitney would cheat on him like she had all her other boyfriends. David resented it and hated Josh for then and forever.

I was getting ready for work later that day, and I walked past Whitney's bedroom door which was open. David and Whitney were cuddled up together watching some Flaming Lips video Whitney had sitting around. David gave me eye contact – the first time we had really looked one another in the eye since early spring. He looked lost in love and confused, but highly aware at the same time. It was surreal to me, and horrifying. David wasn't even fully grown yet and seeing Whitney, fully grown with David was disturbing in the weirdest way. It lay somewhere between seeing something so baffling you want to laugh in horror, but at the same rate you want it dead. But attacking it only made it stronger. Because I knew at this point that nobody was going to stop this. I would have no support. I believe Whitney saw herself as a teenager – I could see that in her face. I think her obsession in fact with staying young had been part of David's appeal for her. She had a child for a boyfriend. In a way she thought it made her a child as well. She felt she could suck his youthful essence from him and have it for herself.

The last fight I was ever around with Whitney and Josh before she left, Josh was trying to tell Whitney that she was never worth anything to him, and that he would replace her. It was so absurd that I momentarily had troubles imagining why I thought this guy was attractive. I guess he was just hurt. He put on this outdated polo shirt that he probably went to bars in back in the late nineties, and he made out like he was going out to 'find Whitney's replacement'. It was unstable, and absurd and if I hadn't cared about my own living situation, it was kind of funny in a gross way. Josh looked so stupid in that polo shirt.

Whitney screamed at Josh that if he really wanted to replace her with anyone, it should be me. She yelled at him that he had already replaced her with me, and as far as she was concerned, it felt sometimes like we were already dating. Like we were already a couple. It was so strange to hear her say it. Everyone felt that when Josh and I were around one another. Even when he prioritized Whitney, even when I quietly sat back, it always came down to him and I, and I hadn't been so crazy after all for having realized it early on. Allison and Whitney knew. Josh and I knew. Things were happening so fast. I had not anticipated this. I sat in the stairwell listening to all this go down. Josh didn't deny it, which put me in an awkward position. They didn't know I was listening. I awkwardly hopped into my bedroom to contemplate and be alone.  Later on, Josh came to my door. He was still wearing the polo shirt. He seemed confused. He asked me if there was anywhere I needed to go. I wanted to say yes, but the truth was, Lewiston and Clarkston were lame. There was nowhere for us to go. So I told him I was fine. I guess it was a bad move on my part. I was turning him down. But it didn't feel natural. I felt like Josh was talking to me because Whitney had suggested it. I didn't feel like I had the control that I needed. I needed Josh to love me so much that I drew him to me and he wouldn’t leave me alone, not at the whim of the idiot girl he pined over who wasn’t me.

PART 109 - https://tinyurl.com/ydyc2p95

PART 108 - https://tinyurl.com/y8n3xvnb

PART 107 - https://tinyurl.com/y8uyusr7

PART 106 - https://tinyurl.com/ycqhlqsy

PART 105 - https://tinyurl.com/ybjvm23b

PART 104 - https://tinyurl.com/yauo5f78

PART 103 - https://tinyurl.com/yblwsv3p

PART 102 - https://tinyurl.com/yc5m3cq7

PART 101 - https://tinyurl.com/yafyhse2

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-100 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-100

[parksabre]

Writers and Romance

Logic is emotional. Emotions are difficult to prove in verifiable equations. The abstract has too many unsolvable and unknown variables. But the invisible experience and the intangible ideas are very romantic to people who enjoy extremely high concepts that provoke curiosity into a spiralling obsession that can only be quantified with metaphors.

When I was a very young child, I had a very ominous and tragic dream. It was my first encounter into a visual metaphor for the abstract.

Basically, I was the center of gravity in a black hole and I fell into a pure white vacuum with a solid black shape that kept transforming from triangles to squares.

I still have no idea what made me cry at the end of the dream because it was strangely moving and tragic.

I woke up with the feeling that someone I loved had just died. But there was only an abstract representation of the cycle of life represented with solid black shapes in a pure white vacuum. This is why I hate anything pure white. Because it’s just scary how it amplifies death and grief and pain and suffering and torture. It’s also why I don’t enjoy the ritual of weddings. It is very disturbing for me to see the bride wear pure white and the groom to typically wear solid black.

Tim Burton’s film The Corpse Bride was terrifying for me to endure watching even if it was cinematically beautiful and even romantic.

Pure white has always represented death, embodied by the corpse who needs a covering even in the grave.

Black has always been the colour to hide the fact that the living mingle with death.

And the wine has always symbolically been represented with poison, while the bread is well known for being the flesh of the murdered.

The theme of the film is that you need to die to live again.

How can this stop motion animated film be suitable for children?

I watched this as a child and was extremely terrified to the extent that I was afraid of the night — and of winter — for many years. I even developed seasonal depression because I felt suffocated in darkness, which was a kind of emotional claustrophobia. That’s when I developed anxiety because I was easily paranoid. I didn’t know if I was living or dead. And I hated that my imagination was playing tricks on me.

I turned to religion to cope with emotional disturbances because I wanted to believe that even if I died, I’d be okay. But even religion is a lie that someone made up to cover up an even worse deception. So what is real and what is not real?

More specifically, how can the abstract be so moving that I cry from emotions I don’t even understand from a level of logic I simply cannot decode?

Logic and emotions are both crypts. The heart and the mind are at war and they don’t want me to know how to help them solve their conflicts. So they keep confusing me with many interpretations of logic and with many overlapping emotions that mix together into a tempestuous ocean that runs through my veins — and I have a mental breakdown. I simply cannot handle hypocrisy and relativity.

When there are too many options, the abstract will always torture me.

It is romantic to be allowed into non-existence to learn how to empathise with the unknown. But it is terrifying when you don’t know how to get out of the abstract and to live in the real world. Because the real world requires you to feel those emotions that you buried and your logic also gets hurt because it doesn’t like to be misunderstood. Living requires the courage to face the fear of the unknown without escaping into the abstract to dull the pain and the confusion.

I ran away from reality for many years because I couldn’t prove the logic was emotional. So when everyone said I was mentally ill, I suddenly got angry and decided to take revenge. That’s romantic, isn’t it? To take revenge on the entire world for treating you like you are an idiot? By proving with both emotions and logic that they deserve to be locked up in an asylum?

Let the insane battle over who is not insane.

That’s what the abstract would do now that we have some kind of understanding.

[rhenal]

Hello again

Wow, it’s been a year now since i last posted anything here. I’m still alive, if anyone is still here at all to care. Um. Last post I did was about the status of my mental health, so I guess a follow-up would be prudent, no?

So now it’s official. I have both Aspergers and ADHD. I thought it was just ADD, but no. The hyperactivity aspect is something I very much have. It’s just that it doesn’t manifest physically - it simply manifests mentally in that my mind is always everywhere at once - that my train of thought manifests more like a puppy on its first snow day than like an actual train.

I’ve been on antidepressants for 13 months now, but I’ve only really felt any real effect from them for the last month and a half as I finally got to change med type. The first type barely helped and gave me nightmares two nights out of three, but those things were small and irrelevant enough for me to it really bring it up until now. Because for all that time, I have been searching for and adjusting to ADHD meds as well, and you only want to sort through one set of side-effects at a time. Turns out I’m really sensitive to side effects, so finding the right type and dosage took a long time, and I’m not certain that the one I’m on now is the best choice still. 

I’m still on full-time sick leave for burnout, since February 14th last year. Currently it will last until the end of August, then we’ll reevaluate from there. Hopefully I can start studying again by that point, if only at 50%.

Turns out, it takes a really long time to recover from a bout of burnout that has had five entire years of buildup. 

So what am I doing now? Mostly just being useless. Restless but without the energy to do anything about it. I barely eat these days, and my sleep cycle is just completely nonexistent. See, in large part due to aforementioned double-whammy of Aspergers and ADHD, my capacity for self discipline is basically nil. With me being on sick leave, I have nothing that forces me to get up and do stuff. There is no reason other than my own health to get up in the morning.

Add to that the fact that both my current antidepressants and my ADHD meds lower my appetite. I do not get hungry anymore. I just get tremors in the late afternoon when I’ve forgotten to eat all day. I can go entire days where I am never ever hungry, and when I finally manage to make something to eat and force myself to just eat it dammit, I can barely get half the meal down.

My doctor has actually advised me to eat small snacks through the entire day to make up for it. You know, the thing that you’re usually heavily discouraged from doing? :’)

In conclusion, my daily life is kinda shit. I’m doing what I can to get better at it all, even going to group therapy every week, but it feels like a Sisyphean effort. 

I’m too burnt out to study or work, but without study or work, I can’t really recover properly. It’s one real bastard of a catch 22.

I’d move back home, but that’s not really an option. Not now that the family’s got a much smaller apartment. I’d have to live on the couch, in a living room with no possible way of real privacy. And I’m an introvert. I am really fortunate to have a family as loving and supportive as I do, and I love them dearly - but I NEED my space. When I went there over the winter holidays, just those two and a half weeks I was there was enough to suck me completely dry of energy. 

If anyone has any advice, I’d love to hear them. Because I need them desperately.

So well. That’s where I am now. 

[garbling thought-vomit about social issues and the failings of tumblr as a community below. Probably best ignored.]

So, why’d I disappear from Tumblr? Should be obvious. The state of my mental health is bad enough without having to deal with the constant anxiety of dealing with this social network. The nonexistence of nuance and the total intolerance of anything even remotely problematic. And the idea that if you like anything that has any problematic aspects in it at all, that means YOU are problematic and are to be ashamed.

It’s actually a really hostile environment for creatives. 

The pressure to be perfect and totally 100% inclusive at all times with not a nanometer’s space for human error or honest mistakes, the attitude that ‘if you’re not perfect 100% of the time always you are EVIL AND BAD AND SHALL BE SHUNNED FOREVERMORE’. 

The attitude a lot of Tumblr seem to have that the only things you are ever allowed to write or otherwise portray are essentially self-portraits because if you haven’t personally experienced it you should never ever write it ever. Kinda makes it impossible to even try to do properly inclusive work for fear of getting even a single minute detail wrong. It’s actually really really fucking hostile and I hate hate hate it. Like, I keep seeing creators of all kinds - writers, artists, cartoonists, animators and game devs alike try their very hardest to make something as inclusive and culturally diverse as they can, only to be rewarded with heaps upon heaps of abuse from Tumblr users just because they weren’t 100% perfect in every single aspect, or that their efforts were seen as ‘virtue signaling’ and are only doing it to make themselves look good and that is false and sin and to be PUNISHED.

It’s like the reward for trying your best to make something that everyone can enjoy without feeling left out is only hate and vitriol. 

(All the while creators who do not care about inclusivity at all get perhaps but a mere fraction of this abuse, I might add. It’s pretty fucking insane when you think about it.)

It’s suffocating.

And it’s total fucking bullshit.

People make mistakes. 

People change. 

And people can absolutely grow from those mistakes and be better. 

But Tumblr as a community keeps fostering this attitude that if you have ever said or done anything even remotely wrong on any level, regardless of the context or how long ago it was or how much better you have grown to be since then, once an uninformed or unthinking statement - accidental or not - always a racist. Or homophobe. Or transphobe. Or ableist. Or any kind of -ist or -phobe imaginable.

I’ve been very fortunate to not really have had to endure any witch-hunt personally, but I saw them happen all the time. And it just. Well. I got really fucking tired of it, and it further worsened my mental health by quite a lot. I just cared too much that I couldn’t stop ranting about it in my head. Sometimes for days.

So I left.

Why am I back? Honestly, I have no idea. I guess I still have a lot of thoughts about things and I’ve been really isolated this last year, so I just need a place where I can put them.

I intend to go on a bit of a purge of the blogs I follow and start with a zero-tolerance policy for witch-hunting bullcrap and other drama. 

See, I have a pretty simple, straightforward moral code. It’s often difficult to follow, due to the human brain working as it does with it’s shitty, garbage, garbage ‘us vs them’ mentality, but it is something I intend do always strive for.

No one should ever be judged for that which they can not control

Ever. That includes the entire spectrum of skintones, every single possible gender identity, sexuality, romantical affiliation, neuropsychiatric status - normal or otherwise, physical condition, place of birth, state of family or culture they grew up in. Or anything else I can think of.

No one picks the toolbox they’re born with. All that should ever matter to anyone is what they build with it.

Fuck jokes about skin colour - ANY skin colour - it’s tacky and only serves to further strengthen the idea that they somehow make people fundamentally different, and that idea can get set on fire and shot into the sea. 

Yes, there are absolutely issues with the culture surrounding differences in levels of melatonin. White people like myself carry a lot of privilege in the west, and darker skinned people of all kinds absolutely do face a lot of unjust treatment in the world. No matter what country in the world you are in, that place’s “default” - how I detest that unfortunate consequence of the human brain functioning as it does - will always carry a strong privilege compared to those who do not fit that default.  But it’s all cultural. There’s nothing inherent in looking any certain way that dictates a person’t being. It’s all the norms and values of the culture they were raised in - and cultures change. It’s slow. It’s difficult. But it is absolutely a worthwhile struggle, is it not?

And, maybe a reasonable path to changing a culture to be more inclusive is to maybe not constantly call attention to such differences? Because that only strengthens the idea that the trait pointed out is ‘other’ - not part of the ‘normal’. 

And we want to widen the definition of normal to include all of us. Right? That’s pretty much this entire community’s mission statement, isn’t it?

I’m thinking that simply acting like a trait is normal, that it’s not something that’s even worth calling attention to, does a lot to normalise that trait. To help it be included within the definition of normal. 

Maybe I’m wrong. But I don’t think I am.

And then there’s the whole thing with white guilt/cultural shame or pride or any somesuch. I have thoughts. Probably pretty controversial thoughts. So I’m preparing myself for pitchforks.

Feeling shame or guilt over whatever hand you drew in the grand lottery of genetical happenstance is just really fucking stupid. That much should be thoroughly established by now. But the thing is, so is feeling pride, for the same reason. You did fuck all to affect what you got. The deeds of your ancestors have nothing whatsoever to do with you. 

You don’t get to choose your toolbox. You can only choose what to do with it.

It feels kind of weird to condemn cultural pride as a concept like this, but I do. I really honestly do. Because it’s dumb. Incredibly hard to drop, absolutely - most of us are fed with it since birth, after all - but it’s still dumb. I mean, what on earth did anyone do to earn the culture they grew up in? Nothing. Because it’s entirely out of your hands.

Treasure your culture, absolutely! Revel in it. Learn all you want and can and strive to carry it forth to the next generation, and to teach anyone who wishes to listen. Absolutely do! Take pride in your accomplishments. Take pride in what you do to carry your culture forth into the future. Take pride in what you help others accomplish. Take pride in what you do to raise public awareness of the reality of your culture. Or your sexuality. Or gender identity. Or any other aspect of your being that is being woefully misrepresented somewhere.  But don’t take pride in simply being what you are. 

Because that’s just part of the completely random toolbox you got at birth - a toolbox you could not have possibly chosen any part of.

Taking pride OR feeling shame over things that you had no hand in is something you have no right or reason to do.

Never judge anyone - not even yourself - by what they have. Judge only by what they DO with what they have.

These thoughts have all been spawned by my time on tumblr. It’s a community that wants to be progressive and inclusive, but is much too often anything but. It’s all complaining, all vitriol, all salt, all echo chambers fostering this kind of thinking. Very little, if any, actual attempts at working towards real improvement.

I remember seeing a comic that circulated some time ago. About equality vs equity. There were these three kids standing by a fence, trying to watch a game of some sport or another taking place at the other side. They were all different height. 

In the equality picture, all three kids got a box to stand on, of equal size.

In the equity picture, they got a different amount of boxes, making it so all of them could see over the fence.

But there was a third picture. One rarely included. 

This picture adressed the fence itself. It swapped the wooden fence to a wire fence. One that all three kinds could see the game through, without any need of boxes.

That’s the kind of world I’d much rather live in. One where the barrier itself is adressed. Where there is no need for boxes to stand on. 

Yet all anyone can really, truly do, is do as Michael Jackson said, and start with the man in the mirror.

We can complain. We can decry. We can wallow. But it’s all for naught if we don’t then step up and act on it.

I'm sick and tired of the ceaseless complaining without action and the oppressive feeling of helplessness fostered here. I want to actually DO something to help the world be better. And if I’m not in a position where I can help personally, I can at least reach out to those in a position to do so.

This is why I donate to charity whenever I can afford it, despite my miniscule budget of a university student on sick leave with a lot of medical fees.

This is why I endeavor to always smile to strangers, be they the retail worker at the checkout, a simple passerby or the cold beggar on the street.

This is why I am always eager to share what I know with people who may need it, be it pointers about mental health or simply how to patch up a torn pair of pants.

All minuscule, inconsequential acts in the grand scheme of things. But it’s something. It’s my small straw, pulled to the anthill. Makes me feel just a little tiny bit less helpless about all the terrible things in the world.

Because even if it’s something small, it’s better than doing nothing. Far better than simply complaining and wallowing about a problem without ever following it up with action.

I don’t even know what I’m on about anymore. I should probably stop writing. Get something to eat. Go to sleep. Bye for now, then.

[thatcoysmile]

I just removed the reblog from the poster before to preserve their privacy. The breadth and depth of the sea from which this beast came forth is beyond my ability to fathom fully without losing days to my saddness and self loathing so I will be succinct:

**this is my young life before ED**

-my grandparents always talked about dieting (they provided a large portion of my raising as a child) and the types of diets they were on. I saw them weighing themselves on the balance scale in their basement often and it became a ritual were "let's go and get weighed!"

- my mother has what I realize more and more as an insanely bad relationship with food. She took the dieting I saw as a young child and made it REAL as a teenager and I was encouraged to be doing the diets with her. All the different diets. All the time switching between the diets. Nothing ever gets solved with the diets so MORE AND DIFFERENT AND HARMFUL RESTRICTIONS AND DIETS

**somehow I still haven't internalized an eating disorder, then I go to college**

- I achieved well. I had relationships. I was engaged at one time. The engagement got botched because he was newly in the military and afraid and it got weird and then he married one of my friends six months later.

- I had a new relationship. It turned out to be a nine year relationship. It was insanely abusive after he sustained a major brain injury in a car accident. I spent eight years of my life waiting for the man I loved to come back

**NOW I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER **

I didn't even think of it as a disorder. No-one asked me anything. No-one expressed concern. No-one sat me down and had a talk with me. I just felt sad and hopeless and trapped and so I just stopped eating and because every night was a fight for my life that I kept behind closed doors it lead me to a desperate point of abandon. I eventually just told myself "alright. I'm just going to keep becoming small. I just deserve to disappear. I'm going to die." no saddness here now. Just acceptance.

I made everyone a gift for winter holidays that year. Because I didn't think id be around for the next one.

There was no recovery. There was no councilling. There was no concern. I had to get a job at a horse farm and gain 20 lbs myself before my mother would even say anything to me and then SUDDENLY she became OBSCESSED. Asking me all the time what I weigh. Grossly embarrassing me by suddenly caring now that it looks like I'm getting better.

And it never stopped. I eventually left the person that abused me, and I have had to deal with my mother obscessing over my weight ever since. I was sixty pounds heavier -- technically overweight on anyone's scale -- and she is still talking about diets and SHE KNOWS THAT I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER NOW and she just. Won't. Stop. It makes me sad because I have extreme anxiety about seeing her now that I'm down into a healthy weight range again. I hide my body in clothes. I sweat the entire morning I know she is coming up. I try and curate my behavior to steer clear of talking about food. It's shallowed the relationship I wish we could have had.

And now that I am concerned for her it isn't important or valid. All that matters is her quack "doctor" she keeps seeing (who is telling her to do dangerous levels of restriction and suppliment taking but that's a different rage).

I'm relapsing again. Nothing in my life has any control. I have been injured in the workplace and have undergone two surgeries and I still can't live a life in basic dignity. At first it was my injury that kept me home and now I can't leave the home because of the pandemic. I have been home alone for one whole year now. I don't know how long I'm going to have to be alone for. I cannot explain to you how long that loneliness is and how deep into my soul it has carved.

So there ya go.

Hello, pls read

My grandma is a psychoanalyst and has studied an0rexia a lot for a very long time, however she still wonders the what the cause or trigger is. She has theory’s that it’s due to abuse or a way to cope with abuse or having a poor mother figure.

Anyways, I want to do some research of my own (I won’t tell her because I’d be exposing myself) and what better place to ask than tumblr! ... ha ha

so if it’s not too difficult rb this and let me know <3

[shanedakotamuir]

Watchmen wants us to know one thing: We’re all being used by those with power

Looking Glass seems to have a very full life. | HBO

The show delves into Looking Glass’s past — and revisits one of the most memorable moments from the comic.

After playing footsie with the original Watchmen comic for four weeks, the new TV show’s fifth episode — “Little Fear of Lightning” — dumps us straight into one of the comic’s most famous moments: the “interdimensional” squid attack on New York that kills 3 million people and does grave psychic damage to even more.

The event, as those who’ve read the comic know, is a plot cooked up by Ozymandias to avoid nuclear war and maybe bring about world peace. Known to the public as an “attack” by beings from another dimension, it manages to bring the US and USSR closer together, leading to the version of America we see in the series, where the Robert Redford administration is nearing its 30-year anniversary but where the tensions of the Cold War no longer seem relevant to the world at large.

As we learn in “Little Fear of Lightning,” it’s a deep, dark secret, held closely by a very small few, that the squid didn’t come from another dimension but was instead manifested right here on Earth. And among the people who were affected by its arrival are Steven Spielberg (who made a very Schindler’s List-esque movie about the squid) and our own Looking Glass, who narrowly escaped death at the squid’s nasty tentacles as a teen, then saw his life scarred by having been so close to such a devastating occurrence.

Just like Watchmen’s third episode, “Little Fear of Lightning” is a character showcase, following Looking Glass for nearly its entire running time. (We check in on Adrian Veidt briefly, and he does seem to be in space, spelling out a message using all of the corpses he’s been generating. This show!) But “Lightning” tells a darker and sadder story about what it means to live in a world where you survived an experience that’s roughly as rare — and even more likely to kill you — as being struck by lightning. It’s about survivor’s guilt. But it’s also about realizing that the world is built atop a lie.

To dig further into that theme, I (Vox critic at large Emily VanDerWerff) am joined by Vox associate culture editor Allegra Frank and culture writer Constance Grady to break down “Little Fear of Lightning,” from the Seventh Kavalry to James Wolk’s inherent shiftiness to squids galore.

Times Square: Now with 100 percent more squid

HBO

Looking Glass takes off his mask for a bit.

Emily: In the build-up to director Zack Snyder’s 2009 adaptation of Watchmen for the big screen, all involved agreed to change the ending of the original comic. Despite a slavish faithfulness to the comic’s images (if not exactly its themes) in the rest of the film, it was thought that a giant squid landing in Times Square would be too much for people to process. Instead, the movie suggested that Doctor Manhattan had created some sort of energy pulse that leveled much of Manhattan, thus necessitating his move to Mars.

It honestly wasn’t a bad story shift — it gave Doctor Manhattan a more easily understandable motivation to bail on Earth, at least (if you, for some reason, believe a godlike blue man would have understandable motivations, which I might quibble with). But I’m so, so happy the squid (Squidley? Squidward? Squidbert?) exists in the world of HBO’s Watchmen to destroy this fictional version of New York. True to the spirit of this project, “Little Fear of Lightning” writers Damon Lindelof and Carly Wray (another The Leftovers alum) and director Steph Green pull out resonances with the 9/11 attacks but also the ways we use pop culture to process these sorts of horrors.

What’s most notable, however, is how the opening flashback makes viewers feel the sheer gutting horror of that moment and how it would have reverberated in the decades to come. Allegra: I don’t know how spoiled you are on the comic, but how did you feel about the squid? Was it a bridge too far for you, as the movie’s creative team feared it would be for their 2009 audience? Or are you going to share a recipe for delicious calamari with me, so excited are you by the prospects of a giant cephalopod?

Allegra: I’ve become increasingly “spoiled” on the original Watchmen comic in my weeks-long quest to grasp what’s happening on the TV show. So I was aware of the squid attack — but only in the abstract. This week’s episode visualized what I interpreted as a very bizarre method of mass destruction and proved how terrifying that kind of experience could be.

The cold open rendered a young Looking Glass the equivalent of that classic horror movie trope, the Final Girl: He’s a teenage boy thrust into a situation where he could possibly lose his virginity, but the moment never comes to bear. His sexual anxiety, and the virginal purity that, in horror movies at least, establishes him as a rare moralist, ends up saving his life in the end. Looking Glass finds himself alone after a devastating, sudden, inexplicable mass casualty.

This scene helped to ease me, the sensitive viewer, into the idea of the squid attack because we saw only the aftermath and not the act of the killing itself. It’s still a shocking moment and a horrifying image to see hundreds of dead bodies lying on the ground, but I don’t think the scene veered too far into the ostentatious, as HBO has made no effort to hide how disturbed the show’s version of 2019 Tulsa is.

And on a plausibility level, that all those deaths were the effect of a squid that apparently came from another dimension doesn’t quite phase me — five episodes in, a squid attack feels normal enough for Watchmen, despite its inherent absurdity. It’s the impact of the attack that is meaningful, sculpting Looking Glass into the lonely, sexually repressed man we’ve come to know in the episode’s contemporary storyline.

On the inherent shiftiness of James Wolk

HBO

Yes, we’re aware this is technically Jeremy Irons right beneath a subhead about James Wolk.

Constance: I’m coming into this show pretty unspoiled. All of my knowledge of the comic comes from the time a friend who read it 10 years ago summarized it for me, and I came away with a vague understanding of something something giant squid, something something blue penis. But even with minimal knowledge of the comic, the squid attack still lands; it’s a moment of pure Lovecraftian horror, and I absolutely buy that it would traumatize Looking Glass forever. Which only makes it all the more heartbreaking when he realizes that this horrific event that has shaped his life forever was a lie.

The other big reveal this episode comes when we find out that James Wolk’s affable gentleman senator Joe Keane is the leader of the Seventh Kavalry, and that he apparently saw his leadership as half of a partnership with the now-dead Judd as the chief of the police. For me, that twist wasn’t exactly surprising, but it was immensely satisfying, because it’s such a good use of Wolk’s inherent shiftiness.

Maybe it’s because I’m most familiar with Wolk from his role as Mad Men’s Bob “NOT GREAT” Benson, but anytime I see him onscreen, I feel incapable of trusting him. (Well, I trust him to inspire some truly iconic gifs, but that’s it.) Or maybe it’s because he’s so handsome: it only stands to reason that anyone with a face that symmetrical has to be hiding something. (Incidentally, this is why I think Armie Hammer is going to be great as Maxim De Winter in the forthcoming Rebecca. Obviously he has something to hide, because why else would he be so tall?) Regardless, I’ve been slowly going insane watching him slither around the sidelines of every Watchmen scene with his good ol’ boy accent and his Kennedy-lite posture, so the reveal that he is the man behind the curtains of the Seventh Kavalry is fantastically gratifying.

But the reveal is also thematically compelling, because it gets at an idea that seems fundamental to the Watchmen universe: The state and the terrorists are in on everything together. They are run by the same self-interested billionaires who think of the rest of us as their pawns and turn us against each other for their own purposes. All of the systems are corrupt, and escaping them is nearly impossible. All we’re left with is individuals trying to do their best to survive in a broken world.

Allegra, how did the Seventh Kavalry reveal work for you? Do you think there’s any possibility for hope left in the Watchmen world?

Allegra: Before I answer your question, I have to say your read on James Wolk (and Armie Hammer!) has deeply wounded me. But maybe that’s because you’re right about him — I can’t help but trust a beautiful man like Wolk’s Senator Keene when he wants me to believe he’s on the side of justice. That smile! That perfectly combed hair! Those bright, twinkling eyes! I’m a superficial goon, is what I’m saying, easily manipulated by pretty boys.

As such, Keene’s connection to the Seventh Kavalry gutted me. I yelled at my screen as he and other men and women we’d thought were good guys pulled off their Rorschach masks. How is it that so many of the people we’ve gotten to know in Tulsa deceived Angela, Laurie, and Looking Glass so easily and so totally? Their involvement is evidence that Adrian Veidt’s giant squid attack was not an end-all, be-all, but instead the impetus for decades of selfish behavior on the part of uncaring rich men looking to gain control over an unsuspecting public with dwindling resources.

But I don’t think that necessarily dictates a hopeless situation going forward. For starters, tying the Seventh Kavalry reveal to Looking Glass’s storyline — he being a survivor of this sort of selfish behavior in the truest sense — offers the kind of motivation that should undoubtedly empower those who do remain on the side of good.

This mass destruction via cephalopod, whether or not it was justified in the service of preventing a nuclear war, has all kinds of ramifications — from Looking Glass walking out of that carnival hall of mirrors to find hundreds of dead bodies, to Angela learning that her closest friend and mentor was never supporting her cause in the first place. These are devastating truths, but they’re also ones that I very much expect to embolden our heroes in this otherwise nihilistic world.

What about you, Emily? Do you think Looking Glass will find he power within him to share Veidt’s secret about the squid attack with Angela and company?

Will Looking Glass even survive, tho?

HBO

Laurie and Looking Glass have a chat.

Emily: Before this episode, I wasn’t sure if Looking Glass was one of my favorite characters because he was so inherently compelling, or because Tim Blake Nelson is such a terrific actor. After this episode, I feel comfortable saying: It’s both.

The shattered quality that young Looking Glass carries out of that hall of mirrors moves forward with him into the current Tulsa timeline, and it’s the same shattered quality that is a major part of why he betrays Angela at episode’s end. To be sure, the Seventh Kavalry has revealed to him that much of his life has been based on a lie. But instead of telling his friend about this lie, he betrays her.

Before this episode aired, one of our colleagues was talking about how they didn’t want to see Looking Glass revealed as a secret racist. But what “Little Fear of Lightning” does with the character is almost sadder. Looking Glass isn’t an overt racist. He knows enough to say “woke” things like “He was a white man in Oklahoma” when Angela finds that KKK hood in Judd’s closet. But he’s also bound to something terrible by dint of who he is. In the complicated logistics of Watchmen’s plot, that terrible something is a conspiracy to keep the wool pulled over the world’s eyes.

But on a metaphorical level, the story plays as a muted horror movie about trying to do the right thing and still being roped in with the worst kinds of people because of how structural power works. Which is to say: Watchmen remains a show about whiteness, and Looking Glass is perhaps the most potent example of how you can be a truly kind and compassionate human being and still have a lot to answer for, including stuff that you maybe weren’t even aware of.

That’s what’s so provocative about the Seventh Kavalry being rooted in a truth. One of the details of the original Watchmen that makes me so uncomfortable is that Rorschach — the violent sadist and borderline fascist — is ultimately right about a lot of what he’s saying. It’s just that his methods (secrecy and paranoia) distort the narrative so much that he ceases to be someone worth emulating. He even ceases to be a reliable narrator, despite the fact that he’s often telling the truth.

But this season has revolved around twin secrets buried and kept away from those who most need to know them. The Seventh Kavalry revelation has the most immediate bearing on the plot — in that yes, other characters should probably know who was responsible for that squid attack — but the Tulsa massacre has the most immediate bearing on us in the audience, where words like “massacre” have only recently been applied to what history has often dubbed as a “race riot.” Buried secrets fester and become infected. But we can’t help but bury secrets.

At any rate, maybe Looking Glass won’t have to worry about any of the above much longer. As “Little Fear of Lightning” ends, a whole host of Seventh Kavalry gunmen are entering his house, seemingly to kill him. I hope he makes it through. After all: He’s played by Tim Blake Nelson, and it’s a delight to see him on our screens every week.

Constance: Looking Glass really is a fantastic character because he’s such a good example of how you can be both complicit in oppressive systems, and also the pawn of people with a lot more power than you have.

Looking Glass is obviously being used, and he knows it. He’s been used his whole life, arguably first by the church that sent him out into the world as a teen missionary, then by Adrian Veidt and his squid, then by Judd and the Tulsa police force, and now by Keane and the Seventh Kavalry. He’s a man whose superpower is being able to tell when someone is lying to him, but he has still spent his life being lied to and manipulated by all the people and all the systems that he trusted in.

And by extension, so have most of the other people in the Watchmen universe, including Angela and Laurie. And by further extension, so have we. So the question then becomes: What do we do when we learn that we are being used?

Looking Glass responds by deciding to let Keane and the Seventh Kavalry use him. He doubles down on his complicity. What we have yet to see is how the rest of the characters in this world will react to the idea that the people they trust are using them as pawns — and whether this world allows for the possibility of breaking free of your complicity all together.

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/2Ol79dB

[corneliusreignallen]

Watchmen wants us to know one thing: We’re all being used by those with power

Looking Glass seems to have a very full life. | HBO

The show delves into Looking Glass’s past — and revisits one of the most memorable moments from the comic.

After playing footsie with the original Watchmen comic for four weeks, the new TV show’s fifth episode — “Little Fear of Lightning” — dumps us straight into one of the comic’s most famous moments: the “interdimensional” squid attack on New York that kills 3 million people and does grave psychic damage to even more.

The event, as those who’ve read the comic know, is a plot cooked up by Ozymandias to avoid nuclear war and maybe bring about world peace. Known to the public as an “attack” by beings from another dimension, it manages to bring the US and USSR closer together, leading to the version of America we see in the series, where the Robert Redford administration is nearing its 30-year anniversary but where the tensions of the Cold War no longer seem relevant to the world at large.

As we learn in “Little Fear of Lightning,” it’s a deep, dark secret, held closely by a very small few, that the squid didn’t come from another dimension but was instead manifested right here on Earth. And among the people who were affected by its arrival are Steven Spielberg (who made a very Schindler’s List-esque movie about the squid) and our own Looking Glass, who narrowly escaped death at the squid’s nasty tentacles as a teen, then saw his life scarred by having been so close to such a devastating occurrence.

Just like Watchmen’s third episode, “Little Fear of Lightning” is a character showcase, following Looking Glass for nearly its entire running time. (We check in on Adrian Veidt briefly, and he does seem to be in space, spelling out a message using all of the corpses he’s been generating. This show!) But “Lightning” tells a darker and sadder story about what it means to live in a world where you survived an experience that’s roughly as rare — and even more likely to kill you — as being struck by lightning. It’s about survivor’s guilt. But it’s also about realizing that the world is built atop a lie.

To dig further into that theme, I (Vox critic at large Emily VanDerWerff) am joined by Vox associate culture editor Allegra Frank and culture writer Constance Grady to break down “Little Fear of Lightning,” from the Seventh Kavalry to James Wolk’s inherent shiftiness to squids galore.

Times Square: Now with 100 percent more squid

HBO

Looking Glass takes off his mask for a bit.

Emily: In the build-up to director Zack Snyder’s 2009 adaptation of Watchmen for the big screen, all involved agreed to change the ending of the original comic. Despite a slavish faithfulness to the comic’s images (if not exactly its themes) in the rest of the film, it was thought that a giant squid landing in Times Square would be too much for people to process. Instead, the movie suggested that Doctor Manhattan had created some sort of energy pulse that leveled much of Manhattan, thus necessitating his move to Mars.

It honestly wasn’t a bad story shift — it gave Doctor Manhattan a more easily understandable motivation to bail on Earth, at least (if you, for some reason, believe a godlike blue man would have understandable motivations, which I might quibble with). But I’m so, so happy the squid (Squidley? Squidward? Squidbert?) exists in the world of HBO’s Watchmen to destroy this fictional version of New York. True to the spirit of this project, “Little Fear of Lightning” writers Damon Lindelof and Carly Wray (another The Leftovers alum) and director Steph Green pull out resonances with the 9/11 attacks but also the ways we use pop culture to process these sorts of horrors.

What’s most notable, however, is how the opening flashback makes viewers feel the sheer gutting horror of that moment and how it would have reverberated in the decades to come. Allegra: I don’t know how spoiled you are on the comic, but how did you feel about the squid? Was it a bridge too far for you, as the movie’s creative team feared it would be for their 2009 audience? Or are you going to share a recipe for delicious calamari with me, so excited are you by the prospects of a giant cephalopod?

Allegra: I’ve become increasingly “spoiled” on the original Watchmen comic in my weeks-long quest to grasp what’s happening on the TV show. So I was aware of the squid attack — but only in the abstract. This week’s episode visualized what I interpreted as a very bizarre method of mass destruction and proved how terrifying that kind of experience could be.

The cold open rendered a young Looking Glass the equivalent of that classic horror movie trope, the Final Girl: He’s a teenage boy thrust into a situation where he could possibly lose his virginity, but the moment never comes to bear. His sexual anxiety, and the virginal purity that, in horror movies at least, establishes him as a rare moralist, ends up saving his life in the end. Looking Glass finds himself alone after a devastating, sudden, inexplicable mass casualty.

This scene helped to ease me, the sensitive viewer, into the idea of the squid attack because we saw only the aftermath and not the act of the killing itself. It’s still a shocking moment and a horrifying image to see hundreds of dead bodies lying on the ground, but I don’t think the scene veered too far into the ostentatious, as HBO has made no effort to hide how disturbed the show’s version of 2019 Tulsa is.

And on a plausibility level, that all those deaths were the effect of a squid that apparently came from another dimension doesn’t quite phase me — five episodes in, a squid attack feels normal enough for Watchmen, despite its inherent absurdity. It’s the impact of the attack that is meaningful, sculpting Looking Glass into the lonely, sexually repressed man we’ve come to know in the episode’s contemporary storyline.

On the inherent shiftiness of James Wolk

HBO

Yes, we’re aware this is technically Jeremy Irons right beneath a subhead about James Wolk.

Constance: I’m coming into this show pretty unspoiled. All of my knowledge of the comic comes from the time a friend who read it 10 years ago summarized it for me, and I came away with a vague understanding of something something giant squid, something something blue penis. But even with minimal knowledge of the comic, the squid attack still lands; it’s a moment of pure Lovecraftian horror, and I absolutely buy that it would traumatize Looking Glass forever. Which only makes it all the more heartbreaking when he realizes that this horrific event that has shaped his life forever was a lie.

The other big reveal this episode comes when we find out that James Wolk’s affable gentleman senator Joe Keane is the leader of the Seventh Kavalry, and that he apparently saw his leadership as half of a partnership with the now-dead Judd as the chief of the police. For me, that twist wasn’t exactly surprising, but it was immensely satisfying, because it’s such a good use of Wolk’s inherent shiftiness.

Maybe it’s because I’m most familiar with Wolk from his role as Mad Men’s Bob “NOT GREAT” Benson, but anytime I see him onscreen, I feel incapable of trusting him. (Well, I trust him to inspire some truly iconic gifs, but that’s it.) Or maybe it’s because he’s so handsome: it only stands to reason that anyone with a face that symmetrical has to be hiding something. (Incidentally, this is why I think Armie Hammer is going to be great as Maxim De Winter in the forthcoming Rebecca. Obviously he has something to hide, because why else would he be so tall?) Regardless, I’ve been slowly going insane watching him slither around the sidelines of every Watchmen scene with his good ol’ boy accent and his Kennedy-lite posture, so the reveal that he is the man behind the curtains of the Seventh Kavalry is fantastically gratifying.

But the reveal is also thematically compelling, because it gets at an idea that seems fundamental to the Watchmen universe: The state and the terrorists are in on everything together. They are run by the same self-interested billionaires who think of the rest of us as their pawns and turn us against each other for their own purposes. All of the systems are corrupt, and escaping them is nearly impossible. All we’re left with is individuals trying to do their best to survive in a broken world.

Allegra, how did the Seventh Kavalry reveal work for you? Do you think there’s any possibility for hope left in the Watchmen world?

Allegra: Before I answer your question, I have to say your read on James Wolk (and Armie Hammer!) has deeply wounded me. But maybe that’s because you’re right about him — I can’t help but trust a beautiful man like Wolk’s Senator Keene when he wants me to believe he’s on the side of justice. That smile! That perfectly combed hair! Those bright, twinkling eyes! I’m a superficial goon, is what I’m saying, easily manipulated by pretty boys.

As such, Keene’s connection to the Seventh Kavalry gutted me. I yelled at my screen as he and other men and women we’d thought were good guys pulled off their Rorschach masks. How is it that so many of the people we’ve gotten to know in Tulsa deceived Angela, Laurie, and Looking Glass so easily and so totally? Their involvement is evidence that Adrian Veidt’s giant squid attack was not an end-all, be-all, but instead the impetus for decades of selfish behavior on the part of uncaring rich men looking to gain control over an unsuspecting public with dwindling resources.

But I don’t think that necessarily dictates a hopeless situation going forward. For starters, tying the Seventh Kavalry reveal to Looking Glass’s storyline — he being a survivor of this sort of selfish behavior in the truest sense — offers the kind of motivation that should undoubtedly empower those who do remain on the side of good.

This mass destruction via cephalopod, whether or not it was justified in the service of preventing a nuclear war, has all kinds of ramifications — from Looking Glass walking out of that carnival hall of mirrors to find hundreds of dead bodies, to Angela learning that her closest friend and mentor was never supporting her cause in the first place. These are devastating truths, but they’re also ones that I very much expect to embolden our heroes in this otherwise nihilistic world.

What about you, Emily? Do you think Looking Glass will find he power within him to share Veidt’s secret about the squid attack with Angela and company?

Will Looking Glass even survive, tho?

HBO

Laurie and Looking Glass have a chat.

Emily: Before this episode, I wasn’t sure if Looking Glass was one of my favorite characters because he was so inherently compelling, or because Tim Blake Nelson is such a terrific actor. After this episode, I feel comfortable saying: It’s both.

The shattered quality that young Looking Glass carries out of that hall of mirrors moves forward with him into the current Tulsa timeline, and it’s the same shattered quality that is a major part of why he betrays Angela at episode’s end. To be sure, the Seventh Kavalry has revealed to him that much of his life has been based on a lie. But instead of telling his friend about this lie, he betrays her.

Before this episode aired, one of our colleagues was talking about how they didn’t want to see Looking Glass revealed as a secret racist. But what “Little Fear of Lightning” does with the character is almost sadder. Looking Glass isn’t an overt racist. He knows enough to say “woke” things like “He was a white man in Oklahoma” when Angela finds that KKK hood in Judd’s closet. But he’s also bound to something terrible by dint of who he is. In the complicated logistics of Watchmen’s plot, that terrible something is a conspiracy to keep the wool pulled over the world’s eyes.

But on a metaphorical level, the story plays as a muted horror movie about trying to do the right thing and still being roped in with the worst kinds of people because of how structural power works. Which is to say: Watchmen remains a show about whiteness, and Looking Glass is perhaps the most potent example of how you can be a truly kind and compassionate human being and still have a lot to answer for, including stuff that you maybe weren’t even aware of.

That’s what’s so provocative about the Seventh Kavalry being rooted in a truth. One of the details of the original Watchmen that makes me so uncomfortable is that Rorschach — the violent sadist and borderline fascist — is ultimately right about a lot of what he’s saying. It’s just that his methods (secrecy and paranoia) distort the narrative so much that he ceases to be someone worth emulating. He even ceases to be a reliable narrator, despite the fact that he’s often telling the truth.

But this season has revolved around twin secrets buried and kept away from those who most need to know them. The Seventh Kavalry revelation has the most immediate bearing on the plot — in that yes, other characters should probably know who was responsible for that squid attack — but the Tulsa massacre has the most immediate bearing on us in the audience, where words like “massacre” have only recently been applied to what history has often dubbed as a “race riot.” Buried secrets fester and become infected. But we can’t help but bury secrets.

At any rate, maybe Looking Glass won’t have to worry about any of the above much longer. As “Little Fear of Lightning” ends, a whole host of Seventh Kavalry gunmen are entering his house, seemingly to kill him. I hope he makes it through. After all: He’s played by Tim Blake Nelson, and it’s a delight to see him on our screens every week.

Constance: Looking Glass really is a fantastic character because he’s such a good example of how you can be both complicit in oppressive systems, and also the pawn of people with a lot more power than you have.

Looking Glass is obviously being used, and he knows it. He’s been used his whole life, arguably first by the church that sent him out into the world as a teen missionary, then by Adrian Veidt and his squid, then by Judd and the Tulsa police force, and now by Keane and the Seventh Kavalry. He’s a man whose superpower is being able to tell when someone is lying to him, but he has still spent his life being lied to and manipulated by all the people and all the systems that he trusted in.

And by extension, so have most of the other people in the Watchmen universe, including Angela and Laurie. And by further extension, so have we. So the question then becomes: What do we do when we learn that we are being used?

Looking Glass responds by deciding to let Keane and the Seventh Kavalry use him. He doubles down on his complicity. What we have yet to see is how the rest of the characters in this world will react to the idea that the people they trust are using them as pawns — and whether this world allows for the possibility of breaking free of your complicity all together.

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/2Ol79dB

[timalexanderdollery]

Watchmen wants us to know one thing: We’re all being used by those with power

Looking Glass seems to have a very full life. | HBO

The show delves into Looking Glass’s past — and revisits one of the most memorable moments from the comic.

After playing footsie with the original Watchmen comic for four weeks, the new TV show’s fifth episode — “Little Fear of Lightning” — dumps us straight into one of the comic’s most famous moments: the “interdimensional” squid attack on New York that kills 3 million people and does grave psychic damage to even more.

The event, as those who’ve read the comic know, is a plot cooked up by Ozymandias to avoid nuclear war and maybe bring about world peace. Known to the public as an “attack” by beings from another dimension, it manages to bring the US and USSR closer together, leading to the version of America we see in the series, where the Robert Redford administration is nearing its 30-year anniversary but where the tensions of the Cold War no longer seem relevant to the world at large.

As we learn in “Little Fear of Lightning,” it’s a deep, dark secret, held closely by a very small few, that the squid didn’t come from another dimension but was instead manifested right here on Earth. And among the people who were affected by its arrival are Steven Spielberg (who made a very Schindler’s List-esque movie about the squid) and our own Looking Glass, who narrowly escaped death at the squid’s nasty tentacles as a teen, then saw his life scarred by having been so close to such a devastating occurrence.

Just like Watchmen’s third episode, “Little Fear of Lightning” is a character showcase, following Looking Glass for nearly its entire running time. (We check in on Adrian Veidt briefly, and he does seem to be in space, spelling out a message using all of the corpses he’s been generating. This show!) But “Lightning” tells a darker and sadder story about what it means to live in a world where you survived an experience that’s roughly as rare — and even more likely to kill you — as being struck by lightning. It’s about survivor’s guilt. But it’s also about realizing that the world is built atop a lie.

To dig further into that theme, I (Vox critic at large Emily VanDerWerff) am joined by Vox associate culture editor Allegra Frank and culture writer Constance Grady to break down “Little Fear of Lightning,” from the Seventh Kavalry to James Wolk’s inherent shiftiness to squids galore.

Times Square: Now with 100 percent more squid

HBO

Looking Glass takes off his mask for a bit.

Emily: In the build-up to director Zack Snyder’s 2009 adaptation of Watchmen for the big screen, all involved agreed to change the ending of the original comic. Despite a slavish faithfulness to the comic’s images (if not exactly its themes) in the rest of the film, it was thought that a giant squid landing in Times Square would be too much for people to process. Instead, the movie suggested that Doctor Manhattan had created some sort of energy pulse that leveled much of Manhattan, thus necessitating his move to Mars.

It honestly wasn’t a bad story shift — it gave Doctor Manhattan a more easily understandable motivation to bail on Earth, at least (if you, for some reason, believe a godlike blue man would have understandable motivations, which I might quibble with). But I’m so, so happy the squid (Squidley? Squidward? Squidbert?) exists in the world of HBO’s Watchmen to destroy this fictional version of New York. True to the spirit of this project, “Little Fear of Lightning” writers Damon Lindelof and Carly Wray (another The Leftovers alum) and director Steph Green pull out resonances with the 9/11 attacks but also the ways we use pop culture to process these sorts of horrors.

What’s most notable, however, is how the opening flashback makes viewers feel the sheer gutting horror of that moment and how it would have reverberated in the decades to come. Allegra: I don’t know how spoiled you are on the comic, but how did you feel about the squid? Was it a bridge too far for you, as the movie’s creative team feared it would be for their 2009 audience? Or are you going to share a recipe for delicious calamari with me, so excited are you by the prospects of a giant cephalopod?

Allegra: I’ve become increasingly “spoiled” on the original Watchmen comic in my weeks-long quest to grasp what’s happening on the TV show. So I was aware of the squid attack — but only in the abstract. This week’s episode visualized what I interpreted as a very bizarre method of mass destruction and proved how terrifying that kind of experience could be.

The cold open rendered a young Looking Glass the equivalent of that classic horror movie trope, the Final Girl: He’s a teenage boy thrust into a situation where he could possibly lose his virginity, but the moment never comes to bear. His sexual anxiety, and the virginal purity that, in horror movies at least, establishes him as a rare moralist, ends up saving his life in the end. Looking Glass finds himself alone after a devastating, sudden, inexplicable mass casualty.

This scene helped to ease me, the sensitive viewer, into the idea of the squid attack because we saw only the aftermath and not the act of the killing itself. It’s still a shocking moment and a horrifying image to see hundreds of dead bodies lying on the ground, but I don’t think the scene veered too far into the ostentatious, as HBO has made no effort to hide how disturbed the show’s version of 2019 Tulsa is.

And on a plausibility level, that all those deaths were the effect of a squid that apparently came from another dimension doesn’t quite phase me — five episodes in, a squid attack feels normal enough for Watchmen, despite its inherent absurdity. It’s the impact of the attack that is meaningful, sculpting Looking Glass into the lonely, sexually repressed man we’ve come to know in the episode’s contemporary storyline.

On the inherent shiftiness of James Wolk

HBO

Yes, we’re aware this is technically Jeremy Irons right beneath a subhead about James Wolk.

Constance: I’m coming into this show pretty unspoiled. All of my knowledge of the comic comes from the time a friend who read it 10 years ago summarized it for me, and I came away with a vague understanding of something something giant squid, something something blue penis. But even with minimal knowledge of the comic, the squid attack still lands; it’s a moment of pure Lovecraftian horror, and I absolutely buy that it would traumatize Looking Glass forever. Which only makes it all the more heartbreaking when he realizes that this horrific event that has shaped his life forever was a lie.

The other big reveal this episode comes when we find out that James Wolk’s affable gentleman senator Joe Keane is the leader of the Seventh Kavalry, and that he apparently saw his leadership as half of a partnership with the now-dead Judd as the chief of the police. For me, that twist wasn’t exactly surprising, but it was immensely satisfying, because it’s such a good use of Wolk’s inherent shiftiness.

Maybe it’s because I’m most familiar with Wolk from his role as Mad Men’s Bob “NOT GREAT” Benson, but anytime I see him onscreen, I feel incapable of trusting him. (Well, I trust him to inspire some truly iconic gifs, but that’s it.) Or maybe it’s because he’s so handsome: it only stands to reason that anyone with a face that symmetrical has to be hiding something. (Incidentally, this is why I think Armie Hammer is going to be great as Maxim De Winter in the forthcoming Rebecca. Obviously he has something to hide, because why else would he be so tall?) Regardless, I’ve been slowly going insane watching him slither around the sidelines of every Watchmen scene with his good ol’ boy accent and his Kennedy-lite posture, so the reveal that he is the man behind the curtains of the Seventh Kavalry is fantastically gratifying.

But the reveal is also thematically compelling, because it gets at an idea that seems fundamental to the Watchmen universe: The state and the terrorists are in on everything together. They are run by the same self-interested billionaires who think of the rest of us as their pawns and turn us against each other for their own purposes. All of the systems are corrupt, and escaping them is nearly impossible. All we’re left with is individuals trying to do their best to survive in a broken world.

Allegra, how did the Seventh Kavalry reveal work for you? Do you think there’s any possibility for hope left in the Watchmen world?

Allegra: Before I answer your question, I have to say your read on James Wolk (and Armie Hammer!) has deeply wounded me. But maybe that’s because you’re right about him — I can’t help but trust a beautiful man like Wolk’s Senator Keene when he wants me to believe he’s on the side of justice. That smile! That perfectly combed hair! Those bright, twinkling eyes! I’m a superficial goon, is what I’m saying, easily manipulated by pretty boys.

As such, Keene’s connection to the Seventh Kavalry gutted me. I yelled at my screen as he and other men and women we’d thought were good guys pulled off their Rorschach masks. How is it that so many of the people we’ve gotten to know in Tulsa deceived Angela, Laurie, and Looking Glass so easily and so totally? Their involvement is evidence that Adrian Veidt’s giant squid attack was not an end-all, be-all, but instead the impetus for decades of selfish behavior on the part of uncaring rich men looking to gain control over an unsuspecting public with dwindling resources.

But I don’t think that necessarily dictates a hopeless situation going forward. For starters, tying the Seventh Kavalry reveal to Looking Glass’s storyline — he being a survivor of this sort of selfish behavior in the truest sense — offers the kind of motivation that should undoubtedly empower those who do remain on the side of good.

This mass destruction via cephalopod, whether or not it was justified in the service of preventing a nuclear war, has all kinds of ramifications — from Looking Glass walking out of that carnival hall of mirrors to find hundreds of dead bodies, to Angela learning that her closest friend and mentor was never supporting her cause in the first place. These are devastating truths, but they’re also ones that I very much expect to embolden our heroes in this otherwise nihilistic world.

What about you, Emily? Do you think Looking Glass will find he power within him to share Veidt’s secret about the squid attack with Angela and company?

Will Looking Glass even survive, tho?

HBO

Laurie and Looking Glass have a chat.

Emily: Before this episode, I wasn’t sure if Looking Glass was one of my favorite characters because he was so inherently compelling, or because Tim Blake Nelson is such a terrific actor. After this episode, I feel comfortable saying: It’s both.

The shattered quality that young Looking Glass carries out of that hall of mirrors moves forward with him into the current Tulsa timeline, and it’s the same shattered quality that is a major part of why he betrays Angela at episode’s end. To be sure, the Seventh Kavalry has revealed to him that much of his life has been based on a lie. But instead of telling his friend about this lie, he betrays her.

Before this episode aired, one of our colleagues was talking about how they didn’t want to see Looking Glass revealed as a secret racist. But what “Little Fear of Lightning” does with the character is almost sadder. Looking Glass isn’t an overt racist. He knows enough to say “woke” things like “He was a white man in Oklahoma” when Angela finds that KKK hood in Judd’s closet. But he’s also bound to something terrible by dint of who he is. In the complicated logistics of Watchmen’s plot, that terrible something is a conspiracy to keep the wool pulled over the world’s eyes.

But on a metaphorical level, the story plays as a muted horror movie about trying to do the right thing and still being roped in with the worst kinds of people because of how structural power works. Which is to say: Watchmen remains a show about whiteness, and Looking Glass is perhaps the most potent example of how you can be a truly kind and compassionate human being and still have a lot to answer for, including stuff that you maybe weren’t even aware of.

That’s what’s so provocative about the Seventh Kavalry being rooted in a truth. One of the details of the original Watchmen that makes me so uncomfortable is that Rorschach — the violent sadist and borderline fascist — is ultimately right about a lot of what he’s saying. It’s just that his methods (secrecy and paranoia) distort the narrative so much that he ceases to be someone worth emulating. He even ceases to be a reliable narrator, despite the fact that he’s often telling the truth.

But this season has revolved around twin secrets buried and kept away from those who most need to know them. The Seventh Kavalry revelation has the most immediate bearing on the plot — in that yes, other characters should probably know who was responsible for that squid attack — but the Tulsa massacre has the most immediate bearing on us in the audience, where words like “massacre” have only recently been applied to what history has often dubbed as a “race riot.” Buried secrets fester and become infected. But we can’t help but bury secrets.

At any rate, maybe Looking Glass won’t have to worry about any of the above much longer. As “Little Fear of Lightning” ends, a whole host of Seventh Kavalry gunmen are entering his house, seemingly to kill him. I hope he makes it through. After all: He’s played by Tim Blake Nelson, and it’s a delight to see him on our screens every week.

Constance: Looking Glass really is a fantastic character because he’s such a good example of how you can be both complicit in oppressive systems, and also the pawn of people with a lot more power than you have.

Looking Glass is obviously being used, and he knows it. He’s been used his whole life, arguably first by the church that sent him out into the world as a teen missionary, then by Adrian Veidt and his squid, then by Judd and the Tulsa police force, and now by Keane and the Seventh Kavalry. He’s a man whose superpower is being able to tell when someone is lying to him, but he has still spent his life being lied to and manipulated by all the people and all the systems that he trusted in.

And by extension, so have most of the other people in the Watchmen universe, including Angela and Laurie. And by further extension, so have we. So the question then becomes: What do we do when we learn that we are being used?

Looking Glass responds by deciding to let Keane and the Seventh Kavalry use him. He doubles down on his complicity. What we have yet to see is how the rest of the characters in this world will react to the idea that the people they trust are using them as pawns — and whether this world allows for the possibility of breaking free of your complicity all together.

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/2Ol79dB

[gracieyvonnehunter]

Watchmen wants us to know one thing: We’re all being used by those with power

Looking Glass seems to have a very full life. | HBO

The show delves into Looking Glass’s past — and revisits one of the most memorable moments from the comic.

After playing footsie with the original Watchmen comic for four weeks, the new TV show’s fifth episode — “Little Fear of Lightning” — dumps us straight into one of the comic’s most famous moments: the “interdimensional” squid attack on New York that kills 3 million people and does grave psychic damage to even more.

The event, as those who’ve read the comic know, is a plot cooked up by Ozymandias to avoid nuclear war and maybe bring about world peace. Known to the public as an “attack” by beings from another dimension, it manages to bring the US and USSR closer together, leading to the version of America we see in the series, where the Robert Redford administration is nearing its 30-year anniversary but where the tensions of the Cold War no longer seem relevant to the world at large.

As we learn in “Little Fear of Lightning,” it’s a deep, dark secret, held closely by a very small few, that the squid didn’t come from another dimension but was instead manifested right here on Earth. And among the people who were affected by its arrival are Steven Spielberg (who made a very Schindler’s List-esque movie about the squid) and our own Looking Glass, who narrowly escaped death at the squid’s nasty tentacles as a teen, then saw his life scarred by having been so close to such a devastating occurrence.

Just like Watchmen’s third episode, “Little Fear of Lightning” is a character showcase, following Looking Glass for nearly its entire running time. (We check in on Adrian Veidt briefly, and he does seem to be in space, spelling out a message using all of the corpses he’s been generating. This show!) But “Lightning” tells a darker and sadder story about what it means to live in a world where you survived an experience that’s roughly as rare — and even more likely to kill you — as being struck by lightning. It’s about survivor’s guilt. But it’s also about realizing that the world is built atop a lie.

To dig further into that theme, I (Vox critic at large Emily VanDerWerff) am joined by Vox associate culture editor Allegra Frank and culture writer Constance Grady to break down “Little Fear of Lightning,” from the Seventh Kavalry to James Wolk’s inherent shiftiness to squids galore.

Times Square: Now with 100 percent more squid

HBO

Looking Glass takes off his mask for a bit.

Emily: In the build-up to director Zack Snyder’s 2009 adaptation of Watchmen for the big screen, all involved agreed to change the ending of the original comic. Despite a slavish faithfulness to the comic’s images (if not exactly its themes) in the rest of the film, it was thought that a giant squid landing in Times Square would be too much for people to process. Instead, the movie suggested that Doctor Manhattan had created some sort of energy pulse that leveled much of Manhattan, thus necessitating his move to Mars.

It honestly wasn’t a bad story shift — it gave Doctor Manhattan a more easily understandable motivation to bail on Earth, at least (if you, for some reason, believe a godlike blue man would have understandable motivations, which I might quibble with). But I’m so, so happy the squid (Squidley? Squidward? Squidbert?) exists in the world of HBO’s Watchmen to destroy this fictional version of New York. True to the spirit of this project, “Little Fear of Lightning” writers Damon Lindelof and Carly Wray (another The Leftovers alum) and director Steph Green pull out resonances with the 9/11 attacks but also the ways we use pop culture to process these sorts of horrors.

What’s most notable, however, is how the opening flashback makes viewers feel the sheer gutting horror of that moment and how it would have reverberated in the decades to come. Allegra: I don’t know how spoiled you are on the comic, but how did you feel about the squid? Was it a bridge too far for you, as the movie’s creative team feared it would be for their 2009 audience? Or are you going to share a recipe for delicious calamari with me, so excited are you by the prospects of a giant cephalopod?

Allegra: I’ve become increasingly “spoiled” on the original Watchmen comic in my weeks-long quest to grasp what’s happening on the TV show. So I was aware of the squid attack — but only in the abstract. This week’s episode visualized what I interpreted as a very bizarre method of mass destruction and proved how terrifying that kind of experience could be.

The cold open rendered a young Looking Glass the equivalent of that classic horror movie trope, the Final Girl: He’s a teenage boy thrust into a situation where he could possibly lose his virginity, but the moment never comes to bear. His sexual anxiety, and the virginal purity that, in horror movies at least, establishes him as a rare moralist, ends up saving his life in the end. Looking Glass finds himself alone after a devastating, sudden, inexplicable mass casualty.

This scene helped to ease me, the sensitive viewer, into the idea of the squid attack because we saw only the aftermath and not the act of the killing itself. It’s still a shocking moment and a horrifying image to see hundreds of dead bodies lying on the ground, but I don’t think the scene veered too far into the ostentatious, as HBO has made no effort to hide how disturbed the show’s version of 2019 Tulsa is.

And on a plausibility level, that all those deaths were the effect of a squid that apparently came from another dimension doesn’t quite phase me — five episodes in, a squid attack feels normal enough for Watchmen, despite its inherent absurdity. It’s the impact of the attack that is meaningful, sculpting Looking Glass into the lonely, sexually repressed man we’ve come to know in the episode’s contemporary storyline.

On the inherent shiftiness of James Wolk

HBO

Yes, we’re aware this is technically Jeremy Irons right beneath a subhead about James Wolk.

Constance: I’m coming into this show pretty unspoiled. All of my knowledge of the comic comes from the time a friend who read it 10 years ago summarized it for me, and I came away with a vague understanding of something something giant squid, something something blue penis. But even with minimal knowledge of the comic, the squid attack still lands; it’s a moment of pure Lovecraftian horror, and I absolutely buy that it would traumatize Looking Glass forever. Which only makes it all the more heartbreaking when he realizes that this horrific event that has shaped his life forever was a lie.

The other big reveal this episode comes when we find out that James Wolk’s affable gentleman senator Joe Keane is the leader of the Seventh Kavalry, and that he apparently saw his leadership as half of a partnership with the now-dead Judd as the chief of the police. For me, that twist wasn’t exactly surprising, but it was immensely satisfying, because it’s such a good use of Wolk’s inherent shiftiness.

Maybe it’s because I’m most familiar with Wolk from his role as Mad Men’s Bob “NOT GREAT” Benson, but anytime I see him onscreen, I feel incapable of trusting him. (Well, I trust him to inspire some truly iconic gifs, but that’s it.) Or maybe it’s because he’s so handsome: it only stands to reason that anyone with a face that symmetrical has to be hiding something. (Incidentally, this is why I think Armie Hammer is going to be great as Maxim De Winter in the forthcoming Rebecca. Obviously he has something to hide, because why else would he be so tall?) Regardless, I’ve been slowly going insane watching him slither around the sidelines of every Watchmen scene with his good ol’ boy accent and his Kennedy-lite posture, so the reveal that he is the man behind the curtains of the Seventh Kavalry is fantastically gratifying.

But the reveal is also thematically compelling, because it gets at an idea that seems fundamental to the Watchmen universe: The state and the terrorists are in on everything together. They are run by the same self-interested billionaires who think of the rest of us as their pawns and turn us against each other for their own purposes. All of the systems are corrupt, and escaping them is nearly impossible. All we’re left with is individuals trying to do their best to survive in a broken world.

Allegra, how did the Seventh Kavalry reveal work for you? Do you think there’s any possibility for hope left in the Watchmen world?

Allegra: Before I answer your question, I have to say your read on James Wolk (and Armie Hammer!) has deeply wounded me. But maybe that’s because you’re right about him — I can’t help but trust a beautiful man like Wolk’s Senator Keene when he wants me to believe he’s on the side of justice. That smile! That perfectly combed hair! Those bright, twinkling eyes! I’m a superficial goon, is what I’m saying, easily manipulated by pretty boys.

As such, Keene’s connection to the Seventh Kavalry gutted me. I yelled at my screen as he and other men and women we’d thought were good guys pulled off their Rorschach masks. How is it that so many of the people we’ve gotten to know in Tulsa deceived Angela, Laurie, and Looking Glass so easily and so totally? Their involvement is evidence that Adrian Veidt’s giant squid attack was not an end-all, be-all, but instead the impetus for decades of selfish behavior on the part of uncaring rich men looking to gain control over an unsuspecting public with dwindling resources.

But I don’t think that necessarily dictates a hopeless situation going forward. For starters, tying the Seventh Kavalry reveal to Looking Glass’s storyline — he being a survivor of this sort of selfish behavior in the truest sense — offers the kind of motivation that should undoubtedly empower those who do remain on the side of good.

This mass destruction via cephalopod, whether or not it was justified in the service of preventing a nuclear war, has all kinds of ramifications — from Looking Glass walking out of that carnival hall of mirrors to find hundreds of dead bodies, to Angela learning that her closest friend and mentor was never supporting her cause in the first place. These are devastating truths, but they’re also ones that I very much expect to embolden our heroes in this otherwise nihilistic world.

What about you, Emily? Do you think Looking Glass will find he power within him to share Veidt’s secret about the squid attack with Angela and company?

Will Looking Glass even survive, tho?

HBO

Laurie and Looking Glass have a chat.

Emily: Before this episode, I wasn’t sure if Looking Glass was one of my favorite characters because he was so inherently compelling, or because Tim Blake Nelson is such a terrific actor. After this episode, I feel comfortable saying: It’s both.

The shattered quality that young Looking Glass carries out of that hall of mirrors moves forward with him into the current Tulsa timeline, and it’s the same shattered quality that is a major part of why he betrays Angela at episode’s end. To be sure, the Seventh Kavalry has revealed to him that much of his life has been based on a lie. But instead of telling his friend about this lie, he betrays her.

Before this episode aired, one of our colleagues was talking about how they didn’t want to see Looking Glass revealed as a secret racist. But what “Little Fear of Lightning” does with the character is almost sadder. Looking Glass isn’t an overt racist. He knows enough to say “woke” things like “He was a white man in Oklahoma” when Angela finds that KKK hood in Judd’s closet. But he’s also bound to something terrible by dint of who he is. In the complicated logistics of Watchmen’s plot, that terrible something is a conspiracy to keep the wool pulled over the world’s eyes.

But on a metaphorical level, the story plays as a muted horror movie about trying to do the right thing and still being roped in with the worst kinds of people because of how structural power works. Which is to say: Watchmen remains a show about whiteness, and Looking Glass is perhaps the most potent example of how you can be a truly kind and compassionate human being and still have a lot to answer for, including stuff that you maybe weren’t even aware of.

That’s what’s so provocative about the Seventh Kavalry being rooted in a truth. One of the details of the original Watchmen that makes me so uncomfortable is that Rorschach — the violent sadist and borderline fascist — is ultimately right about a lot of what he’s saying. It’s just that his methods (secrecy and paranoia) distort the narrative so much that he ceases to be someone worth emulating. He even ceases to be a reliable narrator, despite the fact that he’s often telling the truth.

But this season has revolved around twin secrets buried and kept away from those who most need to know them. The Seventh Kavalry revelation has the most immediate bearing on the plot — in that yes, other characters should probably know who was responsible for that squid attack — but the Tulsa massacre has the most immediate bearing on us in the audience, where words like “massacre” have only recently been applied to what history has often dubbed as a “race riot.” Buried secrets fester and become infected. But we can’t help but bury secrets.

At any rate, maybe Looking Glass won’t have to worry about any of the above much longer. As “Little Fear of Lightning” ends, a whole host of Seventh Kavalry gunmen are entering his house, seemingly to kill him. I hope he makes it through. After all: He’s played by Tim Blake Nelson, and it’s a delight to see him on our screens every week.

Constance: Looking Glass really is a fantastic character because he’s such a good example of how you can be both complicit in oppressive systems, and also the pawn of people with a lot more power than you have.

Looking Glass is obviously being used, and he knows it. He’s been used his whole life, arguably first by the church that sent him out into the world as a teen missionary, then by Adrian Veidt and his squid, then by Judd and the Tulsa police force, and now by Keane and the Seventh Kavalry. He’s a man whose superpower is being able to tell when someone is lying to him, but he has still spent his life being lied to and manipulated by all the people and all the systems that he trusted in.

And by extension, so have most of the other people in the Watchmen universe, including Angela and Laurie. And by further extension, so have we. So the question then becomes: What do we do when we learn that we are being used?

Looking Glass responds by deciding to let Keane and the Seventh Kavalry use him. He doubles down on his complicity. What we have yet to see is how the rest of the characters in this world will react to the idea that the people they trust are using them as pawns — and whether this world allows for the possibility of breaking free of your complicity all together.

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/2Ol79dB