#but i just feel myself drifting further and further away from my existing social circle bc i don't have any normal interests

[supercantaloupe]

i'll be honest i'm looking back on last year and i'm having a very hard time saying it was like. A Good Year or whatever

i feel like anything i did that was really An Accomplishment was either really cringe or too small to be worth anything tbh. and none of my failures were very big either sure but they add up a whole lot more don't they

[thechekhov]

I struggle to embrace the LGBT community because I feel like it steals from the identity I built for myself as an individual. It's not something I see exclusively in young people and I dislike the pressure to be a loud and proud activist just because of some secondary personality trait. I know it sounds bait-y, but even that is revealing about the hypocritical pressure to conform within LGBT. Simply voicing this type criticism feels like an invitation to be attacked.

I think you’re probably expecting some sort of attack for this, which makes me wonder what sort of circles you’ve hung out in that you think this is a realistic possibility. 

First of all, you mention the pressure to be an activist - if there are people in your life pressuring you into things you don’t want to be doing, that isn’t healthy PERIOD. Let’s just get that out of the way. 

If your group of friends or acquaintances are out there telling you ‘you GOTTA come out’ or ‘you HAVE TO go to this march’ or ‘you’re not a real ____ if you don’t ____!’ then that’s Not. A. Good. Friendship. There, I said it. Unfollow those people, drift away from them, etc. 

Now I know for a fact that many people are exactly like you - they wanna live their lives quietly, without letting their sexuality become an overt part of their lives. And I’ll be honest - irl, I lean towards this as well. I am more of less out to my closer coworkers but my sexuality or gender identity almost NEVER comes up. I think the last time it did was when I was sexually harassing a life-sized statue at an afterparty and someone said ‘Of course you would.’ - and that was over a year ago. 

So I’m here to tell you the good news - out in ‘the real world’ - most people who are LGBTQ are NOT ‘pressured to conform within this LGBTQIA paradigm’. Unless you live in San Fran where the chemicals in the water are turning the frogs gay and those frogs are climbing up through your pipes and croaking at you for not fulfilling your Rainbow Colored Clothing Items quota for the year, in MOST PLACES IN THE WORLD, you will probably be spared these  ‘pressures’. 

I mean, old map, but just as a crude example:

And by ‘crude example’ I mean that even within the US, where it’s painted so pleasantly green, there are still societal pressures going THE OTHER WAY - there are still prejudices, there are still straight camps, there are still parents that kick out their kids for being gay. 

If you magically grew up in an area where this was not an issue, and if you did not hear it enough as a kid, or as an adult, I’ll be happy to tell you this:

Your sexuality doesn’t have to be a prominent part of your personality. 

No one with any level of authority ever said it did. 

You can be any part of LGBTQIA and just never remark upon it and live your life in peace. That’s-- honestly the NORM, despite what you may think. MOST LGBTQIA people don’t really have the time, spare change, or energy to be loud and proud activists. Most of us are tired, we have day jobs, we just wanna beat traffic and watch netflix and figure out where that smell in the kitchen is coming from. 

...

But alright, look.... I’m not BLIND. I know that on some platforms, people of all expectations gather and they may very well have very skewed expectations. They may be young and fighty, they have be jaded, they may be loud and proud and encouraging others to follow the same way of living. 

But there’s a reason they act this way. 

Let’s address the most obvious - where does this Very Loud Pride come from? 

Why do people try to make their gender or sexuality such a large part of their identity, and why are they so open about it? What is the purpose of this?

Well, to understand this, you have to first acknowledge that even if you exist mostly on tumblr, where the overwhelming majority of people are LGBTQIA or advocates for alphabet soup rights... the world is not tumblr. 

And this phrase is thrown around a lot by a lot of people I consider to be very crass - “the world isn’t tumblr, you can’t act like this in public” which, surprise surprise - they’re right! But not in the way they think they are. 

The world ISN’T tumblr. 

In the world that isn’t tumblr, from a very young age, you cannot voice your crushes to your friends for fear of being ridiculed or beaten up or shunned. You grow up knowing you have to create a fake identity to blend in, to keep yourself safe. In this world, you must be very careful about pronouns around your family - that every day you control your speech and tailor basic, everyday questions from your parents to be more ‘palatable’. You are constantly being on guard, constantly hiding your phone, obsessively erasing messages, hiding magazines, clearing your chat history for your friends whom your parents don’t approve of. You are getting yanked out of choir class and being threatened to be transferred to a different school, away from your friends, where you would be isolated, because your mother is screaming at you at 3 am in the bathroom that your trusted peers and friends are ‘turning you gay’. In this world that isn’t tumblr, your parents disowning you.

Now step back in time, to the world before tumblr - before social media in general.

In this world we have the AIDS crisis, where, “by the end of 1990, over 307,000 AIDS cases had been officially reported with the actual number estimated to be closer to a million”. The US government is doing nothing because they consider it a ‘gay virus’ and something of a reckoning and ignored the thousands suffering and dying. Your loved ones are dying around you, not knowing why, and knowing that very few people cared because they thought this very slow, painful death was ‘deserved’ somehow. 

Step back further, look at more of this non-tumblr world. Look at the gay and lesbian people denied basic human rights, look at the transgender people being murdered - even in this day and age - and no one batting an eye. Look at every single horrific piece of violent history inflicted on the people who identify as LGBTQIA - and dared do so out loud - and tell me what happens to them as a result.

And tell me - why do you think after hundreds if not thousands of years of being oppressed for even whispering - they are now yelling as hard as they can? 

The world always isn’t going to be the way we like.

But more often than not, we end up owing our progress to the ones who dared yell, who dared to be visible, who risked their lives to be angry about the injustice that was happening.

So have a little respect. 

[quixotic-writer]

Right Through the Very Heart of it

A request sent in by: the lovely @birdgirl1772 !

Summary: A girl’s trip to New York is not what you had in mind for a girl’s trip, a trip to the clubs was also not what you had in mind for your second night in the city. When things begin to spiral out of control, the compassion of two strangers named Joe and Q will change your mind just a bit.

———————————————————

The city that never sleeps: New York, New York. This is the destination of our girl’s trip vote and one I think i’ll probably hate the most. I was the only one that voted against it wanting instead to go to Seattle and just have a relaxing, calm, slow paced trip. Here I am now, shuffling desperately through my luggage to find a dress to wear for a trip to the clubs tonight trying to buy myself more time to mentally prepare myself for this evening’s antics. I tried protesting that as well. I insisted we could opt for something more my speed like a broadway show instead, but Ari and Bella just wouldn’t budge and that I HAVE to go. Clubbing it was for tonight’s activity then I guess. I had to remind myself that it wasn’t just my trip, they deserve their share of activities too.

“Come on girlll, pick a dress so we can gooo!” Bella calls from the couch of the hotel room, already dolled up in her midnight blue skin tight dress, raven black hair curled up in loose waves. Her legs dangled off the arm of the couch and she scrolled through her phone.

“Is it a las vegas extravaganza sparkly red night, or is it a sleek black dress kinda night?” I ask over to Ari who is busy looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She adjusts her wine red dress and teases at her blond hair. She makes her way over to me and peers over my shoulder as she looks at the two lovely dresses I had in each hand. Her eyes narrow as her gears go in her head.

“Black dress, always made you look super hot. Simple is nice y’know, guys like simple especially in a place where everything is complicated.” I wasn’t really looking to get lucky tonight, just mingle and see if anyone sticks out. I shove the red dress back into my luggage and bring out the black spaghetti strap ruched dress holding it up to get a good look at it. I don’t think I ever got a chance to wear this at home, maybe tonight is a night of trying to be an upgraded version of myself. Ari made a good decision, this was probably more New York speed than the other one. “Now don’t be too long getting ready, the fun is waiting for you!” I roll my eyes and step into the bathroom to get myself all gussied up.

When I finally emerged from the bathroom, feeling clean and collected, Ari and Bella’s eyes widen and so did their smiles. I give them a whole 360 spin to show off all the goods I got going. I lacked self confidence, but the energy they had buzzing was enough to get me going.

“Look at you baby girl. If I was a lesbian or a guy, i’d eat you up that’s how good you look.” Bella exclaims.

“Girl I would not want to leave the club without getting your number if I saw you. You look HOT!” Ari chimes in. I feel my confidence soar and I felt a lot better than I did earlier.

“Well, let’s head out then ladies!” The girls hoot and holler as we get our shoes on for the night. Despite the good vibes we had going, deep inside I feel a sense of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I play it off as nerves. It’s been a while since i’ve been able to have fun so i’m determined to have fun tonight, dance with my girls, meet someone, get a little loose. I’ve been so uptight all the time that maybe decompressing and letting go is what my spirit craves and needs.

We walk down the crowded streets of times square, the lights of the signs are so bright it almost seems like it’s still daytime. The streets are packed with people who have somewhere to be, zany street performers doing their thing with swarms of people around them, cars that never stop honking, and people never stop shouting. People kept bumping into me, cat calling after me, and staring. It’s all starting to get a little overwhelming and I feel a sense of dread rising deep in the lowest part of my abdomen and my chest. It all slowly started building and nearly becoming too much for my senses and I tried to ignore the instinct to run back to the hotel room and hide under the covers for the rest of the night.

“Guys? How much farther? Getting a little cramped and anxious here.” I ask as we keep our stride down the side walk, men yelling obscenities to us with a hunger for exotic attention.

“Just another block and around the corner. Don’t get yourself so wound up already, our night is only beginning!” Ari grabs my arm and links it with hers, my feet stumble trying to keep up, but I push forward anyway. Just one good night is all I want.

We finally find the place Ari had been raving about this morning and we stepped inside. Loud music flooded my ears, dim lighting was a change from outside, the seats at the bar are half full, and there are people everywhere chattering away. It seemed like an average bar to me, not sure what there is to rave about like Ari had.

“I need a drink.” I say as I start making a straight shot to the bar. Maybe a drink and a small buzz will help ease my nerves, get me going for the night and keep whatever energy in me alive.

“There’s the party girl we’ve been searching for!” The girls follow me to the bar and we all take a seat, a bar tender with glasses and of seemingly Puerto Rican decent smiles and comes over to get our drinks.

“Back so soon Ari? And I see you brought some friends as well!” He greets us warmly and is already preparing a drink in front of us.

“Of course, last night was fun and I knew I had to bring my girls. Ladies, this is Sal! He runs this ship and sure knows how to make a hell of a drink.” We both smile and introduce ourselves as he slides Ari her drink. “You remembered the drink I got last night? This guy is fucking incredible.” He look proud of himself as he raises his eyebrows and smiles.

“So what can I get for you ladies?”

“Long island iced tea please.” I shoot out immediately, both Ari and Bella turn to look at me shocked. I’m not really one for drinks, let alone some of the stronger ones.

“Damn girl, you’re just diving in aren’t you? If that’s the pace for the night: can I get a screwdriver please.” Sal nods and begins making our drinks. In the meantime I look to others around the bar and I notice Ari had peeled away and wandered off to talk to a guy at the end of the bar with her drink in hand. She has her flirty face on, guess I won’t bother her for the rest of the night.

Sal places my drink in front of me and I take a long sip hoping that the alcohol in this drink will kick in soon. It warms my esophagus as it goes down and I already feel that I might regret this drink later. I sit at the bar and watch silently as Sal and Bella chat away. I was off in my own head trying to block out any bothersome and intrusive negative thoughts. Any thought that came to mind, I took another sip of my drink until I had either drowned the thought out or had nothing else in my glass. I eventually reached a point where I started eating the ice in my glass to sop up whatever alcohol was hiding in there.

“C’mon! Let’s go dance!” Bella grabs me by my arm almost making me bump my empty glass off the counter top. We shuffle over to the open space that was occupied by fellow drunk patrons moving to the music and Bella starts grooving immediately, swaying her hips in smooth motions feeling the rhythm and matching tempo to the tunes that poured into the room. I, on the other hand, tried dancing but I moved in stiff awkward motions, feeling uncomfortable and scared to accidentally bump into anyone around me for fear of it turning into a confrontation.

Before I knew it, Bella had managed to slowly peel away just as Ari had and was off dancing with some other guy and we started drifting away further, and further from each other until I was virtually on my own. I felt sense of regret and dread pounding at my lungs like someone had punched me straight in my sternum and bruised my ribs.

“I don’t belong here.” I say quietly to myself as I stood completely still feeling isolated from the social circle around me. Everything felt like a blur around me, faces seemed like smeared oil paintings, the lights felt brighter than the sun, and the room felt like it was spinning. My lungs felt as though they had stopped working and I was beginning to drown in the warm air of body heat.

“Hey there hottie.” I see a guy start approaching me, already I felt uncomfortable around him. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, I wanted space, I wanted to be alone, I wanted out of here. I have a glazed over look in my eyes and he just ignores all signals to shut him down and keeps on pursuing me. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone?” He tries to grab for my hips to dance and make a move, but I quickly bat his hands off of me back away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” I say defensively and my fight or flight kicks in as I slightly raise my arms should I need to defend myself. My nerve endings feel like they’re on fire and shame washes over me as I realize tonight was a wash and that I just want to go back to the hotel more than anything. I kept denying myself my own comfort and here I am now in a situation I feel as though I can’t escape. A confrontation I feared in a place i’ve never been to began unravelling before me.

“What’s you’re deal psycho? Can’t a guy just dance with a girl?” He raises his voice and steps a little closer to me. I immediately mentally shut down and I felt as though I was dissociating and off on a whole different plane of existence.

“Hey buddy, back off and leave her alone. She’s obviously not interested.” An older looking guy with spiked up gray and white hair steps in and chases the guy off. He turns to me and rolls his eyes. “The nerve of some people. Are you okay? You looked a little anxious and I wanted to make sure you felt safe. Name’s Joe by the way!” He asks with concern riddling his face. I couldn’t speak, my voice felt trapped in my throat and everything around me began overloading all my senses until my legs gave out and I was left on the floor shaking feeling helpless.

Immediately Joe sprung into action dropping to his knees next to me and supporting me up so I didn’t fall back any more. He looks around to the oblivious crowd that felt like walls closing in on me.

“Hey! Hey! Give her some space, back up!” He waves his hands gathering everyone’s attention. The crowd turns to me and immediately part to create a circle of space and safety around me. I hugged all my limbs in tight close to me, I looked around frightened as tears tracked down my face. I felt mortified, I was making a huge scene. “Okay, take a moment breathe, I know someone who can help. Q! get your ass over here, got a situation!” He rests his hands on my shoulder to stable me and it felt warm and I felt solace in it.

l had sealed my eyes shut trying to block out the overwhelming number of faces and eyes on me. When I opened them and looked up again, another guy with short salt and pepper hair, a scruffy beard and mustache, and sleepy looking eyes steps into the ring. I assume he’s Q. He kneels down next to Joe and in front of me. They start talking to each other and I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but they both occasionally look over to me so I assume Joe is filling him in on my unfortunate circumstance. Once they’re done talking, they both redirect their attention back to me.

“It’s okay, he was a firefighter, he knows how to help.”

“Hey, not trying to be a wise ass but you’re having an anxiety attack right now. What we need to try first is steady your breathing, okay? Take in a slow deep breath through your nostrils, hold it for a couple of seconds, then slowly exhale through your mouth. Let’s do it together.” He removes his jacket and places it on me as he speaks in a calm tone, his eyes never leaving mine. He begins the exercise and I follow as he does, I felt tension inside me slowly begin to release. Joe never left my side through the whole process, he speaks calmly repeating over and over “steady, steady. you’re doing great.” and other sweet messages as he lightly rubs up and down my back providing father like comfort to me.

“Okay, now that you’re breathing is a little more steady, let’s get you grounded. Tell me some of your favorite things, anything. A place, colors, flowers, just keep going okay. It’ll help distract your mind.” I nod as I was finally able to catch my breath.

“Carnations are my favorite flower... I love spring time... Royal blue is my favorite color with lavender being right under it... My favorite animal is a jellyfish because they look pretty...” I continue listing things and it helps take my mind off of everything that just happened as I try and think of the next thing to add to my list. Soon the sense of panic that was pounding in my chest eased away. The moment I feel 100% better again, I finish off my list. Q smiles to me and so does Joe.

“You did great. Are you feeling well enough to get back up on your feet?” He outstretches his hand and I take his hand. He lifts me back up to my feet and he walks me over to the bar. Everyone else around us went about their business as though I didn’t freak out at all. “Maybe stay away from alcohol for the rest of the night, stick to water. Sal! A water for the pretty lady!” Joe slides a small stack of napkins to me.

“I’m not trying to be rude sweetie, you just cried a bit and I want you to be able to touch yourself up.” He gives a soft smile. I take the napkins and wipe up underneath my eyes. When I look at the napkins I see all my makeup wiped up on it, most of which was some mascara that seemed to stream off my eyes. Sal places a glass of water in front of me and looks me in my eyes with the same look of concern Joe and Q had given me during my break down.

“Where’d your friends go? You doing okay?” He asked leaning over the bar.

“Don’t know where they are, but I think I made some new ones.” I say smiling to the men that surrounded me. “Thanks for helping me out, I don’t even know what happened.”

“It was the right thing to do, I wasn’t gonna let some random guy harass a woman who was clearly not comfortable with him. I’d be pissed if someone did that to my wife or daughter.” Joe says with a slight twinge of anger in that last sentence.

“You needed help, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all need a little help sometimes.” Q says raising his own glass of water to his statement. I smile and awkwardly chuckle as I raise my glass with him.

The rest of my night was spent with Joe, Q, and Sal (when he wasn’t serving drinks). We talked the whole night away about why I ended up on a trip to New York, I talked about my home town and they talked about Staten Island being theirs, and childhood stories and tales from adulthood were shared as well. It was simple, sober, clean fun. It was all I really wanted from tonight.

Joe eventually left to go home, I bid him farewell and gave him a great big hug. Q and I were left at the bar to continue chatting away, and I gotta say, he was really charming and dare I say kind of cute. We laughed together for what felt like forever and I didn’t want it to end. To think, just an hour or so ago, I just wanted to be in the hotel bed watching shitty movies by myself. All good things must come to an end though, as it started getting a little late, my eyes grew a bit heavy. It eventually became too much to ignore and it wasn’t in my agenda to fall asleep in a bar I just had an anxiety attack in.

“I think I should head back to my hotel room and call it a night. That anxiety attack really wiped me out.” I let out a small yawn.

“Let me drive you back then, I don’t want you taking a cab alone or walking the streets this late at night.”

“You’re not like an axe murderer are you?” I joke with him.

“No I am not. I’m too stupid to get away with murder anyway.” He retorts back.

“Well I just don’t want you going out of your way...” I felt bad, I had burdened him enough with having to deal with my anxiety debacle.

“It’s no problem, let’s get you the hell out of here.” We both say our good bye’s too Sal and head out to find Q’s car. We finally stumble upon the cherry red jeep and I feel surprised to see it. “Are you judging my vehicle choice?” He cocks his eyebrows and smiles.

“It’s just such a loud color for such a seemingly calm and soft guy.” I tease. We hop in and headed out on the road. It was a short ride but it also felt long because of how tired I was. I leaned against the frame of the window, resting my head feeling the sleepiness slowly starting to take more and more control. Q tried helping me out by blasting some up beat music and giving me a special performance by singing along to all the tracks. He was just too cute.

When we reached the hotel, he parked the car and hopped out with me and took his time to walk me all the way back to my room. It’s small gestures that mean the world to me and that show that someone cares, and Q was clearly someone who cares. It felt crazy and in my head all I wanted to spend more time with him. We reach the front of my door and I turn to him and smile as I rub the sleep from my eyes trying to stay coherent for just a little longer.

“I can’t thank you enough for tonight.” I say bashfully as I hug my arms around my body. It was then I remembered something: “Oh my god, i’m sorry I still have your jacket!” I start frantically removing it but he stops me.

“Keep it for now, gives me an excuse to see you again. Which, speaking of...” He brings his phone out from his pocket and hands it to me. “If you don’t mind, i’d love to get to talk to you more and maybe see you again while you’re here. I had a great time tonight.” I gladly take his phone and input all my information. I see as he watches with a big grin on his face. I hand him back his phone and unlock my room door.

“Thank you again, Q.” I say softly. I caress his face and bring it in placing a tiny kiss on his cheek.

“Not even on the lips?” He jokes.

“Give’s you something to look forward to.” I wink at him and I see his face tint pink. “Get home safely.” I say as I begin to retreat into the room.

“I’ll message you tomorrow. Good night!” We both smile to each other and I head inside. I cover my face with my hands, smiling into them as my heart explodes with joy. I throw myself onto the bed and stare at the ceiling as fireworks go off in my head. For such a shitty night, it was the best i’ve had in a while.

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 18

I beg your forgiveness for a shorter chapter. This was a story note that seemed to be contained by itself. As always - comments welcome and appreciated. ❤Tragedybunny❤

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Piltover’s delegation has arrived and my orders are clear, be polite and charming, put them off guard, find their weaknesses. I am the Grand General’s wife and an officer of High Command, they will throw themselves in my path, and I will pretend to be swayed by their flattery into being their ally. General Talus assigns me the contingent of warmasons from that region, to make sure our operation remains completely secure, yet another “promotion”. Jericho would likely be pleased if he ever deigned to come home. He remains the same since his return, cold, aloof, disinterested. At the very least I convinced Coraline Montrose to host the gala that would welcome our esteemed guests. She can be trusted to put together something appropriately decadent.  I already feel as though I’m made of glass, desperately keeping myself together, one more pressure might shatter me. 

We sit across from one another in heavy silence, the only noise coming from the carriage as it rattles along the street. I’m drowning in the absolute costume of a dress I’m wearing, tight black satin, a neckline that plunges low enough to just be at the edge of tasteful, and black feathers encircling my shoulders and collar. I at least look the part of his wife, even if I don’t feel it at all. Tired of staring at the floor and watching him from the corner of my eye, I finally break that silence. “Did you really threaten to have to whole Crimson Circle arrested for treason?” I don’t bother with niceties, he’d likely ignore me if I did. 

For the first time in days, he meets my eyes, no emotions to be found. “I did.” 

His lack of further elaboration doesn’t surprise me, it fits his temperament of late. “Are you mad? Do you really intend to start a feud with that fiend?” 

He makes a noise, indignant with having to be bothered to explain. “I am sending him a message. The Black Rose continues to plot in the shadows. He can either be a part of that or keep his little pet cult.” His infuriatingly condescends to me. 

“Still seems like a terrible idea to me.” I mutter turning away to look out the window. Not that he asked my advice at all anyways. I am no longer privy to his schemes and plots. 

The carriage rolls to a stop in front of the immaculate and impressive Montrose estate. It’s taken on a new life with Coraline’s manufacturing income, restoration making it gleam against some of its more time-worn neighbors. The last time we were here was Solstice. That night, between the dancing and those moments at home, there was something indefinable and soft between us. That was when I convinced myself I could live as we were, my existence complete with just his presence. I’ve had the smallest taste of more though, I’ve seen what we could be, and I can’t go back. No matter that he seems intent on doing just that, and perhaps going even further. 

He does help me down from the carriage and offers me his arm, the perfect noble gentleman. There’s no affection or warmth to any of it. Still, I put on my best diplomatic smile, unassuming and welcoming, while my heart falls down into my stomach. My fondness for these occasions has not grown, and instead of his support, I’ll have his expectations at my side. “Do try to keep that smile up, and no running off and drinking yourself into oblivion.” He whispers, as if I need reminding. Of course, his wife is merely another of his pawns, to be ordered around and used as needed to achieve his glorious vision

The ebb and flow of the crowd freezes as we enter, all eyes affixing themselves to us, the pinnacle of Noxian society. The whispers begin almost immediately, that low chorus of malice I’m accustomed to. Coraline greets us, moving to the forefront of the crowd gathered in her grand hall. Even she seems to sense the brooding tension between us, foregoing all small talk and letting Jericho drag me further into the sea of faces. It doesn’t take long before we’re swarmed by the first wave of our eager Piltovan guests. 

It’s an eclectic mix of merchants, diplomats, and scientists, and often some combination of those roles, according to the Intelligence reports. Introductions are given and hands extended, a fine pair of gloves conceal Jericho’s secret as always. Their names wash over me and drift away even as I try to latch on to them, my smile still frozen in place. For their part, they seem pleased enough, with only those I know for diplomats tempering that with prudent wariness. They press and cluster around Jericho as we part through the crowd, a more private venue the obvious destination. These are early negotiations for this trade agreement, they will try to charm us now, and press hard later, in retribution for our warmason found hidden in their city. 

He pays no mind as they wedge their way between us, intending to divide and conquer. How quaint. I take a glass of wine from a passing servant and begin to wander away, pointedly ignoring a dark-eyed woman who looks for a moment as though she’ll try to engage me. Truthfully I should do my duty, stay at his side and play my part or find some vulnerable party to extract information from. I’m so numb though, and it feels like I’m wandering in a fog. I take another sip from my glass and know I’ll likely disobey him and end up falling into sweet oblivion sometime tonight. I wander, my feet unconsciously carrying me toward the ballroom, unbidden memories stirring, threatening my constructed demeanor. Voices around me barely bother to whisper, excited by our obvious rift, they take glee in my downfall. I turn behind me to shoot a threatening glare toward a gaggle of nobility brats, I still have some pride, and I collide with a massive form, my glass mercifully empty enough to not soak us. “You trying to kill me, Kat?” A warm chuckle follows his word. If all you’ve ever know of Darius was to face the Hand of Noxus on the battlefield, you would likely never believe he was capable of that laugh. 

“Sorry, Dar.” I slip back on my mask, intent on not looking like a wreck. Darius has his part to play tonight as well, and I’ve got no wish to distract him. 

Towering above me, looking constricted as usual in his formal military attire, he studies me for a moment. “Are you alright?” And I fail utterly at my attempt to conceal it from him. 

“No, but really there’s nothing for it.” I shrug and hope that satisfies him. There’s no place private enough to even begin to confide in him. 

He rolls his eyes and lets out a massive snort. “And he’s supposed to be the smartest man in Noxus.” He mutters and puts a massive hand on my shoulder. “Whatever I can do for you, just let me know.” 

A heart of gold beats within that massive form of his; why couldn’t it have been him back in those brief days we shared together? Loving Darius would have been easy, but I suppose easy was never in my nature. “There is one thing. Dance with me?” 

He gives me a small smile and offers me his arm. “Been a long time since we danced.” 

Somehow, Darius is an even worse partner than Jericho, flinging himself about haphazardly to become a menace to everyone around us. There’s plenty of laughter though, as we cause a small retreat from the dance floor, and glares of disapproval come from all corners. I’m honestly glad Jericho’s not with me to sour it. When the music winds down he escorts me off the floor to find a much needed glass of wine. “Why are you always so good to me?” 

He gives me a smirk. “Well, I’ve got one idiot sibling, might as well take on another.” I lightly smack his arm in mock indignation. “Seriously Kat, we’re friends, even if you don’t always believe you’re capable of having friends.” 

I chew my bottom lip for a moment. He’s always had me figured out. “Thanks, it means more than you know.” I bring my glass to my lips and look up to catch the eye of a handsome, square-jawed man, blatantly staring at me.  The bright white and gold of his formal attire tell me he’s one of our guests and the staring means he’s no practiced political agent. I sigh, the fun is over it would seem. “Time to go serve my Empire. See you later Dar.” 

He turns to follow my line of sight with a quick glance and then gives me a wolfish smile. “Draven and I’ll be down at the Bowery later, getting rid of the taste of pretension. Find us if you want.”

He gives me a wink and parts the crowd, his massive form leaving an inviting space before me. That curious stranger wastes no time awkwardly inserting himself into the space. He clears his throat and presents himself with a stiff, inelegant bow. “Would you give me the pleasure of this dance…” He freezes for a moment, he hadn’t thought what title to call me by, he’s out of his depth. Good. 

“Madame is fine. I’m not here in an official capacity, and my husband and I take no titles we have not earned. And of course, the pleasure is all mine.” I hold out my hand, intending to seem warm and inviting, let him trust me. 

He takes it gingerly and unsurely follows as I lead him out onto the floor. The first note plays and his foot stomps onto mine. “Sorry.” He flushes. 

“Shh, no worries. Just let me lead.” I try to be gentle with him, guiding him where he needs to be, earning his trust. 

“You’re a sublime dancer, Madame.” He smiles, confidence growing. 

“You know what, just call me Katarina. And let me make a guess about you. You’re one of the scientists in the group.” The lack of social polish or talk of finance eliminated the other two. 

“Lovely, graceful dancer, and very keen, the Grand General is a lucky man.” I keep myself from frowning. 

“Now you’re just flattering me! And you haven’t even given me your name yet.” It sounds overly saccharine, I hope he doesn’t notice. 

His eyes go wide. “By the Shining City, how rude of me. I am Jayce, of clan Giopara. Now I have to beg your indulgence as I make a confession to you.” He pauses to await my permission. 

Perhaps this will pay off much sooner than expected. I incline my head. “Go on.” 

“I’ve been intentionally following you.” For a moment I forget to breathe, please gods, nothing like that. “I need help and I believe you may be the only one who can provide it.” I exhale, infinitely relieved. “I am seen as somewhat of a champion of Piltover. I used that to coerce my way onto this delegation because I fear greed will rule the day and something truly foolhardy will be attempted. My fellows will try to squeeze too much profit from Noxus, demanding more in tariffs and fees than ever. They believe their position is secure, snd they may take as much as they like. I am concerned they will go too far and break the Empire’s patience.” 

“Given the incident that occurred, that is disheartening but not surprising.” No use talking around what happened with the warmason, I need him to be clear and direct. 

 “We are on the same page then.” His confidence in his actions is growing. “Piltover relies on the Empire’s trade, its use of the Sun Gate. We can’t lose it. And we can’t fi…” He stops short, but it’s too late, he’s confirmed the one thing he didn’t want to tell me. That’s an interesting morsel, not all of them are convinced Piltover is invulnerable. 

“You can’t fight a serious invasion if that’s what we wanted. If your delegation pushes too far and the Grand General breaks allegiance with Piltover, you fear what war would bring. So tell me Jayce, what do you wish me to do about this situation?” I step closer to him, a bit of intimidation mixed in with my kind demeanor.

“Please speak with your husband, they may well be mollified if he holds firm but makes a small concession. Please, encourage him to be to not respond hastily. I saw you with the Hand, it seems you have his ear as well. We can reach an agreement where we both will benefit. Noxus and Piltover can be the greatest of allies and stand strong together.” He has a gusto for his idea, I’ll give him that. 

If Noxus plays the situation right though, we could end up with ever-increasing influence in Piltover, and eventually be positioned to easily subdue them. A thing I’m sure Jericho’s dreams are made of. Our dance is over and I delicately guide him off the floor. “Walk and talk with me, I would learn more about your City of Progress.” And any other secrets you may have to give me. 

I take his arm, giving him a sense of familiarity, and navigate my way towards the same back parlor from Solstice, putting the crowds behind us. “It shines like a jewel. Everything is always moving, there’s always something new. It isn’t just science, there are theaters and museums and art galleries. I hear you’re quite the patron of the arts yourself.” He beams, clearly I’m supposed to be impressed. 

If that’s the extent of their intel, Piltover clearly needs better spies. Or maybe they foolishly haven’t told their unintended member everything they know of me. I let out a soft laugh. “It would sound too self-important if I called myself that. I just throw money at things I enjoy.” 

“You should come to Piltover someday, I could show you all the sights. I’m sure you would love it.” We’ve come to a dead stop in the hall and he’s standing terribly close. “You and the Grand General of course.” He adds quickly. I’ve let this get too far, time to reign him in. 

“Perhaps when these negotiations are successful.” My heart drops as I hear footsteps behind us. 

“There you are, Katarina. Some of our guests would like to make your acquaintance.” He would decide right now is the time to come find me. 

“But of course. I was just speaking with another of our guests.” His presence is oppressive in this small space and I worry I’m not the only one that feels it.  “This is Jayce of Clan Giopara. Jayce, Grand General Swain.” 

I step back and allow them to go through the motions of civility before Jericho hooks my arm tightly in his. “Do excuse us.” Jayce nods, seemingly unaware of the storm brewing between us, as I’m lead briskly away. 

We walk in silence until we reach a cluster of diplomats who have taken over a corner of the Montrose gardens, lounging about, drinks in hand, looking pleased with the evening’s events. They pounce on me once we arrive, each greedily attempting to draw my attention, and leave a favorable impression. The rest of the evening passes in a blur one vapid conversation after another. Jericho hovers over me the entire time, ensuring I can’t escape,  speaking to me only as much as necessary. He smiles and compliments me for the benefit of the crowd, but I can see the anger in his eyes and it wears on me until I feel as though I will suffocate. 

When at last etiquette allows us to make our exit the carriage takes us home in quiet that is somehow more terrible than our journey here. I stare at the floor with no desire to even begin to speak of tonight. Instead, I try to steady the thundering of my heart against my ribcage and remind myself to keep breathing. I steal a glance at Jericho, and his gaze is fixed out the window, jaw tight, brows furrowed. As soon as we exit the carriage, with Fex and Dras closing the gate behind, I hurry to put distance between the two of us. I want to go upstairs, pull Skadi into bed with me, and sleep until the sun is high and the day nearly spent. I wasn’t fast enough and I’m only halfway across the hall when I hear the door shut behind me.  “Tell me why it was necessary for you to throw yourself at him?” Of course, he won’t let it happen like that. 

I whirl around to face him. Fine, if he wants a fight, I’ll oblige. “I was being friendly like you ordered me to!” I raise my voice, let the whole house hear, I’m beyond caring. “Or am I so beneath your notice you forgot.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh please, I could see the way he was looking at you. You were being excessively warm with him. Perhaps you were enjoying the attention.” 

“Well maybe if you could have been bothered to know where your wife was, you’d know the truth and you wouldn’t throwing a jealous fit right now.” I close the distance between us, snarling at him. How dare he insinuate this. As if I’ve ever been anything but loyal to him.

“Jealous, don’t be ridiculous, I’m not jealous. As my wife I expect you to behave with decorum in public. Other than that I care not what you do.” His voice cold he makes a dismissive hand gesture. 

“Well, if I matter so very little to you, then maybe I’ll just leave!” I just want any sign from him that it’s not true, any indication his affection for me was ever real at all. 

“Then go! I am sick to death of dealing with you and your melodramatic attitude.” I really believed he couldn’t break my heart anymore than he already had. 

The sharp burning of that pain gives way to numbness. “If that’s really how you feel.” There’s no fire in my words, no fight. What is there left to fight for? Everything was an illusion, a beautiful lie I wanted so badly to believe. I turn and head back toward the stairs. Perhaps it is my lot in life to be nothing more to anyone than a weapon to be used and discarded as needed. 

[essford]

Together in Fear

On March 30th at approximately 4:21 PM, my father and I were officially checked in to room 149 at Motel 6 in Fife, Washington. Fife is a city of almost 10,000 people on the eastern end of Tacoma, existing as the gateway between King and Pierce Counties. It is the home of Emerald Queen Casino, where my father, Chris Ford, recently purchased tickets to see Blue Oyster Cult, the hard rock band that has gone on to create a profitable, if not ultimately predictable, touring career in the casino circuit over the past two decades. I always wondered what it would be like to wind up in that environment, as in, paying money to see a band with two surviving members play a small collection of hits compacted into an hour and a half set in the back of a crowded casino, where the combined odors of urine, sweat, and booze indebted belches are barely detectable inside the multipurpose showroom, just beyond the rows and rows of slot machines, black jack tables, stuffed shoulder to shoulder with salt of the earth workers, local natives, tourists, the sloshed and slobbering, the dismal and desperate, draining savings, collecting earnings. Everybody burning money together in the name of luck.

This show would mark Chris’s sixth time seeing Blue Oyster Cult, and for him, this was business as usual. BOC was coming to EQC, and it was my mission to join him on this quest. There was no one else I could imagine myself sitting next to as “Don’t Fear The Reaper” was performed with precision to an adoring audience before someone, like surviving members Buck Dharma (age 71, with vocal cords intact) and Eric Bloom, who perhaps feared reapers of their own, so to speak. I couldn’t help but think of young Chris, sitting around at age 16, puffing a joint listening to Agents of Fortune for the first time at my Nana’s house in West Seattle. We had to hit the casino. This was a good time to lose some money very quickly.

Room 149 was furnished with two twin beds that faced a modestly sized LG TV screen, set against the center of the wall. Underneath the screen was a bare desk. Before Chris placed down his bags, as well as his cooler, filled with 1 bottle Crown Royal (with bag intact) and somewhere around 9 (?) Budweiser 12 oz. cans, he picked up the television remote which was placed on a small nightstand between our beds. Less than one minute had passed before he turned on the TV, turning up the volume. I chose the bed closer to the bathroom. Out of some instinct, I pulled back the bedsheets, and noticed three thin, stranded hairs. I am fairly certain that one of them was pubic. For no discernible reason, I then turned on the bathroom light and wondered how many people, upon entering a new motel room, inspect the bathroom out of a similar instinct. It was then I realized I forgot to bring a toothbrush.

“Oh, I love this show,” My father said, sitting on his bed, Budweiser newly cracked and a healthy slug sat in his cup like a monument. He was wearing olive cargo shorts, nondescript sneakers with Nike socks, a Washington State Cougars shirt, and a hat with a camouflage bill (not intact), emblazoned with a Cougar logo. As his eyes began to glaze, I turned my attention to what he was watching. It was a show called Live P.D. The premise of the show was similar to that of Cops, in which camera crews across America follow police officers in the line of duty, dealing with the day in, day out mayhem that one has expected to come across as a citizen of the United States. It was a livestreamed television show, hosted by a cast of three commentators, all with backgrounds in law enforcement. One of the hosts looked a lot like Paul Ryan. After each corresponding clip of real time crime, the camera would cut back to the three men, nonchalantly giving analysis on what had unfolded. Car thieves in Ohio, domestic disputes in Florida, drunk and disorderly folks flinging themselves through the streets of Baton Rouge are caught, not only by the claws and sharpened talons of the law, but on camera, and after having their rights read by stern and foul mouthed officers, they are detained, and just as if they never existed before that moment in time, the scene CUTS to a slow fade, panning to the next adrenaline fueled saga of American Crime..

In 15 minutes, we made 200 dollars disappear. Each slot machine screamed and beeped, strobing bulbs of hot light reaching out from all angles to flood my visual and aural senses. Beckoning me closer, I indulged. The miniature luxury of smoking a cigarette indoors. A soft drink simply known as “Alert” was an available option at the complimentary soda fountain. Swiveling necks in every direction could observe the multiple chins of the aging average American male. Camo garb draped flabby bodies, scores of tricep meat and missing teeth. 50 hour work weeks. Weak knees and pension checks. God blessed every vet.

My father called me frantically from a Wheel of Fortune machine. “It’s almost time for the show!” He burped into his phone, one eye on the slot, one on his shot. I happened to notice one of his chins from where I was currently losing my money.

To my right was a Hispanic man, winning big at game called WILD WOLF. “Amigo, can I use your lighter?” He asked, staring straight ahead.

His body was almost motionless, eyes unblinking behind wire framed glasses in a frosted stasis. A light Marlboro cigarette barely stuck to the dry surface of his bottom lip. He had just won a “Mega Bonus”, and for a moment his hypnotic trance was broken, but quickly returned by the next spin. I could tell he was very pleased with his current earnings, even through his glazed veneer. Fishing for my lighter in between my own failed attempts at WILD WOLF, I couldn’t help but notice this man’s special ritual. The only bodily movements he was seemingly capable of making was when he pressed down on the SPIN button, which activated his next bet, but more hypnotizing was the moments after, as he pointed and drifted across the machine’s screen with his digits, like a painter casting brush to canvas, drifting in small circles with smooth and fluid strokes, until resting with a period like pressure from his index finger on one of the 20 digitized squares that made up the game. I lit his cigarette for him as the scrolling shapes of 7’s and words like SUNOB and EMAG EERF scrolled over his glasses, slot machines themselves, consuming his vision.

I made my way closer to the Cult, and further from the life of the WILD WOLF. I couldn’t help but think about the Reaper and what he meant to the ticketholders I was standing behind and in front of. Who was he, and who really feared him? Did my father ever truly fear the Reaper, after losing his father and friends? Death and loss are made familiar through experience, yet its aura lingers beyond the confines of each individual life, leading to big questions, grander than casino floors, blander than plug in and play rock bands. In this place, everyone is free to live in fear, together. Fear waits beyond the corner, after last call, and after the last drag. After the last hit. Fear is the in between moments. Between pulls from a heartless machine, between paychecks, between distraction and destiny. The fear that we will never accomplish goals held in our hearts. The fear of not following through on every dream left unrealized. We imagine ourselves in our final moments, cursing time wasted, action untaken. Admittedly, I spend too much time pondering on death. I miss my friends who have passed too soon. I miss people I’ve never met. Watching my dad sigh heavily with impatience in the bar line, which was tended by a hardened middle aged woman, sleep deprived and numb from the crying machines steps away, reminded me of what brought us together tonight. This was life.

(REDACTED: Please include any pertinent details readers may find desirable regarding the review portion of the concert)

The next day arriving home, in true 21st century fashion, before setting down my bag or acknowledging my surroundings, I found my laptop and logged onto one of three social media platforms that have succeeded in controlling the minds, moods, and attitudes of our generation. It was around then I learned a former classmate had died the previous night.

Moments such as this, to friends and family alike, anyone with two eyes, aren’t so much moments we experience consistently, but moments absorbed in random blasts, often with explosive impact. A moment of fear in the internet age, bringing individual worlds closer in some small way, every second of the day. A moment of silence, a helping hand, a loving comment, all facing us, but all too far away to try and explain. We are here to remember life itself, which dangles by an ankle, from a cliff called humanity. We can feel it. Somedays, we are engulfed in flames, dragged ashore, blue lips kissing, with two eyes smiling. Shreds of memory flicker, spraying tangerine sparks to the cold concrete of shop class, only shrapnels of memory to bind our souls together. Moments like this, we get used to this.

Together in fear.

We are here

To remember so much, just before the eclipse

Losing oxygen, wasting breath in equal measure

To fear the reaper,

Is to never have had the pleasure,

To face it himself

[wizardsnwookies]

POTA 101818 - Magic and Mystery

The symbols confused Dion. Strange sigils of various shapes and lines that held no meaning to him, but clearly had some sort of importance. The way they circled around the central eye hinted at some kind of connection to whatever madness had occurred here. It was all so very strange. The tapestries that hung on the walls of this makeshift temple didn’t do much to encourage him. Images of earthquakes, storms, and blazing infernos delicately woven in colorful threads. Indeed there was much more to this than a man gone mad, but he had no clear indications as to what that might be.

“So...this is magic?” Miv stood staring at the orb as it floated amidst the tangle of arms carved from rock. A macabre pedestal for this strange holy artifact.

“Are you...unfamiliar with magic?” Dion inquired.

“Not much use for it in the Monastery. We were told that the only power we needed can be found from within. Strength, will, dedication, and Chi.”

“Think of it like Chi.” Dion stood, reaching a hand out to the orb. “Magic also can come from within, a mystical force that envelopes all the world and those beyond. It can be harnessed, channeled, and focused by the user for either good, or in this case, for ill.”

Carefully, he dipped his fingers through the veil of illusion that covered the orb. Not a ripple broke the surface. Inside he felt the cool, smooth, touch of metal against his fingers. He wrapped his hands around either side and cradled it delicately like an egg before slowly withdrawing. Once the large metal orb had broken the surface, the shimmering image of symbols disappeared, and the eye blinked out of existence.

“Magic can either reveal the truth, or conceal it. What was once an unholy idol, is nought but a simple Drift-Globe.”

“Drift-Globe?” The priest might as well be speaking Gnomish. Miv furrowed his brow, trying to take all this new information in. The comparison to Chi helped well enough, but he had a hard time imaging anything that could be channeled outwardly to the world around you.

“Yes, a simple magical item relatively speaking. It floats around the user providing light in the darkness. Think of it as a torch you do not have to carry, and can extinguish and ignite upon command.”

“...amazing.”

“Perhaps you would like to hang on to this for us?”

“Me?” Miv shrunk away from the offered globe as if it were a pit viper. “I...wouldn’t know how to use it.”

“I would be happy teach you.” Dion smiled.

---

Instructing the young Dragonborn took some time at first, but he was bright and eager to learn. The awkwardness he had shown at the tavern had melted away and he was starting to open up. His energy starting to flow outward. He was quick to learn, a product of his mindfulness training as a Monk. Dion smiled, watching as Miv amused himself by making the globe dance and flicker in the air. The levity was welcome in this dark place. Unfortunately, he had to pull himself away from this scene and find the one named Flea. Something he had said, did not sit well with the cleric.

He was found standing in observance of one of the tapestries. It was a particularly chilling scene depicting floods sweeping across a plain, washing away towns and villages, drowning all who inhabited it. Flea was nodding, whispering to some unseen figure or figures. A loose pebble on the floor gave Dion away on his approach, and the conversation stopped, his attention drawn.

“Have you indulged your curiosity yet? Can we go now?”

“So eager to leave?”

“I don’t like this place.” Flea pulled his eyes away from the Tapestry, a lingering glare in his eyes.

“No, neither do I. We can get moving once we’ve finished all the final rites. Although, if I may, can I ask you a question?”

“Knock yourself out.” Flea shrugged.

“You said that magic you used early was your family? I’m wondering if you could enlighten me on this further?” Dion danced around the subject delicately. He had very real concerns, concerns that had to be addressed, but Flea had shown himself to be rather rough around the edges. Best not to offend him outright, it would be easier getting the info he wanted.

“What’s there to say? I get my power from my ancestors. They follow me into battle and lend me their strength and wisdom.”

“I see. Are they...who you talk to when you are by yourself?”

“Yes.” Flea narrowed his eyes. Ancestral magic was a sticky topic of discussion in his experience. Most of the time people just assumed you were crazy. He had a hard enough time with social prejudice being a half-orc, being called a madman was not something he took kindly to.

“Why don’t you just come out and say what you want to say?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just a bit...concerned. The spirits of your ancestors don’t belong here. They deserve their rest, they deserve peace.”

Flea let out a boisterous laugh that startled the cleric. The guffaws echoed off the walls, sounding like an entire crowd of half-orcs doubled over in a mirthful amusement.

“Oh, priest.” Flea clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I can’t get rid of them!”

“I’m sorry but I don’t see the humor in-”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. They’re here on their own accord. In my family, we take care of our own, dead or alive.”

Dion forced a half-smile he didn’t entirely feel. Although his concerns were lessened, he still had many questions he would prefer answered. It all seemed wrong to him. To deny oneself the eternal rest, to forever roam a plane you cannot and should not exist in. Why would you ever choose that? Especially, if you’re dead to begin with.

“Let’s leave it there for now. You amuse me priest, but don’t press your luck.” Flea gave him a playful shove, perhaps a bit too hard, sending the waif of a cleric nearly toppling over.

“Come. Let’s go head back to town and I’ll buy you a drink.”

---

Banshae stood tall at the mouth of the hall leading to the Necromancer’s chambers. Though all threats had been dealt with, no danger to be had, still she stood watch. In reality, it was the only thing could think to do. This is why she hated downtime. The time where normal people keep themselves busy with their own interests or friends. As far as Banshae knew, she had neither. For her, downtime was merely a depressing stare down with the open void within her.

“Not too shabby at all.” Elora cinched the coin purse shit, tossing the last coin inside. She liked the sound it made when it met with the others, the gentle yet satisfying clink of metal on metal. The ‘Lord of Lance Rock’ was not rich by any means, but it was a decent enough payday combined with their fee to make the trip worth while.

“I might just be able to afford that lovely dress I saw in town.” AFTER her usual donation of funds back home, she added to herself.

“Oh, and no offense of course, but we need to get you some new clothes while we’re at it.”

“I beg pardon?” Banshae blinked.

“Well I couldn’t help but notice in the past few days together you seem to only have the one set. Unless you’re hiding some kind of grand wardrobe in a bag of holding.”

“No...” She was starting to get uncomfortable. Elora had announced herself as the most outgoing of their group early on. Talkative, friendly, but ultimately harmless. So why was she so nervous?

“I thought not.” Elora stepped back and took a good long appraisal of the Dragonborn’s form. Banshae visibly squirmed under her scrutiny, the silver in her cheeks flushing with a red hue, but she was too focused to notice. Just like her home, here was something she could help fix. When she fixed things, her mind focused to a fine point, blocking everything else out in the world.

“A bit short for your kind...nice curves...broad shouldered...good cheekbones. You’ve got plenty of options, that’s for sure. We can start simple, something casual so you don’t have to wear that horrid armor all the time.”

“I am a soldier of Mirobar.” Banshae gritted her teeth. She felt suddenly cornered in the large open room with no clear options of escape. She could deal with her own modesty, the unease of being appraised in such a way. What frightened her were all the questions that would have to be asked, that she had no answer for. What colors did she like? What style? How did she identify? All lost to the void.

“You’re more than that I’m sure, besides even soldiers have time off.” Elora offered a restrained smile. She was starting to notice it now. The Dragonborn was shifting in her place, avoiding eye contact, and she was quite sure any physical contact would be quite unwelcome.

“I’m sorry. I get ahead of myself sometimes. I just wanted to offer my help, if you should want it.” She walked things back a bit, trying to find a more comfortable space for Banshae to retreat to.

“...thank you.” That was all she could manage for a moment, letting the unease settle. She tried standing taller, let herself crawl back into the shell of the soldier, the only thing that was somewhat familiar to her. There she found some kind of strength, if not confidence.

“I must also apologize. There are things about myself that...” No. Try again. “Currently, I feel this is something I have to do by myself. I realize I seem withdrawn, and know that your efforts to welcome me are acknowledge and appreciated.

“Unfortunately, there are things that must kept to myself for the moment.” A small smile grew on her lips, barely noticeable on the outside but Banshae noticed if only because it wasn’t forced.

“When the time comes, however. We will go shopping.”

Buy Me a Coffee

[jared-hirsch]

Diaries, Greece

I. Hydra, 2019

It was so unlike her. She kept comparing her hand to the Iranian of our group and would burst out of restaurants with pride when the waiter or waitress asked if they were siblings. He was too short to be her boyfriend but their chemistry wasn’t that far off; so I suppose sibling was the default between this six-foot blonde thing and this five-foot-and-some-negligible-inches boy. I must admit that she was quite dark. 

So I sat there and I stared at her and thought how unlike her this whole thing is. We would roast for hours and hours, drifting in and out of sleep but never drifting out of the brutality of the sun upon on our skin. My mother was always terribly afraid that I would do this. I still can’t spend a day in Montauk without thinking of that shiver that would run up my spine as the aerosol hit my back. And the smell. I screamed like a child – I suppose I was a child – and cursed her. Yet here I am; staring at someone who reminds me so much of my mother and wondering why she, or any of us, really, would do this. She took calculated risks. She had a trust fund, I’m sure, but had already started contributing to her retirement the second that she could. I remember the shock with which she broached the fact that I had yet to begin planning for my own and, after convincing me that she must know my social security number – “the last secret between us” – it became quite the open secret between herself, her mother, her mother’s financial institution that creates IRAs and other things of that nature, and myself. I forgot it, actually, and I have the feeling that she knows it by heart like she knows so many things. She’s a genius, really, not necessarily because of some innate ability but rather because of her strive to perfection. Men, her career, backgammon or some novel thing, the coyness with which she asked for that number – it was all perfected. 

Yes, so, I’m sitting there and wondering why on Earth she would torch her skin the way she has and considered whether she, or any of us, would do such a thing with age. I supposed we all wouldn’t. I supposed that it was itself a calculated risk, with the vein boost that comes with white clothing upon tanned skin as the ultimate reward. It really was lovely to look around and see everyone in the color of innocence and the long, flowing curtains that adorned our bodies as we sipped the horrible Grecian wine and smoked cigarettes until our throats bothered us. We are to turn dark now, I thought, not later when there’s the children, husbands, wives, mortgages, and all of the inevitable arrangements that will dissolve whatever bonds exist between us. Although sometimes I doubt that I will ever have that sort of life. Our host – Sergei – is an unhappy man that I see so much of myself in. He was a man of New York, of Gstaad, of here, there, and now Rome who graciously lends us his home each year hoping that the aura of youth that inherently accompanies the conversations we share over a joint as the sun rises, or the naked swimming and cliff diving, or the stumbling to the night’s conquest, will remain. 

It doesn’t, of course, for Sergei is an unhappy man. You wouldn’t expect it yet the fact remains. He lost his lover to AIDS, succumbing to the disease himself, and spends many frivolous hours reminiscing about it on the Internet to the nameless, and small, mass of people that watch him pour his wealthy heart upon the screen. I feel for him. He loves me, apparently. Keeps asking Isabel’s mother to set us up; a request I would probably entertain if he were a few, or many, years younger. I’m an activist, of sorts, planning to work with gay men and women in the courtroom, a selfish sort-of-thing that I am nonetheless passionate about. Sergei was the first openly gay therapist in Paris, having worked in San Francisco during the epidemic, and translating that experience into the realities of the French. In a certain way, he carved the way. I think that as I sit on his terrace, too; a terrace I have thought of jumping from a number of times. I haven’t and I won’t. Although I do sit here sometimes and think of how lovely it would be to disappear; not to die, but rather to climb that mountain beside me and leave this world behind. I would miss my mother, and Montauk, and all of these people, though. The toilets also don’t flush here and the showers are rather terrible. Third-world, my friends say, as a Jeff Koons designed superyacht docks in the port. Youth. 

Katie does not torch her skin, or rather her skin is untorchable. Blonde and blue-eyed, she was a shape-shifter. In a white dress she was youthfully innocent – curtsying it across the dancefloor as she learned to do at debutante balls and Chapin Hall. Black, though, was her true form. She was a New Yorker and she wore the color as a badge of honor – at the opera, at the beach, anything was the appropriate occasion. As we piled off the ferry, we agreed that we wouldn’t smoke this trip. Then we smoked, so we agreed that we wouldn’t smoke during the day. Then we smoked during the day, and we realized that our promises to ourselves and all others didn’t matter much on this sparsely populated island. There were no cars, and something about that meant that there were no worries or responsibilities. Only this. Only all of us staring nervously at one another around a table quite densely populated with aperitifs and ouzo, making predictions about our impending foray into adulthood that we tentively accept as fact. 

There’s Campbell – who woke me from my drunken dreams to tell me that Riley was threatening suicide by way of that same terrace from which I considered jumping – and then there’s Riley – who wasn’t threatening suicide but was indeed crying over a bottle of wine that she stole from the fridge of the creperie we found ourselves in after the bar and who wished that Campbell – the boy who woke me up – would treat her better. I sympathized with Riley and made my allegiances clear. She will move to Chicago in a month to trade energy at British Petroleum, after climbing Kilimanjaro, and they will break up, I’m sure. He is moving to Los Angeles to both pursue a graduate degree in some type of engineering and “escape” his perceived shallowness of New York… in Los Angeles. There is Sina, from Boston, the Iranian boy whom Isabel uses as a color-swatch. We had spent time together in Barcelona, though not much, and the only thing I had surmounted by that point was that he was both gay and quiet. I have come to learn that he was quiet because he was slow to accept the first fact that I had come to know and that he was, in fact, quite loud, quite brilliant, and quite funny. He told Isabel of his sordid secret approximately two months ago with the announcement that he was dating someone and that someone’s name was Robbie. I don’t know much about Robbie except that Robbie was enough to allow Sina to accept himself for who he is so I do believe that I would quite like Robbie as well. Sina holds not one, but two degrees from Wharton, graduating Phi Beta Kappa with a perfect GPA in each. 

And then there’s me. My defining characteristics are my height, my sense of humor, and my knack for the dramatic. I hold a degree in Financial Economics from an Ivy League university – as does everyone I have just described – yet I will shortly be working for a non-profit focused on child welfare. I don’t particularly care for children but I decided that if I truly felt that I couldn’t escape the sin of homosexuality then I could at least adorn my life’s work in morality instead of money. Dramatic, as I said, I’ve managed to become afraid of everything in the past six-or-so-years and have spent the last of those six years overcoming each and every thing one-by-one. That’s what brought me to this small island merely eight months ago and unbeknownst to my friends, it’s what brought me here now. At some point, I decided it would be better to jump from some exotic terrace than to never step foot on one and thus I’ve made it a mission of mine to stray further and further away from home, from comfort, and from the familiar. 

We arrived nine days ago. We spent time with Alex, a local fisherman that we have referred to as “Odysseus” since our arrival last year. “Penelope” is a more fitting name given that the gentleman awaits Isabel’s arrival eleven-of-twelve months per year as she, who I have referred to as “Circe”, turns men to swine across the world. Or perhaps they’re already swine. The allusions have become a bit tangled but we perpetuate them to remind everyone that we have read the Odyssey and literary references come natural to people like us. Alex would find us line-dancing and smoking in bars, sharing shots of ouzo or a strange beer-and-liquor concoction with the bartenders, or flirting up something that wasn’t him or Dinos or one of the tens of other island men that knew both us and each other but remained quite anonymous by way of names we could neither remember nor pronounce and steal Circe from her nymphs. We would stumble up our two-hundred-and-thirty stairs cursing his thievery only to wake up, share a freddo cappuccino, and do it all again. The sex, Isabel said, was some of the best. Hours, she would say, hours, and we would all agree that hours feels a bit long and perhaps the mechanics of the whole affair contributed less to her ranking system than did the context within which it occurred. She concurred. He, of course, wasn’t the only man that infiltrated our circle but he did figure the most prominently. Alex would take her spearfishing, intermittently pausing to admire her newly carved figure and seduce her into yet another romp in the moonlight, in some cave or open water, or beach on the mainland that would be distant to the prying eyes of the people of Hydra. Privacy, Alex lamented, was hard to come by on the island. That became clear when people began greeting us. We heard you’re back! they would say, and for whatever reason they rejoiced. Parting gifts in the form of shots or lunch or Prosecco or jewelry – courtesy of Alex’s father – were offered and, of course, taken. Bon voyages! were given and one or two people waved as our ferry pulled away from the port. 

Last year was much the same, except it came with the four-day power outage that would see us without phones or plumbing before flying off to Mykonos. 

[feminismforlesbians]

I mostly see accounts of people who were terfs in their youth and changed their mind. What made you go the other way?

@bluegone  

I’m finally back at my laptop. 

(I had this huge essay going in reply to this and then realized that absolutely no one would read of all it and started from scratch).

I’d have to agree with some of the people who commented on this through replies or reblogs while I was away—-I have never seen someone who was a “terf in their youth” shift entire ideologies into liberal feminism. You’ll see a lot of people apologize profusely for being a transphobic cis gay before opening their eyes to tumblr dot com and becoming an instant trans inclusionist. That means that as young 14, 15, 16 year olds (their youth) they had never heard of gender identity vs sex or else didn’t know that attraction based on sex, which was their natural attraction, was a bad thing. It doesn’t mean they were “terfs”. It means they were young gay or bisexual kids who hadn’t ever been exposed to gender theory before and now have subscribed fully to it, apologies for the past crime of feeling sex-based attraction always ready to be offered up. They didn’t change their minds from one ideology to another; they simply subscribed to one without comparison to anything else. 

I actually fully engaged in one movement, then consciously made the decision to subscribe to a different one. 

I’ve been on this hellsite for a very long time. I’m 21 now and I was either 14 or just newly 15 when I first ~made an account. The mainstream “LGBT and feminist movement” on here is liberal trans-inclusive ace-inclusive feminism. It’s large, it’s the default, it’s the social justice community you participate in unless 1) you know there’s a different one you value and you find it or 2) you find a different one through the mainstream and value it (a la me). This mainstream collective has enjoyed trends such as monosexual privilege, gender bang pt 1, mogaii, split attraction model, gender bang pt 2, “q*eer”, and others. I was involved in all aforementioned and the others in between. I believed myself to be bisexual when I first started, because I knew I was attracted to girls and I assumed I was attracted to guys. The monosexual privilege, mogaii, and split attraction model trends all did fantastic jobs of reinforcing this internalized heterosexism but also created a substantial amount of internalized lesbophobia. Gender bang pt 1 and the split attraction model together also created some short-lived but intense body sex dysphoria (wherein I would find myself browsing through packers and binders and shutting my eyes while using the restroom, despite still knowing myself to be a woman) because between the pressure to hyperdefine every aspect of my attraction and to deconstruct my gender, I went through the extra identity crisis that was never needed. This is all a very compressed version of the experience, and is more of a background for the events that started the momentum to my switch in ideologies. 

The tumultuous gender and sexuality crises that I personally experienced as a result of these trends lasted from about the ages 14 to 18; I didn’t start to drift away from the libfem community until I was 20. It was not the personal crises that made me leave, and it’s not my crying about them, about my individual woe-is-me tale that makes me a “terf”. It’s the foundation, though, and that’s why it’s worth mentioning. So you are aware I am not talking out of my ass when I describe things in the libfem community, like language used, priorities made, or the effects on young and/or gay people. I’m not talking out of my ass because I was fully subscribed to it for years; enthusiastically and wholeheartedly. It was my community. 

By the time I was about 18-19 I had finally just let myself be a girl and the sex dysphoria had dissipated along with the frantic attempts to gender-trend myself so that I could make my sexuality “make sense”; I knew I was attracted to girls and though I assumed I must have been attracted to guys, I couldn’t describe how and gender-trending seemed to be the answer. I let that go, the gender-trending part, and then I was just a “cis” bisexual girl. I was okay with that; I accepted that trans people were The Most Oppressed. I knew (and still know) that trans people are deserving of safety, and health care, and that dysphoria can be life threatening. I was content with the standards that trans people came first. Trans women are women and trans men are men, check your cis privilege, and so on. 

And then somewhat of a trio of things of happened in quick succession: there was finally that “duh…I’m a lesbian” moment, a wave of gender theory craze that I call gender bang pt 2, and then I got involved in the ace diskhorse. When I finally let myself be a lesbian it was like…learning to fly. For about two seconds. I just felt free from the discomfort and frustration and pain I’d put myself through trying to convince myself I was attracted to men when I really just wasn’t. And then I came out as a lesbian on here, on this hellsite, and I got people telling me, immediately, that that was great as long as I wasn’t One Of Those Lesbians. The terfy ones. Suddenly it became imperative that every time I talked about women I said and trans women. It was with my own internal freedom to be attracted only to women that I finally saw that the reverse was true in this community I was a part of. I was friends with straight women, bisexual women, pansexual women, q*eer women, q*eer nonbinary people, and many trans people. And they were all attracted to men. And what I watched was how normalized and encouraged attraction to men was—how the “thirst” for men was being called empowering and sexy and “q*eer”. Maybe it is empowering and sexy (it’s certainly not “q*eer”), but not when attraction women was either hush hushed or practically infantilized. Attraction to men was loud and suggestive and sexual and humorous and encouraged; attraction to women was…not. This I noticed first. Men and women. And then I noticed something else. It was okay to connect men to penises. It was assumed, by nearly every person around me, that when one “thirsted for that dick” they were talking about a man and that was okay. If someone said “I really want to fuck her”, without even citing whether “cis” or trans, the entire community was on alert. If someone were to say “I would eat her out”, there would be goddamn riots in the name of transphobia. This was where I started think that it was kind of fucked up that people could be “transphobic” in talking about men and penises have it celebrated as feminist, and then utterly destroyed for talking about women and vulvas. This was where I started to wonder why it was okay for my straight female friend to talk about her thirst for men using explicit details involving dick, but it wasn’t okay for me, a lesbian, to have a sexual attraction to vulvas. This was where I started to want to ask questions about sex-based attraction (but I didn’t, because you don’t ask questions in libfem communities. You just accept, validate, and welcome everybody and shut your goddamn mouth if you don’t.)

This overlapped with the gender bang pt 2, which was a reinforcement of the gender theory that had been prevailing for a while but was more significant to me at the time. While I was now starting to wonder why people attracted to men could specify male genitalia in their attraction and lesbians weren’t permitted to do the same for women, there was beginning a larger push to pretend like biological sex didn’t exist at all. There was a push for people to believe that only gender, a concept of personal identity, factored into attraction. It was a push that made it so a woman was only a woman because she said so, and to speak of biological sex was to be transphobic. It was a push that deconstructed my womanhood and my sexuality in one blow. It was a push that further amplified discussions of “dick”, except now where my lack of participation in such talks would have been unnoticeable, it was a “red flag”. It was upsetting. It wasn’t trans people that were upsetting to me, or trans women, or trans “validity”. I wasn’t angry about the fact that trans people existed, I didn’t wish them ill or dead. I was angry that my femaleness, my womanhood, the part of who I was for which this movement claimed to stand for—feminism—was now the enemy. It was being erased. I was angry that my sexuality, which I had had barely a breath to revel in, which I had had denied to me through all this other genderist bullshit, was now treated as a “risk factor” for being a transphobe—the ultimate evil. I couldn’t say any of this, though, I couldn’t ask any questions, I couldn’t differ even slightly in opinion, or disagree with something or have some fucking boundaries, because this is the libfem circles we are talking about. So, instead, I just buried my thoughts because part of me felt that maybe I was evil for thinking that way. 

And right around then I stumbled into the ace diskhorse. Yes, that one area within liberal feminism where there is the slightest variety—I say slightest because in fact, if you openly suggest ace exclusion as a libfem, you will be decimated just as you would for criticizing genderism. However, I say variety, because there are a decent amount of libfems who are ace exclusionists but subscribe to literally everything else in libfem rhetoric. That’s where I found myself, on another tiny blog, lurking curiously in these trans-inclusive gender-not-sex q*eer ace-exclusive posts. (Mind, I am ace exclusive. But that’s not what makes me a terf. Just an aphobe, apparently). This was where I learned that, hey, it was possible to not agree with every single little thing that the tumblr mainstream declared “valid”. I had never strayed away from the mainstream because I didn’t know of any other circle except, you know, terfs, which were obviously evil—so why would I have ever bothered to look at a so-called terf’s blog or in a “terfy” tag? I hadn’t. I hadn’t ever seen anything but the tumblr mainstream all very forcefully agreeing with each other, supported by kawaii banners and not much else. Yet here was the tiny ace-exclusive corner, where people actually discussed like, concepts, and constructs, and facts, and histories, and actual manifestations of oppressions. I saw people actually asking goddamn questions. 

A few times, I would see an ace-inclusive libfem telling an ace-exclusive libfem that they were evil fucking aphobes that were “just as bad as terfs”. Privately, I would think, no, no I’m not like a terf. Terfs are evil! They want to kill trans women and are total fetishists! I don’t want to kill anyone, I know trans people. Just because I think maybe being female matters and that maybe it’s okay to be attracted to sex, does not mean I’m a terf. 

So it was all happening in congruence: I was a lesbian finally free from her own internalized lesbophobia, looking to embrace and revel in my sexuality after hating it for so long, as the community I trusted told me that it was wrong to desire vulva but empowering to suck dick. I was starting to look up and outside and thinking about asking questions just as I discovered that questions could be asked. I was thinking.

I can identify a moment that could be called the catalyst. 

I was perusing my ace-exclusionist corner, and an ace-exclusionist libfem had made a post about asexuality that a “terf” had dared agree with. There was no mention of trans people or sex or gender on either end and still the libfem said:

“go get hit by a truck and die, terf”

It was so brutally violent and since the “terf” had said nothing that was trans or gender or sex related, I thought that this must mean that terfs are so universally evil they’re worthy of fucking death threats just for commenting on a post. And then I worried the thoughts I’d been having, the anger about devaluing my sex and sexuality in the name of trans activism, were terfy. And so I clicked on that terf’s blog, to see how maliciously cruel and hateful these terfs were so that I could reaffirm my previous loyalty to trans-inclusive feminism. 

Except what happened was that I clicked on that terf’s blog and she wasn’t the spawn of Satan. I clicked on people she reblogged from and people they reblogged from and soon found myself lurking in honest-to-God terf circles. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t evil. No one was asking for the rapes and murders of trans women. No one was fetishizing women. There were black terfs and brown terfs and disabled terfs and lesbian terfs and bisexual terfs and young terfs and older terfs. These terfs weren’t at all the kawaiied pasteled hivemind that libfem was. They actually talked about things; they explored, explained, and support ideas, history, facts, and values. It was invigorating. They didn’t all agree all the time all at once and no one was threatening lives for having a different perspective. Their commonality? In the most basic definition, these trans exclusive radical feminists believed in sex-based oppression, in sex-based attraction, and in the prioritization of women in feminism. Obviously there’s much more to it than that; that’s what made it so fascinating, this movement that had a foundation and entire layers of analyses and arguments and facts and history and convictions. 

I lurked and I lurked and I lurked and then I said fuck it, and I made a blog. I believe that gender is a social construct, that biological sex is fact, that sex-based oppression exists; I don’t want trans people dead, I don’t think trans people don’t deserve health care, I don’t think trans people don’t deserve safety. There’s more, but those are the baselines. 

So I guess now I’m a terf that switched sides. And apparently deserving of things like getting hit by a truck and dying. Comes with the territory when you decide to be part of a movement that asks questions and doesn’t deny reality. 

[hiriajuu-suffering]

I’ve Given Up

I’ve given up on the idea maybe one day I’ll find happiness. My entire life is a series of signposts that indicated to me I’m paying for sins I didn’t commit to in this life.

I sought the normative life early on. I was told being smart, being a unique and critical thinker is an asset to one’s personhood. Instead, it got me ostracized from my religious community and prevented me from fulfilling the social goals to help me fit in. I was the centralizing force of my social circle in elementary school, and then all my friends drifted away in a matter of 3 years as I was further dissociated from suburban life. I wasn’t even invited to my childhood best friend’s wedding. Then again, how should one expect a group of 12 and 13 year olds in 2004 to empathize with a depressed friend that seemingly had a great life on the surface? I miss how pure and unfiltered those relationships were. In adulthood, it’s all about functional utility...and it’s sad.

I tried to fill the voids in my need for belonging with competitive success, but I always fell inches short of the goals I set for myself. I wanted to be section leader my last year of middle school, I never came into my own. I wanted to feel as if I could make a place for myself in high school, instead, I was shoved into a corner and almost bullied out by my teammates. I wanted to belong at my new school, my new teammates resented me for my competence. I started to see the contempt for my identity. I doubt WE even still stalks this blog, but he has no idea how much he ruined my life. I set my sights at breaking at state, when I failed to do that, no one had a problem abandoning me completely...and he had the nerve to say he was doing it for my own good. I committed more to the team than I ever had in my life, and he deluded himself into thinking tearing me away from that would be good for me instead of destroy me thoroughly. I buried myself in TCGs as my only choice, and I couldn’t place high enough to gain notoriety in that community either in spite of so many tops.

I took chances on people thinking they wouldn’t have contempt for me naturally, but I had no idea the identity I had no control over was so repugnant to people. Being told I could never have the right look to be successful in music stung, but I never knew how real those words were until I started seeing adulthood through. I can’t even count the amount of times people accused me of being a pedophile as a teenager because hearsay whisper and crushes from girls I unrequited totally. Then, for all the wisdom I had in adhering to those arbitrary age distinctions, the same girls would never grant me a basic level of trust to make something happen the right way. Why is me being romantically happy so offensive to people when I show more restraint than anyone expects of any other desi, Muslim, or man? It can’t be straight prejudice because I know others of my exact ilk found happiness. Am I just that personally repulsive that everyone has to see me drown to not break their reality? I changed my tag to Hiriajuu Suffering because I’m constantly between intersections that I can’t ever seem to garner empathy from.

Even when I was finally truly on my own, I went back to a team that otherized me for things about myself I couldn’t control. SS was the only person, at first, who saw me as worth anything. Then LA, TM, CG, CI, and EK eventually saw it, too. But LL, ML, MH, BW, R, NC, JB, I could just feel their contempt. If it wasn’t for MA, I would’ve resented my Bobcat family as much as my Ranger and Tiger families. I can’t thank WK enough for eventually putting faith in me, because I know JH never did. I never felt the need to be a leader there like I did in high school because I lost faith in my abilities to lead, my scars on that team scared people away from rooting for me. I didn’t realize how hopeless I already was because I still had competition to bury myself into. The day I had to leave San Marcos, the day I walked on stage for graduation, I couldn’t maintain a genuine a smile, because it represented the death of my ability to pursue the unknown.

I adopted myself into a community on life support and held it together and it resulted in my own social death. I did everything I could my family asked of me for two and half years, at the delay of my own personal goals in life and I’m still spit on and abused by them as a fully grown person. I tried so hard to chase something to quench my thirst for adventure, depending on my competitive integrity to get me there, but I always fell short. I always failed. I never gained a single soul’s respect from trying to make a real point. The only thing that held me together was the prospect I might still have the ability to create my own family to rectify the wrongs done to me with my offspring, but even my path to do so evaporated during the pandemic.

I tried so much to be the person I needed to help me when I was a teenager, as an educator, and my existence was so detested I wasn’t allowed to be that. I took a gamble on the very campus that destroyed what little reputation I could catapult myself into a role for myself, and they found a way to use the same overdrawn interpretations on the abhorrence of my identity to sever me again, so I went to a place I thought I would be valued. Instead of being valued, I was overworked and overstressed to the point I couldn’t meet my bear minimum though I did more than no person should be asked of in that position. I tried so hard to be that person, no one would let me be that. I put every ounce of capability I had in the job itself and no one cut me slack for the world going to hell and stopping me from holding onto that little space I made for myself. I’m loyal to the students and teachers at my last school, but the administration didn’t want me around...I didn’t represent the puppet they wanted because bad timing gets no sympathy, no leeway.

The pandemic practically made me lose every little thing I had built being forced to be back “home” and I just wanted to escape, but the places I wanted to go to didn’t see me as worthy. My heart just kept sinking when one rejection letter came in after another, knowing it’s another door that closed to appease my sense of adventure. I’m stuck with a life I’ll be unable to enjoy in this mentally abusive household for the sake of a few numbers in my bank account for any foreseeable future. No one sees any potential I have left, so why should I? I’ll go to graduate school in hopes I can numb myself to where I won’t wake up one day wanting to kill myself again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying my new school represents hopelessness because I’m glad the one institution is able to believe in me in some capacity, but I’m not in an environment where I can thrive. Where I’m even allowed to be human. I’m actually heading to the campus shortly to try to at least believe in class in August. I’m not confident this next two years should give me the future I should have, but I know it would force me to be overqualified for what I tried to be the past few years, making the prejudice against me less justifiable if I can find a place to exist.

I’ve given up on the idea of ever having a sense of belonging, ever feeling I’ll have a space to call home, ever knowing what it means to be at peace. No woman will ever see me as a worthy partner, no labor entity will ever give me faith, no society will see me as a member of value, I am destined to be an emissary of suffering and bear the burdens of being so fucking ugly no one will ever treat as human enough to be worthy of tolerance. My soul’s already saved, but this vessel isn’t treated as worthy of a place of humanity. I’m just waiting for the embrace of death, waiting for my suffering to end, hopefully making my ripples minimal enough to where I don’t leave anyone with the grief my grandfather left me with. I always thought the opposite would be true of my life, I would make a real impact on the world and be valued for something. But I can say with relative certainty it won’t happen for me, I’m doomed to the mundanity that hardly makes my life worth living, especially since my realism says definitely I will never be worthy of love to anyone. If I was born asexual, born without moral inclination or the need to improve the existence I live through, I wouldn’t loathe life as much as I do now. Maybe that’s why no one treats me humanly, because I hardly am. I wish I could forget my ethics, my heart. But something above my lowly position keeps me from doing so, so I continue to feel this steeping pain.

I hate life. The only reason I’m still trying to live is I’m angry at life and want to try to spite it, but it will always get the best of me and I can’t see myself winning anymore. If I’m able to make a place for myself I can perish smoothly, that will be an accomplishment on its own because that’s how low the bar is right now. I’m going to miss deluding myself into thinking I had anything to look forward to.

[fresh-coast-reader]

Alyx

(Working Title)

The city lights were blinking out of existence as I sat gazing out of the car window, longing to be anywhere but here.

“Alyx, don’t lean your head against the window!  You’ll smudge.” My mother snapped.

“Smudge what?  Her face or the window?”

I couldn’t look at him or I would burst out laughing.  Masterfully, I kept my face perfectly composed in a neutral expression that refused to betray the mirth that rolled just below the surface of my feigned indifference.   This was always my reaction to my brother and his ability to always tell it like he saw it.  He must have absorbed all of that in utero, and left none for me.  A testament to his power was the pink tinge on my mother’s cheek—hardly discernable in the darkness of the car, but perceptible nonetheless.

“Seriously, why do you insist on painting her like a doll?  She looks terrifying,” he continued.

“She looks beautiful,” my mother said, quietly, leaning forward to assess any damage to my perfectly painted complexion.

“Thank you, Mother.” I said, “I should have thought of that.  I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Alyx. Just keep your face from the window.”  She paused, considering me. “You’re my masterpiece.”  Her pride was almost palpable.

Aaron snorted.  “My previous statement stands.”

While Aaron had the ability to say it like it is, and I had the ability to effortlessly conceal my inner thoughts and feelings, my mother had the ability to convey every emotion with an arch of her eyebrow.  The perfectly plucked one above her right eye threatened to disappear into her hairline.

Aaron responded to my mother’s wordless response to his scoff. “I just don’t like being a witness to my sister being paraded around like she’s up for auction.”

“But I am,” I said, returning my gaze to the eternity that lay beyond the window.  I had no patience for this bickering tonight.  They did this frequently, my mother and Aaron; she primped and fussed, and he complained about it.  Neither of them had a right to argue with me and, rightfully, both fell into an awkward silence.  Aaron stared directly at me, and Mother stared deliberately anywhere else.

“We’re not selling you, Alyx,” she began, after several minutes of silence.

“Of course not, Mother,” I said, this time looking directly into her eyes.  Hers held my gaze for only a moment before dropping to examine her manicure for the eighth time. My expression, I knew, was neutral, but she knew that I knew, and she couldn’t tell me I was wrong.

“I’m sorry, Alyx…” Aaron started.

I held up one hand and he was immediately rendered silent.

“Not now, please.” I said, “Let me just….” And I looked back out the window.  I didn’t need to finish the statement, they both understood.

As we drove further from the city, the stars became visible, and in the darkness they shone brilliantly.  Something in their constancy implied some kind of promise, and whatever the promise was, I hoped something would happen soon. I leaned my face as close to the glass as I could.  I had only seen the stars twice before.  They were not a necessity to city life.  My mother and Aaron let an hour pass in silence before I broke it.

“Where are we going?”

“A new associate of your father’s country home,” my mother responded clearly relieved to be engaged again.  Living in the city with my father for so many years had made her accustomed to a constant stimulation of some kind.  This is a common affliction to all those who live in our world.

“A new associate?” I asked.  “New” was not a word one heard in reference to one’s social circle here.  A group of friends began, grew when the friends had children; the children became friends, and so on.  Newcomers were generally considered to be potential dangers to our way of life.

“Yes,” she said, lips pursed, carefully selecting her words.  “His name is Liam Viridian, and he has apparently… captivated everyone.”

I turned to my brother.  “Have you met him?”

“No,” he said, simply.  I raised one eyebrow and Aaron shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Later” his expression read.

Just then, the screens and lights in the car flickered and sputtered.  My mother looked afraid. “What was that?” she asked.

“We’re almost there.”  Aaron said.

“How do you know?” Mother asked.  My brother said nothing, but looked out of his window into the night.

“Tech won’t work out here, Mother.”  I heard myself say.

Aaron and Mother both looked at me—Mother, terrified; Aaron had an expression of mixed surprise and pride.  “How do you know that?” he asked.

Truthfully, I didn’t know how I knew, but as we approached a set of iron gates at the edge of a monstrous tree-filled glade, I knew that our type of power held no sway here.  I felt a shift within me and I knew a greater power ruled here, and that we were no match for it.

“I can feel it,” I said, watching our car become enveloped in a never-ending sea of trees and forest.

My brother nodded, and my mother clung to the edge of her seat, her knuckles pure white in their exertion.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and we found ourselves pulling up in front of a house like none I had ever seen.

It was a combination of the forest and a mansion.  Trees seemed to grow as part of the structure of the house.  Ivy clung to its walls.  It was not ostentatious but it had an air of grandeur.

The car parked on a mosaic stone drive and the doors automatically opened.  Instantly I was enveloped in the scent of lavender, the summer air, and the smell of the dirt and trees surrounding the house.  The front doors were thrown open to reveal a warm, golden light emanating from inside.  Down the steps came two suit clad gentlemen, they were too regal to be called servants, who came straight to the car, offered a hand to help my mother out, and next me.  My brother exited from the opposite side of the car, away from the house and walked around the back to take my arm and lead me in.

One of the gentlemen had my mother’s arm.  The second gentlemen was transferring directions into our car’s auto driver port, instructing it where to park.  He then input a temporary summoning command function so he could summon the car when we were prepared to leave.  As the car took off, following the gentleman’s directions, he came over and offered his arm to me, looking questioningly at Aaron.

“I’ll escort my sister, thank you,” he said.

“Of course, sir,” the man said. “Right this way, please.”  He swept his arm up the stair toward the welcoming front door.  I could hear strains of music through the rustling of the leaves through the trees.  They sounded clearer than anything I had ever heard before.  I turned to ask Aaron what he thought and found him staring at me.

“What?” I asked, my hand automatically raising to assess whether the intricate curls of my hair were still securely pinned.

“You do look beautiful,” he said, “but don’t let it get to your head.”  He winked.  I pinched his wrist and started up the stairs with him, right behind Mother.

I was sure not to pick up my dress to walk up the stairs.  My mother’s voice was permanently present now: “Young ladies must never lift their hems when wearing a long gown.  They must learn to walk like ladies, not to hike up their skirts like trash.”  So, after many, many hours, I learned to walk without lifting the skirt of my dress to clear a path, but rather, I learned to use my hips and feet to my advantage.

My dress tonight was aided by the gentle breeze, lifting the hem slightly clearing a path for my feet to walk unimpeded.  The deep, but vivid, forest green chiffon drifted dreamily and made me look like I had grown here.  One shoulder was covered by a sheer strap of chiffon that stretched across my chest, over my left shoulder, and across my back, leaving my right should exposed—Mother’s idea.

“The color really brings out your eyes, and it’s just modest enough….”  She always trailed off into her own world when deciding these types of things.  I didn’t know what “modest enough” was, but I was sure this wasn’t it.  Aaron, too, sensed my discomfort and offered his jacket.

“No, thank you,” I said, truly grateful. “I’m sure it’ll be boiling inside.”  I was suddenly grateful to my mother for convincing me to have my long auburn hair curled, pinned up, and off of my neck and back.

We reached the top of the stair and approached the front doors.  The wooden face was an intricately carved tree with wide spreading branches and leaves, and an intricate root system that continued into the tiled floor and stretched across the foyer.  The walls here, too, were covered with foliage and looked like we had walked into the very heart of a tree.  The shifting uneasiness I felt in the car dissipated, and for the first time, I truly relaxed.  I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders relax, felt the tightness in my chest melt away.  The natural beauty around me seemed to be absorbing my apprehensions, and I glanced around, absorbing more of my surroundings, afraid that the feeling would pass.

My mother and the other guests looked like brightly colored insects flitting about, trying to decide what to think of this new associate and of the surroundings by conferring with each other.

My brother whistled as we continued through the foyer.  “Well…” he said, looking around, clearly impressed.  I remained silent, equally awed.

The hall where all of the guests had been gathered rested a level below us and was pierced through the middle by the largest tree I had ever seen.  Its leaves stretched way up and covered us like an umbrella on the outer level, which ringed the hall itself.  This ring level continued all the way around the hall and extended out onto and into any number of gardens and terraces.  It was as if Nature herself had created a dwelling to enjoy.  As we approached the edge of the ring, I looked up and saw that the roof was open.  Glass panels were opened and folded back so the tree and the hall were under the starlight and moonlight and supplemented with the rich evening air.

We approached the railing at the edge of the ring and I leaned on it, unwilling to believe such a place existed.  My mother had disappeared to find our father.  My brother was silent looking over the hall, but his hands gripped the railing in the same way our mother’s had gripped the seat in the car a while earlier.  I stood, contented, eyes closed, breathing in the smell of the flowers blooming from all directions, mixed with the delicious food smells wafting from below us.  The sound of the leaves was punctuated by the music I had heard earlier.  The clarity of it increased.  I opened my eyes and looked around for the speakers from which the music, no doubt, emanated.

“No speakers.”  Aaron said, clearly in tune with my inquisitiveness.

“Then where is the music coming from?” I asked, shocked that he stated this fact with such adamant knowledge.

“ ‘Tech won’t work out here.’” He said, and nodded his head toward one of the far corners of the lower level.

There on a dais raised up above the floor level, was a band.  A real, live band brimming with instruments I had heard about, but had never seen in person.  My eyes widened and my mouth gaped.  Real music.  Not the digital recordings synthesized and produced in the city, but real music.

“Close your mouth, Alyx.  You look insane.”  Aaron quipped.

I immediately closed my mouth.  “Where in the world did he find musicians?”

“I suspect, anywhere in the world.  This new friend of our father’s has a wide range of resources at his disposal.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about him.”

“I know enough.”

Aaron’s silence troubled me.  He was always so free and easy with his thoughts and opinions, but the fact that he was remaining silent about this man… I didn’t know what to think.

The band faded into silence as the song they had been playing ended.  One lone man came forward on the dais, holding what I recognized as a violin.  He raised it to his chin, lifted his bow to the strings, closed his eyes, and drew the bow back; from his instrument emanated one bittersweet note.  My whole body shivered and all of the little hairs on my arms rose.  The violinist followed the first note with another, and another, drawing the bow across the strings, swaying with a fluidity that suggested that he and the instrument were one creature telling the story of a life well lived.

My heart clenched and my stomach fluttered.  I was surrounded by the music.  It was more beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined.  I closed my eyes and felt every note wash over me and could almost feel the vibrations carried over my skin.  The thrill of it brought tears to my eyes.

I opened them to quickly blot the moisture away, but, instead, straightened quickly, squaring my shoulders, staring.  As the music swelled, the leaves of the magnanimous tree danced with golden streaks of light.  The streaks extended and splintered, sailing around the room, bouncing off of my father’s friends and associates before rebounding back in many directions toward other party guests and then into the leaves and foliage, enhancing the verdure of the vegetation.  The light seemed to vibrate and burn with the intensity and semblance of living fire, in time with the man and his violin.  I wondered at the guests’ lack of acknowledgement at this light display, and I realized none of them could see it.  Surely they would react to being hit by what appeared to be liquid gold sliding through the air.  I watched the many rays pass each other, meld and converge, continuing on their unstoppable path.  They swirled and roiled like buttery waves, collecting in a riotous tumult of brightness and frothy golden beauty.

More golden streaks sprang from the ivy covered wall just behind me and I saw and felt it pass between my brother and me.  I watched the light enter the canopy directly in front of us, and was not prepared when it immediately shot back out and came directly at me.  I tensed, wondering if I would feel its collision into me, as the other guests seemed to not.  But rather than just bouncing off of me, the light swirled and coiled around me, caressing my arms, neck, legs, and waist.  I stood stock still.  The light seemed to consider me, as an uncertain child would.  Then it collected itself, and hung like an orb in front of my face.  I watched it, unsure of what to do.

Then I realized: my brother had made no movement since this display began.  He had uttered no words.  He had not let go of my arm.  I broke my eye contact with the orb to glance at him, to see what he was doing.  He was looking at the light, with an almost disgusted expression.  He did not seem surprised to see it.  Catching the movement of my face toward him, he glanced down at me, and realized that I could see what he saw.  He glanced at the orb, still stationary in front of me, glanced back at me, a look of sickening realization engulfing his expression.  He grabbed my shoulders and turned my whole body to face him.

The instant his hands touched my skin, the orb exploded, spewing light in all directions.

“Ouch, Aaron!” I started, but suddenly stopped when I noticed his gaze was no longer on me, but on where the light had been.

The foliage from the walls now stretched across the floor to wrap around the railing and the branches of the trees now extended all the way to the floor over the railing.

I looked at the branches, mystified by their sudden growth.  Through the lush emerald leaves, I saw him.

He was looking up at me, standing near the base of the tree, watching me with a confused, but intrigued expression on his face.  He looked from me to my brother; then his eye followed my mother hurrying to us, my father in tow.

Realization of who I was washed over his face.  He sighed heavily, eyes closing momentarily as if with reluctant resolution.  His eyes reopened and locked with mine.  He inclined his head in my direction, gave a small, but somehow sad, smile, and gracefully turned to join the rest of his party.