#contradicts itself over again in several areas

[sunnycowleaf]

Apollo is gay for Icarus and Helius. If you got a problem with that then take it up with the people who wrote Greek mythology

[theculturedmarxist]

Nearly six months after the Norfolk Southern train derailment and detonation of five rail cars carrying carcinogenic vinyl chloride over East Palestine—and weeks after an explosive NTSB hearing revealed the vinyl chloride manufacturer had repeatedly advised Norfolk Southern there was no emergency requiring the detonation of the vinyl chloride cars—Status Coup can report that the EPA is contradicting itself once again on whether residents’ air quality is safe.

After the EPA originally declared that the “air quality in the town is safe” days after the derailment—and the agency doubled down on that message for weeks—Status Coup broke news in March that Mark Durno, the EPA’s on-scene coordinator in East Palestine, admitted that the testing, and equipment, being used to test residents’ air quality, was flawed, admitting that chemicals like Butyl Acrylate can be present at much lower levels that EPA’s Photo Ionization Detectors can’t detect.

“Yes there is a chance that that chemical can be present and we don’t see it,” he said at a March meeting with East Palestine residents. “You need to understand that.”

But now the EPA is reversing course, telling Status Coup the exact opposite: “EPA disagrees that the voluntary indoor air screening was inadequate,” a spokesperson began in a statement to Status Coup.

The agency added:

“The voluntary indoor air screening program was done to provide confidence that no acute hazards, using action levels provide by public health agencies, were present as the evacuation was being lifted. Through this program, several actions and/or recommendations were made to occupants where elevated results or odors were observed.  These actions/recommendations were provided even if the results or odors were clearly not related to the derailment incident.  The program was conducted in conjunction with a multi-layered outdoor air monitoring and sampling program to ensure that no unacceptable levels of vapors were sustained into residential areas.  EPA and its Unified Command partners are confident that the outdoor air monitoring and sampling program is protective of public health.  EPA does not plan to conduct any further indoor sampling or monitoring unless we’re made aware of unusual circumstances that may warrant additional assessment work.”

In addition to one of their own employees disagreeing with the EPA, several other experts have weighed in on the topic. Dr. Andrew Whelton, an engineer, and professor at Purdue University, has been vocal about indoor air testing, stating as recently as June 23rd that “USEPA has no credible indoor air testing evidence. None.”

[calmcoldevening]

Bo caught you self-harming

It was a cloudy day in Ambrose. There wasn't a single living soul in the area for three miles around, so you could calmly exhale and relax. The rain was slowly pounding on the roofs of the houses, creating some kind of incoherent symphony. The usual funeral music was coming from the church. Peace and quiet.

You were sitting on the couch in your room, which, not so long ago, the Sinclair brothers first allocated to you. They were very kind and caring. Vincent was always, even if not in words, but interested in your well-being and tried in every way to help you if needed; Lester took care mainly of cooking (some time ago, cleaning was part of it, but as soon as you saw that there was more dirt than cleanliness after him, you took this the element on itself); and Bo... And Bo was the closest person to you out of all three of them. Hot-tempered and impulsive in character, what's there, he was once ready to break his brother's jaw for not shutting up; probably, the lack of proper manners should be compensated by a good face. But still, he had his own charm, which your inhabited eye immediately saw in this ragamuffin. Neatly cut, with a good body and the ability to flirt, he immediately conquered your fragile heart. Or was there something else in it? Perhaps it was something in his thoughts and actions, independent of his appearance and character, something that you could see in his bright azure eyes, even in the dark shining like two large topaz.

If you didn't have your own room, you would probably feel uncomfortable. At least you wouldn't be able to hide your secrets.

After making sure the house was quiet, you closed the door to your room. Unfortunately, there was no lock on it, so you have to be content with what you have. Going to the head of the bed, you lifted the mattress and fished out a small zip package from under it, straightening the sheets and the bedspread to its original position. Sitting on the edge of the bed facing the window, you opened the bag, taking out several blades brought from home.

Your disease, your passion, your drug. Self-harm has long been a part of your daily routine. Like a parasite, the desire for pain and the release of overwhelming emotions took over, forcing you to leave more and more scars on your hands over and over again. This feeling prevented you from living and yet it brightened up a painful existence. So many contradictions and all because of a piece of iron. And yet it was the first time you'd ever picked up a knife here in Ambrose. You thought you had left this habit there, in the city, far beyond the forests and the endless highway, noticing it with a new dose, a dose of love. But it wasn't that simple. Today, on one of the particularly cloudy days, the pulling pain in the chest became too noticeable.

Exhaling, you tried to release the accumulated tension. Gripping the blade tightly, you focused on the sensations, as you always did. The cold of the metal contrasted with your burning ones from the burning that passed into them. It was like your blood was boiling under your skin, scorching the bluish veins. It was as if the world around him had stopped, leaving behind only a dull ringing in his ears.

But you knew forearms weren't an option. It has become too obvious a place for a long time, and your parents, noticing your problem (of course, they noticed, they just saw some kind of program on TV, so they caught on) they started checking your hands. You moved to the hips. In winter, they were hidden by pants, and in summer — by elongated shorts. It attracted less attention than a long sweater to the fingers at ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit.

Lifting the fabric of your pajama shorts, you squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the acrid pain that slowly turns into pleasure. Once. A feeling as if bad thoughts were leaving your mind along with the blood coming out. Two. Three. Now your right thigh was decorated with four chaotic, long scars, slowly staining your skin scarlet. Four. Five. Now the same number of wounds were on the left. Damn perfectionism. Smiling, you prepared to continue self-therapy, as a much larger hand grabbed your wrist.

"What is it?"

You're numb. The blade fell out of your palm and hit the floor with a clang. Your fingers are shaking in a nervous spasm. The smile fell off your cheeks, your face paled noticeably. The irritated, no, shocked bass continued to sound in your ears, echoing in every cell of your brain. Were you so carried away that you didn't hear him come in? He wasn't at home, how did he come up so silently?

"I ask you again, what the fuck is this?" his voice became louder, and you shrank, trying to dissolve into space or somehow become smaller.

"I-I... It's..."

"What is it? What is it?" Sinclair tightens his grip on your wrist.

"B-Bo, it h-hurts..."

"Does it hurt? DOES IT HURT? And then what is this? Better? Do you want me to make it even more pleasant for you?"

The man throws you on the bed, hovering over you, and grabs a new blade from the bag. You whimper, trying to push him away. Bo grabs your hands and holds them above your head. Glaring at you, he turns his gaze to your bleeding thighs and brings the blade to the scars.

"B-Bo, that's enough! Stop it!" you kick, which only makes the grip on your hands stronger.

"Here you go, if you like it so much!"

You squirm and finally kick Bo in the chest with force, from which he buckles, recoiling. You crawl to the opposite side of the bed, hugging yourself by the shoulders. The man burns through the void for a minute, finally shaking his head. Sinclair is looking at you. Now there is no strange animal light in his eyes.

"Sorry, baby" he throws the blade on the sheet, showing you empty hands "Sorry, sorry, kitten, I didn't mean to".

You sniffle, burning a man with tear-stained eyes. He lowers his hands, squeezing the fabric of his pants, and looks at you painfully.

"Excuse me, the sick bastard. I don't know what came over me. Come on, come here" he hesitantly opens his arms into a mute embrace "Kitten".

At first you are alarmed by his sudden change of mood. After thinking about it, you awkwardly climb up to him on all fours and get along on his lap. Bo guides you, trying not to touch your sore thighs, and puts one hand on your back, the other holds under your knees. Sinclair slowly pats you on the back, whispering words of reassurance and apologizing nonstop.

Finally, he briefly kisses you on the forehead and lays you on the pillows, gesturing for you to stay where you are. He leaves the room and returns with a small box. First aid kit. A man strokes your calves, soothing you. Bo opens the box and takes out peroxide, gauze and ointment.

"It's gonna hurt a little," he says in a hoarse voice, solicitously.

You nod. Bo opens the bottle and gently pours the contents onto your wounds. Peroxide hisses unpleasantly. The burning makes you whine. Bo calms you down and gently blows on the wounds. Finally, he takes gauze and applies it to the cuts. Waiting until you come to your senses, he takes out some kind of jar from the first aid kit and covers your skin with its contents. From the soft ointment, your hips relax, the chill pleasantly touches the already crusted wounds in places. Bo lifts your legs and wraps them with bandages, which he does extremely skillfully. After removing all the materials, Sinclair closes the first aid kit and puts it on the edge of the bed.

"I'm so sorry, kitten, I behaved terribly" Bo whispered, running his thumb over the already dried tracks of tears on your cheeks "You've been through enough".

You climb onto Bo's lap, and he begins to gently sway from side to side in the manner of a lullaby, gently stroking you on the back.

"What's wrong, baby? Why did you do that?"

"...This is already...a habit. I did it back at home. It's easier that way. When it hurts".

"If you ever want to do it again, cut my hands" you giggle at his words "I'm serious".

"That's not how it works. It's just that when my soul hurts, I leave cuts, and it doesn't hurt so much anymore. Well, it's hard to explain".

"I understand" Bo kisses you on the cheek "Then let's the next time you feel bad, you come to me and we'll talk, okay, kitten?"

"Okay".

You nuzzle his neck, inhaling the tart scent of his perfume mixed with the smell of fir trees. He always smelled different: it could be metal; notes of wood; the smell of warmth and earth when he stayed in his brother's workshop for a long time; homemade cakes — the only thing that remained unchanged was the smell of engine oil that had become ingrained in his skin. And this smell has always calmed you, giving you an extraordinary calm. And it seems that the problems that caused you to take up the blade earlier are no longer problems at all, but a simple misunderstanding that you have focused on. And everything seems to be fine.

[oneofthosesimps]

Freak like Me

pairing: levi x fem!reader I nsfw

word count: 6230

summary: as soon as the reader enters levi's life, something changes in him. reader's madness spills over and he slowly changes

warnings: mention of blood (not yours), rough sex, dirtytalk, daddy kink, swearing, dom x dom, fight scene

authors note: although i wanted to write shorter stories again, this one somehow got longer again. i tried my hand at an action scene, but i still have to practice a lot. somehow i had strong harley x joker vibes and they had to come out, sorry.

all credits to the artist of this pic:

Lensar on DeviantArt

-----

Your gaze falls into the depths of the forest before you close your eyes. Bright rays of sunlight fall through the branches above you and warm your face. You hear birds chirping around you, the crackling of the wood beneath you, the rustling of leaves swirling in a gust of wind. You breathe deeply as your open hair blows back. You hear your heart beating quietly in your chest as the silence embraces you like an old friend. What does freedom mean? What does life mean? You are sure that this is pretty close to the source. The people behind the wall, who go about their lives every day hoping to see the next day, would never get to see this world. Especially not the people you left behind in the underground.

A grin plays around your lips as you hear the hissing far off in the distance. The trees groan behind you under the force with which the hooks bore into their bark. That took a long time, you think to yourself, as ropes speed past you. You hear the chatter and shouts of your comrades in fragments, shattering the silence around you. Blurred faces shoot past you one after the other.

You spread your arms and stretch them away from you. One last deep breath fills your lungs before you hold your breath. Slowly your body falls backwards before you lose your footing beneath you and plunge headlong into the depths. The air hisses loudly past your ears, your body spins around itself. You are weightless, the green blurs around you before your whole body is pressed full force into your harness and you are yanked back up. You hear the gas sweep around you as you fly through the air, trailing the others. Your hooks bore further away into the trunk of a thick, old tree. You take momentum, flying high into the treetops, letting the ropes come back to you. Unsecured, you fall through space. Your body does a backward roll, allowing you to observe the forest floor for a brief moment. The moss nestles around the roots of the trees, single brown leaves cover the forest path, bodies move forward beneath you, you can still see a squirrel quickly making its way to safety before your body returns to its normal position and you dig your hooks into a tree again. You zip between the trees, your cape flying behind you, your face brushing some branches that bore into your tender skin. You hear the pop of a cannon being fired and see red smoke in the sky northwest of you.

Immediately you change direction, sprinting forward, leaving behind other cadets who still haven't processed what is happening. Arriving in a clearing, you find your place on a thick branch high above. Further in the distance, you see the shaking of trees, the earth shaking slightly, making the grass dance on the ground. You hear heavy footsteps, still moving slowly.

The branch below you moves and you look to your right. Silver eyes stare at you from beneath tousled black hair, eyeing your small body.

"You really do have to keep pushing forward." You hear more bodies land on the trees behind you and the wood weighs down slightly. The rest of your squad waits for instruction from your captain.

"I guess this is why I'll never get my own Squad, sir."

You turn your gaze back to the direction the titan is coming at you from and grin.

"What do you think, fifteen seconds?"

"Mmm, more like ten," Levi guesses, and the tremor intensifies. A huge hand grips around a tree trunk, pulling out from between the trees, and big eyes stare at you. Nearly ten-metres high, abnormal.

"Let's see what you can do then, humanity's strongest soldier." He snorts and rolls his eyes before his whole body moves forward with a jerk. He pulls his swords from their holsters and places them close to his body. With an ease and without the titan even noticing him, he cuts a chunk out of his neck. Before Levi even gets back beside you, the giant falls to the ground and starts to steam.

That wasn't even seven. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, the blood on his face slowly disappears and he looks at you. A small smirk curls his lips, "Brat."

You snort and slam your fist against his shoulder.

Special.

That's the word everyone would use to describe your relationship.

Special.

The first time Levi laid his eyes on you, when he saw you among all the new, shitty cadets, his foot hit your stomach area shortly after. You lacked respect and you lacked punctuality and discipline too. Another pile of shit he had to deal with - or work on until it headed home in tears.

The day after that, he hit your face with his fist. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, panting, you looked up at him. Wiping blood from your lips, you grinned at him and looked at him with wide eyes, your pupils exploding. "That's all you got, sir." Just as he was about to grit his teeth and lunge with his foot to beat the living daylights out of you, Hange stopped him. He tore himself away from her and knelt down to you, looking at you with dead eyes, "I'm going to make your fucking life a living hell." Your tongue licked over your lower lip, wiping away the remaining blood and your grin widened, "Try me."

He kept his word, always picking you out, giving you more tasks, making you run round after round, cleaning the whole headquarters, beating up your little body several times, but to his displeasure you did it all flawlessly. Yes, you lacked respect and also punctuality and discipline, but your performance was amazing, almost close to his. And when he finally saw the potential in you that Erwin had been talking about all along, it suddenly stopped - he left you alone, saw you with different eyes. Something changed in him, as if a plug had been pulled. You watched each other across the field during training, in mess hall at dinner, every spare minute your eyes spent on each other and gradually butterflies crept into the pit of your stomach. And you had the feeling that behind the cold silver there was something deep and dark that you wanted to bring to the surface. Your exchanges were still kept to a minimum, however, until there was another bang.

"That's the stupidest plan I've heard in a long time," you snort, raising an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, brat?" You roll your eyes and stare at him just as coldly as it hits you. The temperature in the room drops noticeably and the others at the table hold their breath. No one dares to say anything. No one would dare say anything. The moonlight from outside shines in, the candles in the room flicker slightly and trace sharp edges on your faces.

"That's the stupidest plan I've heard in a long time," you repeat louder, "Better, sir?"

Levi's eyes blaze and he stares at you. His eyebrows draw together, the corners of his mouth drop. You see Armin open his mouth speechlessly to your right.

Your hairs stand up, the electricity rises and you bite your lower lip, grinning.

"You doubt my plan?" says Levi low and monotone. Jean's hand lands on your shoulder and he grips it, pressing you into your seat to save you from your own stupidity, but it wasn't you who was stupid, it was the whole plan Levi had just explained to you.

"Not only do I doubt it, but I also have a better one," your grin widens as Levi's liquid silver darkens. "Let me fight on the front lines. Mikasa is good, but I'm better".

"For that, you're an incorrigible little bitch who won't listen to my orders".

"Yes, because my plans usually make more sense".

"You're not ready for that. Your cluelessness only makes you run from one titan to another. That statement alone shows me how small your brain is if you're not even aware of it and now shut your mouth."

Jean's grip tightens, but you just push his hand away from you. After your next blink, your heart jumps a tiny bit as you see Levi's annoyed face. He is always good at holding back his anger and it never shows. In fact, he almost never shows any emotion, but you see right through him. He has it bubbling up inside him. Never contradicts him and if he does, the person suffers a thousand deaths afterwards. But between you it is somehow different, tingling. It gives you the greatest pleasure to see him like this and you know, deep inside him, a voice is telling him that he enjoys it too. Others would describe you as crazy and full of the courage to live, but that's what makes it all so appealing.

"Maybe we can find a compromise?" suggests Armin and you see the sweat on his brow as he almost shits himself at the words. You roll your eyes and look back at Levi.

"I thought you wanted to make my life hell. So that's a good start," you remind him of the first words he ever said to you.

"Your plans are bullshit. If I let you keep fighting up front, you'll probably get yourself killed by your insanity, " he growls, almost at his limit. But only almost.

You lean over slightly, look at him, smile slightly, grin, bite your lip again, breathe, "I have a feeling you like this madness, Levi."

He tenses slightly, draws his eyebrows together again as his name passes your lips. Connie coughs and tries to draw attention to himself, but everyone ignores him. It seems like everyone is in a state of shock because you simply addressed him by his first name. Everyone watches spellbound as you literally eye-fuck each other. Do they like the show? Almost at his limit.

"Tch, what did you just call me, brat?" his voice gets louder and his hands form into fists. You lean back in your chair again and look at him, bored.

"Oh, I didn't know you had such bad hearing. Don't you like Levi? That's your name, isn't it? Do you prefer Sir? Or Captain? Or maybe," your eyes looked up at him, burning into him, "Daddy?" At his limit. Pathetic.

A deep dark sound comes from his throat and the others hold their breath again. His whole posture grows stronger and wider. You see the muscles working under his clothes, see veins popping on his hand and you feel butterflies in your stomach. His eyes are black. You all sit like that for a few seconds. You watch his gestures and his face change emotions. Without warning, his right hand hits the table flat, "Fuck off."

The sound cuts through the silence and the weaklings among you flinch. Confused, no one moves, while your eyes do not leave each other's. Armin is about to open his mouth and Jean is about to put his hand on your shoulder again when Levi stands up with a jerk, his chair tipping backwards and hitting the wooden floor with a thud.

"I said fuck off," he roars, looking around with a death glare.

Chairs squeak, footsteps run across the wooden floor, making it creak.

"What have you done now?" whispers Jean in your ear and you give him a look before he walks behind the others and the door closes.

The scene stops again and you stare at Levi. Both hands flat on the table in front of him, leaning on his arms and looking down, he stands there. You can no longer see his eyes as his long black strands fall into his face, but you notice his tense jaw. Your heart leaps again. He was so handsome. Especially when he was angry. Finally, you break the silence.

"Great, now you've scared everyone," you sigh and roll your eyes.

"What are you doing?", Levi hisses back at you, spitting venom and bile, finally raising his head. His eyes blaze again and your core drips.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know your place, so start acting like it, you piece of shit."

"I wish my place was naked in front of you." Before Levi has taken in what you've said, you stand up, pushing the chair back a little as you do so, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go to sleep too. The day was exhausting and I need to rest to be fit for the expedition. So, I can sit my ass off nicely in midfield."

You turn away from him and your heart slips slightly into your pants. Never turn your back on the enemy. "But of course, it makes much more sense for Mikasa to fight in front and me in the back. Makes sense."

You can take two steps as his hand wraps firmly around your wrist. He squeezes too tightly, hurting you, and you grin again.

"Repeat what you said." His voice is so low it sends a shiver down your spine. Your expression changes and, playfully annoyed, you turn to face him.

"Do you mean the part where I explained that I was going to sit my ass off." He growls and you almost groan. The tension was heavy and hot.

"Stop playing games. My patience is running out."

You lick your lower lip again, wetting it before biting down on it. "I know this isn't about the fucking mission," Levi looks at your mouth. You take a step closer to him, looking up at him from below. "I wish my place was naked in front of you, Daddy," you breathe.

In that split second, his lips land on yours. Two forces of nature collide and you almost topple backwards. His arm wraps tightly around your waist, pulling you against him, and you finally moan. He bites your lower lip hard and you open your mouth in pain. He takes the opportunity to dig his tongue deep between your lips. He presses himself against your body and you slam into the wall behind you. A pain runs through your head as your tongues circle each other, fighting to see who has the upper hand. Your hands go into his hair, reaching deep into his mane, and you pull his head closer to you. Big hands grip your waist and he lifts you up with ease so you can wrap your legs around him. His hands travel under your thighs, squeezing the flesh before he drills them into the fat of your ass. Your teeth collide as you drill your tongue deeper into his mouth, exploring his mouth cavity. He releases the kiss and a thread of spit connects you. You lay your head back and lick over your swollen, sore lips as he places his mouth on your vein, kissing your pulse before licking along it.

"Took you long enough to finally decide to fuck me."

"Shut your mouth, brat," he breathes against your neck before biting into it and sucking on it.

"I swear, if you leave hickeys ..." you groan.

"What then? Are you going to hit me with your little fists?"

"You mean like you did to me all those times? Nah, I'm not an asshole like you. But you probably secretly get off on it."

He bites your neck, just above your pulse, and your head slams back against the wall behind you, making you see stars. He smirks as his nails dig into you and you claw into his shirt. Your panties are completely wet and your juice leaks out of you incessantly. You moan loudly as his teeth dig deeper into your flesh. This was far too good to be true. Your left hand goes into his hair again, you pull at the strands and tear him away from you. He makes a face and you press your lips to his again, biting his lower lip until you taste blood. He gasps and pushes your head away from him, "You're crazy."

You grin broadly at him. "We've been over this," you lick his lower lip apologetically, "and I can see you like it." His gaze is on your face as you wrap your arms around him. "You like crazy, you will stick your dick in crazy." A dark sound escapes him and your nails run over his neck. "You can't even argue with me, you want to fuck this crazy bitch so badly."

His lips land on yours again and you grin against him before moaning into his mouth as he presses you tighter against the wall. His hands leave your ass, skimming up the sides of your waist before moving forward to your chest. Two of his fingers find their way along between the buttons, stroking the sensitive skin. Your belly grows warm with the butterflies inside him. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist and run your hand under the fabric of his shirt at the nape of his neck, running it over the muscles of his shoulders and it shakes you with pleasure.

His strong hands grip the fabric of your blouse and without warning, he rips the front apart, sending the buttons flying across the room. You bite your lip as his arms fall around your waist to hold you in place. "You shouldn't have taken your anger out on my blouse," you moan as he kisses the bulge above your right collarbone and licks along it.

"Would you rather I took it out on you?" he murmurs as he bites into that thin skin too, sucking on it and sure to leave a hickey.

"Yes, I don't know you any different."

He continues to lick forward, kissing the ridge at the end of your neck, licking over a mole at the beginning of the mound of your breast. His right hand comes away from your waist, grips your left breast and kneads it. You claw into his shoulders, leaving marks as he pushes the cup off it and you feel his hand skin on skin. Almost painfully, he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and you push your back through, coming to meet him.

"Mmm, you like that?" he murmurs and you can hear his grin.

"I never thought you'd be this good at it," you mock, before you make a grimace and groan. Pain runs through you as he bites down on your nipple and then his lips wrap around it and he sucks on it. The sensation extends to your fingertips and your toes, coursing through your whole body. You close your eyes, savouring and moaning his name as he bites into it again. He sucks harder on it, lifting his head slightly and releasing it with a plop. He circles your nipple with his tongue and licks it slowly and pleasurably. The knot in your stomach tightens and your head is fogged.

"More," you moan into the room. You tug at the piece of fabric covering him and press your core tighter against him.

"Don't be so impatient, idiot."

"I'm not impatient, you're just slow."

He pulls your whole body down a bit, pressing his bulge into your centre. You curse because the fabric between you is annoying and rub against him greedily.

"Slowly then?" he purrs against your ear and comes towards you, rubbing against you too, "I'll keep that in mind." He grips you again and lifts you away from the wall. You let yourself fall against him and moan against his neck, licking it as you continue to try and build pressure.

Shortly after, your bottom touches the table and he releases your weight. You seize the opportunity and do the same to him, yanking him out of his shirt.

"Tch, but I'm venting my anger," he leans over you, capturing your lips again. Immediately your tongues meet. Greedily your fingers touch his body, stroking his soft skin beneath your fingers, feeling individual scars over, which you let your thumb wander. You caress each and every muscle and gape at his well-built body. He surpasses every single one of your fantasies that you imagined while he was training or just cleaning. You follow his muscles down to the V of his pelvis and a deep moan comes over him as you undo the buckle of his belt. His hands also find their way to your trousers, undoing them, and he releases the kiss. He goes to the floor, kneels in front of the table where you are still sitting and looks up at you. Slowly he takes off your boots without taking his eyes off you. You watch him spellbound, a grin falling on your lips again. He pulls at your trouser legs and you lift your bottom, helping a little so that he can brush the fabric off your legs.

His hands run over your feet and you shake yourself slightly before he kisses them.

"Mmm," you moan, "I could see you like this more often, Captain." You bite your lower lip as his hands slide along your legs. Again, and again his lip or tongue hits your skin, caressing it and you are sure you would leave a stain on the neatly cleaned table. At the latest, when his lips lick the insides of your thighs, your hands clasp the edge of the table. You groan and your right hand goes into his hair, claws into it. His hands settle on your legs, pushing them apart, and his warm breath touches your core. He looks at the dark fabric separating his face from your lower lips and licks his lips. How will you taste? There is a distinct stain, your juice colours the fabric a shade blacker and his hard cock presses against his still closed trousers. He draws in the air around him and he groans. You smell so incredibly good, how much he'd like to taste you. How much he would like to fuck you.

When you notice his fingers gently stroking your pussy and he grips the fabric to pull it aside, you moan again and pull on his head.

Painfully he is pulled back and you close your legs.

"What are you doing, idiot?" he gasps in annoyance, his face contorting at the sting.

"I don't feel like playing this time," you murmur, grinning. "My patience is wearing thin," you repeat his words from earlier, "I don't feel like waiting anymore."

You press your toes against his chest and push him backwards. He is slightly off balance, staggers and falls into the chair behind him.

"Unzip your pants already", you stand up and your hands each rest on the back of the chair next to his head, your breasts dangling in his face, "Go ahead".

Completely caught off guard, he undoes the button and then the zip. You grin again and lean forward towards him. Your lips meet his jaw, kissing along it to his ear and you put your mouth to the shell of his ear, "And now you take out your big cock."

He growls slightly and does as you command. Your gaze falls briefly on his hard erection and a shiver comes over you, your butterflies dancing inside you.

"That's much better, isn't it, Daddy?" you see his Adam's apple dangle as he swallows hard and you look into his eyes. You place one leg on each side of his body. Your hands slide from the back of the chair to his shoulders and you claw into them. Still covered with a piece of cloth, you rub your cunt over his hard cock, which presses against it. You moan and he does the same, putting his hands on your waist and squeezing. His eyes close and he puts his head back in his neck, "Do it already."

"Anything my daddy wants," your hand grips the thin fabric and pulls it aside. Drops of your juice hit him, mixing with his precum and you rub it along your slit before gripping his shaft and sliding his thick tip inside you.

Never would you have expected him to be so big. Your walls press tightly against him as he slides inch by inch into you. Your eyebrows draw together because it feels so good. Levi gasps slightly beneath you as you swallow him slowly.

"You're huge," you sigh contentedly as he's fully inside you, and you twitch your walls, his fingers buried deep in the flesh of your waist. His jaw seems tense, but his eyes look at you half-closed. His irises are no longer visible. "God, so fucking huge. We should have done this so much sooner. I think it's tearing me apart," you grin wide and happy as you feel a slight burn.

"If I had known how good you looked doing that, I would have fucked you sooner."

"Yeah, would you have?" you look deep into his eyes as you move upwards, his cock sliding completely out of you and you lower yourself back down onto him, "Do you like the way I ride your cock?" Your movements slowly quicken and you hear the smacking of your cunt as it swallows his cock again and again.

"Do you like the way your thick cock keeps digging deep into me?" He growls out and starts to come towards you. His hips thrust upwards, hitting you hard. As he does, you don't part your gaze for a second and it feels like you can glimpse his soul.

"Do you like the way my cunt milks you?" Levi digs one hand into the fat of your ass, pulling on it and baring his teeth. You dig your nails into his back as he changes the angle and bumps against your G-spot. The sounds of his balls hitting your ass and the mixing of your fluids grow louder. You become incredibly hot and start to sweat.

"Do you like the way I moan your name?" you add a long Levi at the last word and he stares at you like you're a goddess. His goddess.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he murmurs in a dry, heavy voice.

"That you ever thought otherwise hurts my heart." You ram your fingernails deeper into his back and pull at the skin, leaving deep marks.

"I'll never think anything else again," he groans up at you. By now you are no longer riding him. Instead, he holds you in place above him, your feet no longer even touching the ground, and he thrusts into you with a brutality that leaves you breathless. The knot in your stomach gets tighter and tighter and you bite his shoulder to stifle a scream. He fucks you like a madman, pressing his body hard against yours and enjoying the feel of your hard nipples against his chest. He tries to get even deeper, to push against your cervix, but the position is too shitty for that.

"That won't do," he groans, suddenly lifting you up. With his pants at his ankles and you in his arms, he walks back to the table, lays you down on it ungently and buries himself in you again. He grips your legs with his hands, rests them on his shoulders and increases his speed further. He fucks you into the hard wood of the table and puts his head back, moaning your name loudly. He comes so far inside you, you feel pain deep inside you. Such good pain.

"God, your cunt is so tight. I never want to feel anything else ever again." You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Your breath has long left your lungs and your brain can't make anything up. Your little body is concentrating solely on how his fat cock is being pushed into you, how he is tearing your little hole in two and how incredible this feeling is. Because of this, you just mumble something to yourself, which makes him grin, "Suddenly I guess your mouth isn't so big anymore." Again, you try to say something, but it is in vain. Your head is full of fog and all you can think about is how he should thrust harder, even deeper, which is no longer possible, and how he should take you. You want him to ruin you, for everything and everyone. Every night he should do this to you so that you can never stand or sit again. You just want to be his little plaything.

"Good to know I can shut you up like this." His cock hits your G-spot hard and makes you see stars. You moan loudly and reach for something to claw into, but there's nothing. "Alright, I guess silent isn't quite the right word".

He's fucking you so well and you glare at him as he stares at you and you bite your lip, your breathing becoming more uncontrolled and you nod slightly at him to signal how close you are. He grins and you push your back through as he thrusts into you one last time and you explode, screaming his name and losing your grip on the earth.

That was probably the beginning of your death - and probably that of every other - but who knows for sure. The two of you were quite a force on your own, but as a duo you were invincible. Soon, word got out about what had happened. You could have tried to deny it, but it wasn't difficult to guess, since you were ever the only person allowed to disobey Levi and get away alive. Moreover, your loud moans could be heard throughout the building. Everyone should know that you now belong to each other. Your madness spilled over onto him. You had nothing left to lose - except each other and you swore you would only leave this hell together.

"Listen up, shitheads," Levi turns his attention to the people behind you and you follow his gaze, "we're going to do another round and secure the perimeter before we set up camp here for the night."

"Yes, sir," everyone but you shouts in unison and salutes. You roll your eyes.

Your gaze, on the other hand, averts and you direct it to the trees around you. The birdsong has died down and the wind has receded. The branch beneath you sways slightly again as Armin lands on it and turns to talk to Levi. You ignore them both and continue to look around. No wind, but the leaves sway back and forth. You close your eyes and concentrate. Far in the distance you can hear a river making its way through the ground. There is a faint smell of wet moss and it is all so peaceful. Far away you hear the tapping of a woodpecker looking for its food before it suddenly stops. You tear your eyes open and clutch the handles of your equipment. A moment later you see the bird fluttering overhead with a loud bird song. Your eyes fall on Levi and over Armin's shoulder he looks at you. He raises an eyebrow before your typical grin falls to your lips and his expression slips.

You shoot your hooks, which bore into a tree and you fly away. Behind you, you hear the shouting of others and more gas being consumed as you make your way through the forest. You build up speed and zoom past the many trees. You race in the direction from which you just heard the woodpecker. You hear a stomping sound that gets louder and louder the closer you get to it, before you see two huge figures running past you on your left. You didn't expect two, but that only means one more point on your kill scale. Your hands grip the handles of your 3DMG tighter and adrenaline rushes through your bloodstream. You draw in a deep breath through your nose as you suddenly change direction and race towards them. In the distance, you catch sight of your squad and see Levi racing ahead of them after you. He is stronger than you, but you are faster. He has left the squad behind with ease and does not look happy. His rage-filled face makes you feel like you're on fire and a shiver runs down your spine.

"Sorry," you shout loudly to them as you fly through the air and your hook bores into a titan's shoulder. You hear Levi yell your name, but you ignore him. Unfortunately, this distracts the two titans and they notice you. They stop and look around before spotting Levi.

The smaller titan is just under eight metres tall, the other about two metres taller, both of course abnormal. You whirl around the larger one and draw your swords, placing them against your small body, ready for battle. You hiss at his neck, but while he has not yet set his sights on you, the smaller one turns his attention to you and looks at you with wide eyes. He reaches out his hand to you. You curse loudly and drill your hook into a tree above you to get away from him quickly. It is just enough that when he closes his hand, you are not caught in it. Instead, your sole touches his huge finger and you push off against him in addition to putting more land between him and you. On the other side of the field, you see Levi whirling through the air, attracting the little titan's attention. He puts up his swords ready to fight, but you are quicker, get in his way and cut the titan's neck with a smooth slice. The first titan goes down, begins to steam and you are left with the larger one. As you fly through the air, you drill your hooks into his arm and pull yourself towards him. Just before you get on top of him you change direction and fly towards his shoulder. The titan looks around and tries to spot you again, but you are too fast. The next time your hooks hit a tree in the distance. You fly towards his neck, your swords just setting when your ropes suddenly loosen. The titan has lashed out, ripping them out of the tree. You tear open your eyes, more adrenaline finding its way into your bloodstream, your heart pounding against your chest. For the moment, your course is not altered, so your cut glides through him perfectly and he falls slowly to the ground. But you fall with him. You try to drill your hooks back into a tree, but apparently, he has damaged your equipment, so nothing happens. Panic shoots into your head as you get closer and closer to the ground. You close your eyes and brace yourself for impact before you hit the ground. Your air is ripped from your lungs, your body aches under the contact and the wind flies around your ears. You cling to the body against you and rest your head against its neck. Black tea and lemon. As soon as your feet touch ground, he sets you down and pushes you off him. You stagger back and see the faces of the rest of your comrades, who look at you in horror.

"What was that about, you retard?!" snarls Levi at you, and you see his tense jaw and the deep creases on his forehead, his lips pressed hatefully into a line, as he presses his eyebrows together.

"I don't know what you're upset about. I had the situation under control." You pat the dirt off your clothes, hoping he doesn't see your slightly wobbly legs. You take a deep breath and look up at him. That was more action than you planned. To be honest, the situation got out of hand, but you would never admit that - especially not in front of Levi.

"Under control?! You call that under control! You disobeyed my order!" he yells at the whole forest and you see Krista wince.

"I killed them, what more do you want? If you hadn't come, I would have finished faster."

"He almost killed you!"

"Right, almost," you grin at him and undo the straps of your equipment, letting it fall to the floor. It is no longer of any use and simply means more burden that you would have to carry around with you. You kick it lightly and it rattles. Everyone seems shocked, and Levi clenches his hands into fists. You bite your lower lip, "You were there, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm not always, maron!"

"Yeah, and I'm good at taking care of myself in those moments," you stride towards him and place your hands on his tense chest, "Daddy."

You wink at him and the others almost skin it at your words. Eren is probably already thinking about running away before Levi takes his anger out on him. You stroke his shirt and he stares at you. His anger is immeasurable, but you can see something else mingling in his gaze and he relaxes slightly.

"You'll pay for that later," he murmurs and you lick your lips.

"I expected nothing less."

[adamsvanrhijn]

ooooh 17, 19 if you want, 32, 38

17. Past or present tense? Why?

both!!! that post going around right now about this makes me :-( because i use both in about equal frequency (though!!! i don't know that for certain... i should make a chart) and people are dissing present tense a lot lol. but! i like them both, and they both tell stories.

i think they each give different vibes and there are some nuances worth considering to craft something of quality in each. converting tenses (which i have to do fairly often because i do write in both and i don't write in a linear way at all, so if passage x is in present and passage y is in past one of them has to Win and the other gets rewritten) and ending up with quality prose is more complex than just changing the verb tenses.

but i like both and use both! sometimes within the same work (in diff chapters/sections obvs, not in the same piece of prose) to express something in particular? but generally it's arbitrary and it's just how the words fall out of my head.

19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

"It's become inconvenient," Oscar specified.

"Has it?"

"And with you blocks away," sharing an address with several mutual acquaintances of theirs (bachelors congregated; Oscar had been careful to deviate from the trend), in an area... well, not more trafficked. But crowds were amenable when one wanted to blend in, and the crowds at Madison Square were more active and more varied than those in John's quarter, where all had impeccable background and pedigree—and all knew them both on sight, saw them both everywhere.

He hadn't known New York. He couldn't be blamed for his decision, and, in Oscar's favor, he'd said before that he should make a different one if he could start again.

But he disliked change once he had settled: the other side of the coin, and the one that would not serve Oscar well in this endeavor.

32. Do you have a word/expression that you always use in your writing?

lmfao god yeah unfortunately. there are very many. i am trying to break some of these habits with tga fanfic as i am writing new points of view? but some of it is just ~*~*My Style~*~.

major offenders:

"breathe[s/d]" as a dialogue tag verb

i feel that my adverbs are repetitive in general but especially "lightly". my prose is very beige and i tend to over-rely on Telling with adverbs in general imo.

lexical trends characters have in canon tend to show up more frequently in my fic than they do in the actual source material, especially when it's ways of expressing contradiction (e.g. thomas barrow downton abbey "but even so")

38. "This never happened" fix-it fics or "this happened but" fix-it fics?

so i don't really write Fix It Fic so much as i write canon divergent aus where things go differently and sometimes result in what i think is a good outcome for the characters that they may not necessarily have been afforded in canon — i am a Canon First Word Of God Second Paratext Third Everything Else Last person, and i like to explore other stories and what if scenarios, but i'm very much a "love letter to the media" fic writer, not an "i can do it better" fic writer.

but in any case, i try to err on the side of "this happened but" because i think it's easier to keep characterization stable and recognizable that way, as well as, when things don't happen at all, trying to ensure there is an analogue event or plotline that allows for similar character development. sometimes i like to take said character development past canon to a place that feels more desirable to me, but that isn't intended necessarily to be a Fix, because i have so many stories going on in my head and i don't even really have headcanons that are 100% stable across my own work, let alone scenarios in mind that feel Better or more certain to me than canon itself does.

[kanerallels]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 212 VOD! I am absolutely fascinated with the idea of a Batman Kanera AU, so I would love to see that! 😁❤ Thank you so much!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH VOD!!! I'm so glad to hear it-- but fair warning. This ate my brain. Like, multi-chapter fic level ate my brain. I've been working on it for many weeks, hence this taking so long. So here's the first little bit and the rest you'll have to read on AO3!! I've only published the first three chapters, I'll get the others out within the next couple of days

Pairing: Hera Syndulla/ Kanan Jarrus

Word Count: 1,408

Warning: Attempted mugging, some violence and blood

The city of Lothal was something of a contradiction in terms. The area itself was beautiful, surrounded with golden prairies and mountains that often were capped with snow. At first glance, the buildings and the city seemed to shine, full of wealth and beauty.

But a closer look or more than an hour in the city would shatter that notion in seconds. Poverty and crime filled the streets, and corruption had claimed the leaders of the city. The people were in constant danger from gangs that were allowed to run rampant throughout the city, and Mayor Pryce did nothing to stop it— and was handsomely compensated to stay that way.

There were a precious few who resisted this regime of deception. A handful of the police, the new district attorney, ordinary citizens— and of course, the Spectre.

It has been said that you create the things that bring about your destruction. In this case, it’s true. The Spectre rose up out of the depths of Lothal, clad in armor and a mask and wielding a sword that he rarely used. He fought back against the criminals of the city— before his arrival, the Pykes and Crimson Dawn had run rampant, unchecked by the police. Now they had something to fear. Some of the citizens called him a hero. Others preferred vigilante madman, or other less charming terms.

The only thing anyone could agree on was that they had no idea who he was. Theories flew fast and thick, ranging from a mystery swordsman who traveled here from distant lands and would only use his sword when he met the enemy it was intended for, to a member of the underworld who’d been turned by one of the police, to the commissioner himself.

Not one of them gave any thought to the unreasonably rich grandson of the now retired Mace Windu, who’d been an incredibly successful business man before he retired and moved several cities away to live out his life in peace. Not one of them suspected Kanan Jarrus.

Which was exactly what Kanan wanted.

Crouching on the top of a building, he surveyed the dark city beneath him for a moment. It had been a busy night— he’d handled an armed robbery, one drug exchange, and surveilled the police commissioner's house yet again. If I can get Commissioner Tarkin replaced, it’ll be less of an uphill battle, Kanan mused. But then we still have Mayor Pryce to deal with.

There was just too much, too many crime syndicates and corrupt members of the government. Kanan refused to limit himself— if he had to, he’d take them all down by himself, one by one. But he could use a little help, more than the few people who were helping him at the moment.

He shook his head as if it could physically dislodge the thoughts, bringing himself back to the present. The night was barely half over, and while Kanan Jarrus might be tired, the Spectre still had work to do.

He leapt from the rooftop, vaulting to the next one with ease, his long cloak fluttering behind him. He’d been skeptical about the idea of wearing one at first— it seemed too likely that it would get in his way and hamper him while fighting. But he could free himself of it easily if it turned out to be a problem, and the hood gave him the advantage of looking distinctly ominous to any criminals.

He made good time, leaping from rooftop to rooftop quickly— one of the few perks of being a vigilante in a metropolis. As Kanan paused at the edge of a building, scanning to find his next goal, he heard it.

A voice. Feminine, warm and stunningly beautiful, the likes of which he’d never heard before. Kanan had been a hundred places, met a thousand people, and he already knew that whoever had a voice like that was someone he had to meet.

The words she was speaking, however, were in direct contrast to the melodic tone she spoke in. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, I think we do.” Another voice, this one decidedly more male and less alluring, replied. “A pretty little girl like you might have something of interest to us, don’t you think, boys?”

The sneering menace in the other voice immediately put Kanan on alert, and he heard a few other men chuckle. He was already moving towards the source of the noise when the woman let out a sigh. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you, then.”

Kanan reached the edge of the building and looked down in the alley, taking in the scene swiftly. Five men had the woman surrounded, pinned against a dead end. As Kanan looked on, one of them moved closer, grinning nastily as he reached for her. Oh, I don’t think so, Kanan thought, preparing to jump as his heart thrummed in readiness for a fight.

The woman moved first. Grabbing the man’s arm, she pivoted, twisting it sharply before he could react. There was a nasty pop that was only just drowned out by the man’s howl of pain. Holy kriff, Kanan thought as the man slid to the ground, clutching his shoulder.

The woman didn’t hesitate, though. She left the first man where he lay and moved forward in a quick vicious attack. Kanan watched, stunned and more than a little impressed, as she took out the rest of the gang efficiently in a matter of minutes. Whoever she is, she’s more than prepared to live in Lothal, he mused as she delivered a sharp kick to the chin of the last man, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Dusting off her hands briskly, the woman bent to retrieve what seemed to be her jacket from the ground. And in doing so, she completely missed the first man she’d taken out rising to his feet, an ugly snarl twisting his face as he reached for what was probably a weapon.

Without stopping to think, Kanan leapt from the roof, landing behind the man. A swift blow to the back of the head sent him to the ground, fully unconscious.

The noise caught the woman’s attention, and she spun around to face him. Kanan took in her appearance— dark skin, vibrant green eyes, hair twisted back into two braids that hung over her shoulders and no-nonsense, simple clothing. With a jolt of surprise, Kanan realized she was holding a gun in her hand. And she didn’t even bother to take it out until now, he thought.

She didn’t shoot him, though. Instead, she narrowed her eyes at him. “You were here the whole time, and you only just now decided to drop in?”

“I would have, but you seemed to have it well in hand,” Kanan replied, his words echoing against the inside of his mask— a side effect that added to his anonymity.

“Impressed?” the woman said with a small smile— was she teasing him? Kanan felt a return smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Words fail me,” he told her.

She gave him an amused look that quickly turned into one of curiosity. “You’re the Spectre, aren’t you? The vigilante I’ve heard so much about since I moved here.”

Kanan briefly considered asking who would be crazy enough to move to Lothal willingly, but instead said, “Planning to have me arrested?”

“No,” she said immediately, which surprised Kanan.

“You seem fairly confident about that. Surely you’ve heard the stories about me.”

“I’ve heard enough to form my own opinion,” the woman said matter-of-factly.

Curiosity flickered inside him, and Kanan stepped a little closer as he said, “And what’s that, Miss…?”

“Hera,” she said, giving him a smile that made his heart skip a beat. “And my opinion is that you’re a hero. No matter what else people see you as. You’re fighting for what’s right. In an unorthodox way, I’ll admit, but in this city… that’s all a person can really do. For now.”

“Are you expecting to see some changes?” Kanan asked wryly. “Because that would be a first around here.”

“You were the first,” Hera corrected him. “But in answer to your question… no, I’m not. I’m planning on making some.”

She gave him a nod, then turned and headed out of the alleyway, slipping her gun back under her coat. For a moment longer than he strictly should have, Kanan watched her go.

[justsomewritingblog]

Of Boggarts and Nightmares

Request:  None

Requested by:  Nobody

Pairing:  Fred Weasley x reader

Warnings:  Mentions of death

Word count:  4K+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hogwarts was always fascinating to you.  Every corner you turned, it always felt like something was happening.  There were ghosts, appearing food, teleportation, and things you couldn’t even describe.  You were currently in Defense Against the Dark Arts, one of your favorite classes, with Professor Lupin, your favorite teacher.

“Tomorrow we shall be working on facing our fears!”  He announced as everyone packed up their things. “Please read the chapter on ‘Boggarts’ for homework tonight!”  He called. A couple students thanked professor Lupin before heading out.  You approached the professor after almost everyone had left, placing a small box on his desk.  “Another one, Miss L/n?”

You grinned, shrugging.  “Consider them as ‘tokens of my appreciation’.”  You offered.

“I’ll open it at the end of the day.”  He informed, getting ready for his next class.  You nodded, heading out the door.

“Thanks, Professor!”  You called over your shoulder.  When you faced forward again, you had only just closed the door behind you when your wrists were grabbed and you were drug away.  You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly who it was.  Or rather, who they were.  You allowed yourself to get pulled into a mostly empty hall.  You looked up as soon as you were permitted to stop, seeing two identical redheads looking down at you.

“What do you keep giving the Professor, L/n?”  Fred asked.

“Nothing of your concern.  Why?  Jealous?” You asked, smirking.  A mischievous glint was in your eyes as you stared the redhead down.

“Hardly, love.”  He shot back immediately.  You ignored the pet-name, getting back to matters at hand.

“Does it matter?”

“Let’s just say we’re curious.”  George replied.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”  You retorted.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not cats, then.”

“Maybe not, but you are in Gryffindor.”

“Well, so are you.”

“I’m not the one being nosey.”

“Touché.”

You rolled your eyes at his response, placing your free hand on your hip.  (You were still holding your things from DADA class.)  “Can I go now?”  You questioned.  The twins glanced at each other, having a silent conversation.  You knew that whenever they did that it was a bad sign. You quickly turned around, rushing out of the hallway to try to get into a more crowded area, hoping that they would lose sight of you.  Or if they didn’t lose sight of you, if it was more crowded they wouldn’t cause a scene.  You had a feeling they would anyway, and that it was too much to hope for, but you were trying.

You kept glancing behind you, making sure they weren’t following. Your relief was cut short when you bumped into a chest.  Your wrists were grabbed before you could react, and you were pulled back into the chest, a firm hold keeping you there.  Your eyes widened as your face became red.  You looked up, meeting Fred’s eyes.  You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but you couldn’t.

“Thought you could get away so easily, huh?”  He breathed out softly.  You visibly shuddered, and you knew he saw it.  You groaned softly, burying your red face into his chest, hoping to hide it.  He chuckled softly, letting you feel the vibrations rippling through him.

“This is so humiliating.”  You mumbled.  Fred looked around briefly, noticing that you were getting a few looks.  Fred leaned down to your ear.

“Hold on.”  He whispered. The next thing you know, you’re in an empty hallway.  You looked around, taking in your new surroundings.

“Are you gonna let go?”  You asked after a long moment of silence.

“Not a chance.”

“And why’s that?”

“Now who’s being nosey?”  He asked, a large grin on his face.

“Well, they are my hands, after all.”  You retorted, smirking back.  Fred didn’t respond.  He simply chuckled, pressing his forehead against yours.  You closed your eyes, savoring the moment and trying to burn it into your head forever.  You didn’t know how long you were there, but you heard a voice calling.

“Fred!  Y/n!”

You and Fred snapped apart, turning to the quickly approaching figure.  Fred dropped your hands, placing his in his pocket and turning almost fully to his brother.

“What’s up, Georgie?”

You clasped your own hands, missing the warmth his provided already. A frown formed on your face as you looked down at them.  You clenched and unclenched them, trying to get the nice feeling back.  Giving up, you put your hands into your pockets as well, looking between the twins as they plotted the next stage of their latest prank on Filch.

You stood there in silence for several moments before you finally waved your hand in front of their eyes.  You only spoke when they turned to look at you.  “I’m gonna head out.”  You informed, jerking your thumb backwards.  “It’s getting late, and I kinda want to eat some time tonight.” You joked lightly, backing up.

The twins both smiled at you, but you noticed the smiles were different. George smiled at you with genuine happiness and waved you a temporary ‘goodbye’.  Fred’s seemed slightly forced, and you noticed the usual glint in his eye was no longer there.

You turned your back to them, making your way to the great hall like a normal human being.  As you approached the Gryffindor table, you noticed Ron, Harry and Hermione sitting pretty far down, muttering to each other.  You shook your head.  They were always involved in some kind of trouble.  They were almost as bad as the twins.

“Look, Potter!  A dementor!” You heard a voice shout.  Harry whipped around, facing the door.  You looked to the door as well, seeing nothing. You looked behind you, seeing Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle laughing their heads off.  You rolled your eyes, sighing.  Of course, with Draco at school, everyone had heard about Harry’s little incident on the train.

“Pick on someone your own IQ, Malfoy!”  You shouted across the hall.  Malfoy’s head whipped to the Gryffindor table, scanning for the owner of the voice.  His eyes met yours.  You turned to fully face him, crossing your arms and manspreading, your back against the edge of the table.  You noticed Fred and George walk in, but you didn’t take your eyes off of the blond Slytherin.

“Oh, you mean like you?”  He retorted, raising an eyebrow in a mocking manner.

“Are you saying I’m smart, or dumb?”  You prodded, a sly smirk taking over your features.  You really hoped he would answer in a way that would work.

“Well, I think that sentence speaks for itself.”  He replied, earning laughs from the entire Slytherin table. A crooked grin overtook your face. This was better than you could have ever hoped.

“Well, you said I have the same IQ you do, so clearly that means that you’re dumb as well.”  You shot back, turning back to face the table.  The entire Gryffindor table erupted into uproarious laughter.  The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables let out a few good chuckles, trying to be less obnoxious.  Malfoy glared daggers into the back of your head as you started your meal.

“Bloody he-”

“Ron!”  Hermione scolded.  Ron cleared his throat, turning back to you.

“That was awesome, Y/n!”

You shrugged.  “He set himself up.”  You explained simply.

“Well, well, well.  The rose has thorns.”  A voice said, joining the conversation.  You turned, seeing Fred.

“But we knew that.”  George told his twin, pointing at him.

“Indubitably.”  Fred replied. You chuckled softly, shaking your head.

“Well, I hope you’re happy, L/n.”  Hermione started.  “He’s now surely going to be upset.”

“What’s he gonna do?  He’s two years younger than me.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t try anything.”

“You worry too much.”

“He could tell his father.  You know that’s who he cries to when he doesn’t get his way.”  Hermione reminded, her eyebrow raising in superiority. A cold fear swept through you. Your heart stopped beating briefly and you felt like your stomach was in your throat.  Your eyes flashed in terror briefly before you responded.

“Well, he can’t do anything to me.  I technically only repeated what his son said.”  You played it off, shrugging one shoulder.  Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt to contradict you again, but a voice beside her cut her off before she could say anything.

“Well, I think it was amazing.”

“I agree, Ron.”  George told his brother, leaning on your shoulder.  “Couldn’t have done it better, myself.”

“Could have used some dung bombs if you ask me.”  Fred countered with a shrug, his hands in his pockets. You smiled softly, looking down at your plate.  George sat down on your left, leaning in close towards you.

“Really, L/n.  It was brilliant.”  He complimented.  You shook your head, raising your hand to settle him.

“It wasn’t that impressive.”  You insisted.  “It was nothing, really.”  You told him.  However, a strange feeling in your gut told you that you would regret your little bout of courage.  Draco, like his father, was relentless.  You could only hope he would think better than to pick on a Gryffindor two years older than him with the Weasley twins for best friends.  “I’m gonna head to bed.”  You finally spoke, breaking the silence that filled your group.  You could still hear the excited chatter from further down the table, though.

“You’ve only half finished your meal.”  Fred reminded.

“Not hungry.”  You replied dismissively, standing up.  “You can finish it, if you want.”  You told him, sending him a small smile.  You turned and sent a similar one to the rest of the table before walking out of the great hall.  You had thought about checking to see if Malfoy was following you, but you decided that if he was planning something, your ‘confidence’ might make him think twice.  You entered the hallway, trying to make your way quickly to the common room without anyone noticing that you were in a hurry.  But you also wanted to be there fast enough, just in case Malfoy did try something.

You approached the portrait of the fat lady and quickened your strides, hoping to get there faster.  You got there moments later, telling her the password.  The portrait swung open moments later and you hurried in, turning to look at the open portrait.  Only when it closed did the tension leave your body.  You collapsed onto the couch in front of the fire, resting your head against the back of it.  You closed your eyes, allowing the warmth to consume you.

You awoke with a start when you felt your shoulders being shook. Your eyes snapped open and you were met with a red-head’s face less than a foot away from your own.

“Oh.  Hi, Fred.” You mumbled groggily.

“You sound cheerful.”  He remarked jokingly, jumping over the back of the couch and sitting next to you.  You brought your head back down to re-align with your body again, looking forward and rubbing your neck.

“I just got disturbed from a nap.  What do you want from me?”  You asked, a barely noticeable joking tone coming through your grumbles. Fred grinned down at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.  You fought the red that threatened to take over your face.  “Where’s your other half?”  You questioned, yawning through the end of the inquiry.

“Oh, he’s still in the great hall.”  He answered.

“Why are you, here, then?”  You wondered aloud.  Fred looked down at you, his face losing the bright smile he had, being replaced with a slightly more serious one.

“We’re not attached at the hip, you know.”  He reminded.

“Really?  Could’ve fooled me.”  You replied, a small smirk taking over your features.  Fred smirked softly back at you.  You rolled your eyes, looking back into the fire, feeling its warmth.  You zoned out, the rhythmic movements being hypnotic.  “What do you think of Lupin’s class?”  You asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had taken over for a few minutes.  Fred’s head whipped around to face you.  His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.

“Why would you ask that?”  He asked seriously.  He then chuckled softly.  “Where did that come from?”

You shrugged, tearing your gaze away from the fire to look at him. “I dunno.  I guess I was just thinking about what Professor Lupin said before we left class.”

“What did he say?”  Fred asked, tilting his head slightly.

“He said that we would be facing our fears tomorrow.”  You reminded, looking back at the fire.  You didn’t want to look Fred Weasley of all people in the eye when you discussed fear. Fred cocked an eyebrow.

“And?”  He prompted. You let out a small, exasperated sigh, shrugging again.

“I don’t know.  I just-” Your eyes widened.  “I have homework to do!”  You remembered, jumping out of Fred’s embrace.  “Shoot, shoot, shoot!  I have a whole chapter to read!”  You exclaimed, grabbing your books and rushing up to the girls’ dorm.  Fred still sat, frozen in alarm by your sudden outburst.  He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

You entered the girls’ dormitory, throwing yourself onto your bed and flipping through all your books, trying to find the one on DADA.  You grabbed it and headed back downstairs, finding Fred still sitting on the couch.  This surprised you slightly, but you ignored it, sitting back down in your previous seat.  Fred looked over at you, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“There’s more light down here.”  You answered his silent question, flipping through your book to find the chapter on ‘Boggarts’.  You finally found the page, opening the book wider so you could see easier.  “What are you doing?”  You asked, feeling Fred lean in closer to look over your shoulder.

“Well, it’s my homework, too.”  He replied easily, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  You rolled your eyes softly, shaking your head before you began reading the chapter on ‘Boggarts’.  It was a disturbing chapter, to say the least.

The next thing you know, people are flooding in from the great hall, having finished supper.  Most of them were chatting quite incessantly, being loud about it.  You furrowed your eyebrows as you struggled to focus on the textbook.  You put your hands over your ears, drowning out some of the noise.  After re-reading the same two sentences eight or more times, you quit trying.  You closed the book, now that Fred was talking to George, and was no longer ‘studying’.  You picked up your book and stood, walking back up to the girls’ dorm.  It was much quitter up there, since there was only one other person up there.  She was currently reading something, too, though you couldn’t tell what it was. Once you finished the chapter, having been able to focus better, you went to sleep, dreading what was coming.

The next day in DADA class, everyone took their usual seats, waiting for the professor to arrive.  He walked in a few minutes later, ordering everyone to push the desks along the wall.  Everyone stood, some pushing physically, some using magic.  Once the room was clear, the professor pushed a dresser to the front of the room.  The dresser shook, the creature trying to get out.  “Now, we have a boggart here.  Who can tell me what boggarts are?”  He asked, looking around the room.  When no one raised their hand, you raised yours.  You wouldn’t have normally, but since Lupin was your favorite teacher, you tried to make an effort for him.  “Yes, Ms. L/n?”

“A boggart is a shape-shifter that takes the form of whatever the person it encounters fears most.”  You answered, bringing your hand back down.

“Correct.  Very good, Ms. L/n.”  He smiled softly, standing up straight.  “A boggart likes to hide in confined spaces.”  He informed, which you had recalled from your homework.  “The spell to defeat a boggart can be quite tricky, because you must imagine your fear in a funny circumstance, or with a funny look.  This takes away your fear, making the boggart powerless.”  He paused for a breath.  “If you are able to laugh out loud at a boggart, it will disappear immediately. The incantation ‘Riddikulus’ transforms the boggart into a more amusing form.”  He stopped for another moment.  “Now, I want everyone to say ‘Riddikulus’ firmly.”

The room was filled with a chorus of the word.

“Keep practicing.”  He instructed, turning around to face the closet.  He walked over, standing next to it, then turning to face the class. “Form a line.”  He instructed.  You filed in somewhere in the middle, being squished by the number of people in there.  “Ready?” He asked the first student.  At their nod, Lupin pulled open the door, and out came a giant snake.  Your eyes widened as the snake slithered closer to the group, hissing and showing its fangs.

“Riddikulus!”  The student shouted.  Before your eyes, a small puff of smoke appeared, and when it was gone, the snake was tangled, wrapped up in itself.  You clapped, along with some other students.

“Very good!”  Lupin cheered.  “Stand over there, please.”  He told the boy, pointing another side of the room.  A girl stepped up and the confused snake disappeared in a puff of smoke again. When the smoke cleared, a pile of bugs had replaced it.  They all came rushing toward her.

“Riddikulus!”  She shouted, pointing her wand at them.  The pile of bugs suddenly had a layer of ice beneath them, and they were sliding all over the place.  You chuckled, clapping again.

“Next!”

The boggart changed into many forms throughout the class.  It was a spider, rats, bats, bees, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named showed up on several occasions, and a clown appeared a few times.

“Next!”  Lupin instructed.  The girl in front of you went to stand along the wall as you stepped forward.  Your breathing was abnormal, and you were terrified of what form it would take.  You hadn’t really thought about your worst fear that much.  The boggart in front of you, that was currently Filch wearing a tutu, disappeared in another cloud of smoke.  You lowered your stance, trying to even out your breathing as you readjusted the wand in your hand.  When the smoke cleared, gasps from every student in the room could be heard.  The scene before you was terrible.  The wand that you had clutched so firmly moments before landed on the ground with a thud.  Your breathing stopped.

Before you lay Fred.  He was pale and his eyes were open, staring into who knows what, with a blank expression on his face.  He was bloody and bruised, and very clearly dead.

“The spell, Y/n.  Remember the spell!”  Lupin instructed.  You barely heard him.  It was as though you were underwater, and he was trying to speak to you from above it. You heard him, but it didn’t really set in.  You tried to remember what you were supposed to do.  ‘What was the spell, again?’ You wondered.  ‘Riddikulus.’  You told yourself.  But as you stared down at Fred’s lifeless form, you couldn’t think of any way that you would make this even the slightest bit amusing.

Your heartbeat raced and you were cold, clammy and sweating.  Your breaths were shallow and labored.  You couldn’t seem to get any air in.  You stumbled backwards, trying to get as far away from the image as possible.  Lupin, seeing that this wasn’t going to get any better, stepped in front of the boggart, which turned into a bright, floating orb.  The orb floated back into the closet, which Lupin closed and locked. He turned back around to face you, crouching down to your height, (you had fallen over), and offered you a kind, sad smile.

“I’m sorry, Professor.”  You squeaked out.

“It’s perfectly alright, dear.”  He told you honestly.  “I don’t know how I would have defeated that one, either.”  He reached out a hand, helping you up.  “Facing one’s worst fears can be quite a terrifying self-discovery and can very much indeed take over.”  He spoke softly.  You nodded your head, not thinking you’ll be able to speak again for a little while. “Just relax.”  He told you.

You closed your eyes, about to begin taking deep breathes, but as soon as you closed them, Fred’s dead form was in the forefront of your mind. Your eyes snapped open immediately as your breathing picked up again.  Lupin frowned, seeing you begin to panic.

“Will someone please escort Miss-”

“We will.”  Came two voices.  You didn’t even have to look to know who they were.  Fred and George appeared at your side, followed by a nod from Lupin.  They each grabbed a hold of an arm, pulling you out into the hall.  They led you to the Gryffindor common room, seeing as DADA was your last class for the day, and set you on the couch.  They both remained standing, whispering quietly to themselves as you stared into the fire, ignoring their presence.  You felt a kiss on the top of your head and you looked up, seeing George smiling sadly at you before exiting the room.  You frowned at his departure, not wanting this inevitable conversation. Fred sat down on your left, looking at you in silence for several moments.

The image flashed through your mind again as you stared at the fire. Tears escaped your eyes before you could stop them; though at this point, you felt you needed a good cry. But you’d do that later: not in front of Fred.  You made no move to wipe the tears away, still staring into the fire, mind trying to catch up with what was happening and what had happened.

“Are you okay?”  Fred asked softly.  At his voice, the tears started streaming faster and you closed your eyes, hanging your head slightly.  “Hey.” He prompted softly, taking your hands in his.  “Your hands are like ice.”  He noted, a small chuckle escaping his lips.  When you didn’t respond, he frowned, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. His face lit up slightly when an idea struck him.  “Come here.” He spoke, picking you up bridal style. You covered your face with your hands. He sat on the floor in front of the fire moments later, putting you between his legs so your back was against his chest.  The intense warmth from being this close to the fire warmed your hands slightly, but you still felt numb.  He placed his chin on the top of your head, wrapping his arms around your middle.  He sighed through his nose, closing his eyes in comfort.

“That was awful.  It was like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.”  You mumbled.  If he hadn’t been so close he wouldn’t have known that you’d said anything.  A large, uncharacteristic frown took over Fred’s face.

“Did you……did you know that was your worst fear?”  He asked softly.  Your breathing stuttered for a second as you tried your best not to hyperventilate.

“I don’t know.  I never thought about it much.”  You admitted, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  “I mean, I knew I cared about you a lot, but I didn’t know that losing you would-” You couldn’t talk anymore.  The lump in your throat was too overpowering.  Fred rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying to soothe you.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I care about you a lot, too.” He informed.  You hummed softly to yourself.  You were sure that Fred didn’t mean it the same way that you cared about him, but you appreciated the thought.  “I didn’t think-” Fred stopped himself, seemingly trying to figure out how to word his next thought.  You sat in unbearable silence, waiting for him to continue.  “I didn’t think you cared about me in that way.”  He admitted.  You weren’t sure why, but you felt like bursting into tears.  ‘He didn’t?’ You asked yourself.  You thought you had tried to make it pretty obvious.

“Fred, I-” You paused, too, unsure if you wanted to go through with this or not.  You sat in internal conflict for a few minutes before you took in a shaky breath. “Fred, I, um…I think I love you.” You whispered.  You didn’t dare face him.  You don’t think you would have been able to bear the look on his face should he not like you back.  When his silence dragged on, you quickly stood.  “You know what?  Forget I said-”

Fred grabbed ahold of your hand, pulling you back down to his level, this time to face him.  You sat in front of him with your legs wrapped around him, facing his bright eyes, surprise written over your features.  He let out a breathy laugh.  “I love you, too, you bloody idiot.”  He told you, a large grin on his face.

You were certain you’d stopped breathing.  You covered your face with your hands, trying to hide the blushing and the enormous grin that had taken over your features.  His fingers gently wrapped around your writs, pulling your hands softly away from your face.  You looked up at him, smiling like an absolute dork.  He grinned back at you, leaning forward and resting his forehead against yours.  You closed your eyes, enjoying the moment.

“Bloody heck! My eyes!”  A voice shouted.  You opened your eyes, turning and seeing George in the doorway.  He was covering his eyes but was smiling.  You pursed your lips in a fake frown, but sure that they could see a hint of a smile, and reached behind Fred, picking up a pillow and throwing it at his twin brother.  It hit George in the stomach with a force he didn’t expect.  He uncovered his eyes, placing his hands over his stomach as he laughed heartily.  You shook your head, not being able to hide the smile anymore.

“Party crasher!”  You shouted.

“Hey, it’s my common room, too!”  He defended. You shook your head, rolling your eyes.

“You’re banished!”  You declared playfully.

“Ah, yes.  I’m sorry, King and Queen of the Room of the Commons.”  George replied, fake bowing.  You laughed along with Fred, throwing another pillow at George.

“Get out!”

“Alright, I’m going!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:  This is my first Harry Potter story!  What do y’all think?

Tag List:

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - Day of the Animals

While perhaps not my favorite episode this season, Day of the Animals is easily the best written story of season three. Even so, it still has problems due to the third season’s poor approach to characterization. 

Summary: Rapunzel, Varian, Angry and Red are returning stolen loot that the two girls had stolen years ago. They are accompanied by Max, Pascal, Ruddiger and Hamuel who all cannot stop quarreling with each other (or in Hamuel's case, just being useless). While messing with a sea shell pendant, it magically transports the humans into it, leaving the animals to fight over it. A minor thug named Dwayne, steals the pendant forcing the animals to work together to retrieve it. 

So Why is a Polynesian Inspired Kingdom Within Riding Distance of a Northern European Country? 

If you’ll remember my review of Beginnings, Neserdina’s princesses were wearing Polynesian garb and dancing the Hula when prepping for the competition. Now I’ve already went into length as to why that’s not good representation, but in addition to that it’s also just plain dumb. You can’t just transport one ethic group and dump them into another part of the world because it’s convenient for you. You don’t earn any brownie points for doing that. Especially when your fantasy world is still based off of our own historical earth. 

To make things even more confusing, we actually saw Neserdina way back in season one in Way of the Willow. It’s where Willow bought the gremlin knock-off. 

That is an island. How the heck do you get to a volcanic island riding in a horse and cart? And don't tell me they’re riding to a port, because Corona is a port city already. They could have gotten there by boat. It’s also can’t be too far away from Corona’s borders if Angry and Red were able to get there on foot during their year long travels. 

The only explanation is that the entirety of the Tangled crew doesn’t understand geography, and this won’t be the last example in the show to back up that statement. 

So Why Is Rapunzel Here?

We get explanations for why everyone is on this road trip, except for the main character herself. Red and Angry are trying to return some stolen loot. Varian is wanting to pick up rare alchemy supplies at the market and was invited along because Raps hopes it’ll be a chance for Ruddiger and Max to get know one another better. 

But why on earth does Rapunzel feel the need to come on this trip herself? Doesn’t she have a kingdom to run? While I’m sure Eugene is more than capable of handling things, this doesn’t reflect well upon the writers supposed plan of making Rapunzel appear more responsible. 

Literally any other adult could have come along on this trip. This wasn’t something Rapunzel needed to waste time on. Lance especially would have been more appropriate here as he’s the one who’s suppose to eventually adopt Angry and Red.  And the sad thing is, all they had to do was give Rapunzel a line about needing to attend some sort of diplomatic business in Neserdina. That’s it. 

In a show that’s supposed to be all about Rapunzel; Rapunzel sure doesn’t have a whole lot of reasons to exist in the majority of the episodes. 

Lack of Worldbuilding Strikes Again

At this point I’m kind of numb to the whole “magical thing just exists for no adequately explained reason” and so I’m not as upset as some people are about the shell necklace. But it’s still not good writing. 

Why does this thing exist? How did come to be cursed? How did it get mixed in with their stuff? What activated the magic and why did it only effect the human’s even though the animals were closer to it? 

Just something show. Anything. You bothered to give use rules for how this thing works and even stuck to them this time, but you can’t just make the last leg of the trip and give us some exposition? 

Yeah, okay. 

So Where Exactly Are We in Relation to Corona?

We can see Pittsford and Ivangarr on the road sign and we have to be in riding distance to Neserdina from Corona, but like are we in Corona still? Are we in Koto, which is Corona’s nearest neighbor to the east according to season three. Are we in some no-man’s-land where none of the kingdoms have control, or are we already in Neserdina itself? 

The series gives us no sense of direction nor any firm placement for Corona within it’s world. I only know it is a Northern European country because Corona itself is a peninsula with a north sea, uses French, English, and German fashion/customs, and Rapunzel is a Germanic fairy tale. But like those clues are thrown into a blender and contradicted several times over, on top of never being told where it’s closest kingdoms actually lie. 

All of this matters when traveling and exploring the wider world are big themes of your show. You need more solid and consistent world building than this. It also impacts how much authority and control your main character has within the episode itself if she range of political power is limited to one area. So like we need to know where the heroes stand here. 

(FYI I personally headcannon Corona as former Prussia which was once part of Germany and it’s alliance of smaller kingdoms. It’s also a peninsula next to the Curonian Spit) 

This Is Not Progress

Okay so the idea here, is that the show is implying that Rapunzel is trying to improve Corona’s justice system over Frederic’s previously inhumane crack down on crime. However, this is terribly executed. 

For starters the show has never called Frederic nor Rapunzel out for their previous misbehavior. You can not change any system for the better without acknowledging the flaws within said system first. Therefore this comes right out of nowhere and doesn’t stick around long enough to stay within the viewers minds for later. 

Secondly, Rapunzel is incredibly fickle about who she does and doesn’t set free. The Saporians were still in the dungeons last time we saw them, Caine was shipped off to the prison island and left to die there as far as we know, and the Stabbingtons are shown shackled together in the wedding short even though they supposedly changed their ways and befriended Eugene again. 

Meanwhile Dwayne and Stalyan are free to go their marry way and continue their life of crime, Varian is only released from his overly harsh punishment because he kissed Rapunzel’s ass not because it was wrong to imprison him in the first place, and later Cassandra gets away scot free because she’s Rapunzel’s bestie even though she committed the worst crimes out of everyone in the show and for very little reason. 

That’s not justice. That’s not compassion. That’s not progressive reform. It’s just nepotism, and it’s every bit as corrupt as Frederic’s classism and totalitarianism. 

Just because Rapunzel is “nice” it doesn’t mean that she is kind. Real reform has to treat everyone with equality and have a set of base standards that are beyond one person’s personal judgment. She is still a dictator and an abuser even if she lets the occasional person go free on a whim. 

Finally, Rapunzel’s methods are just downright ineffective. Dwyane may not be a threat to our heroes, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a threat to other people. He’s not actually sorry about trying to rob people at knife point and he fully plans on continuing being a thief after feeding Rapunzel the lines she wants to hear. 

Furthermore, we don’t know if this course of action is born out of malice or desperate need. He half heartily comments about finding ‘an honest job” but can he even do that? Is it even a realistic option for him? The series has been weaving this class inequality theme through out it’s past three seasons and directly connecting that to Corona’s crime rate. 

Eugene had a hard time finding a job during season one directly due to his past record, remember? A life of crime he was forced to lead in order to survive, and he’s the Prince Consort! What chance does Dwayne have? Did Rapunzel even try to help him find work or did she just wag her finger at him and told him “Now, now, stealing’s not nice.” 

The show wants to act like Rapunzel is this progressive reformer but then they turn her into a Republican instead. That’s not me being sarcastic either, this approach to criminal justice is the foundation of conservative belief and has been for centuries. The right are not interested in why people commit crime. They don’t care about addressing the fundamental problems in society that lead people to break the law. Let alone bother to analyze why those laws exist in the first place. Instead they resort to doublethink and survivor bias to either write off those that fall through the cracks or make excuses for why their policies repeatedly fail, often ignoring the fact that things aren’t actually working for whole swathes of people who aren’t themselves.  

Tangled the Series is far too simplistic and childish in it’s approach to deeper subjects like this to enforce the messages it supposedly wants to enforce. Rapunzel herself relies on magical thinking, double standards, and personal bias to see her through every and any problem and the show just rewards her for it rather than challenging her to grow and in doing so winds up supporting people like her in their authoritarian ideas, whether that was the writers’ intentions or not. 

In short, Rapunzel shows no interest in putting in the real work it would take to implement genuine restorative justice. She doesn't honestly care about Dwyane or his victims. She’s just posturing here for the sake of her self image.  

You’re Not In Any Position to Talk Rapunzel 

Speaking of Rapunzel being a hypocrite.... The entirety of season three’s main conflict is her having a petty bitch fight with her supposed best friend and needlessly dragging everyone else into it.

In fact that’s the whole show. Rapunzel repeatedly failing to get along with other people because she’s deep down a shitty person despite the veneer of ‘friendliness’ she slaps on to hide it. Having her just say she knows better does nothing to convince me that she’s actually learned anything. You have to show that she’s learned it first, and that requires acknowledging her own wrong doings.  

Varian’s face here just tells it all. Rapunzel is full of shit and no one in the show knows it better than him. Why are they even friends again? Why should we trust her with the three kids she neglected more than once? Why should any of these people take what she says seriously? 

Well This is Contradictory

Also, since we brought up double standards, here’s Varian undermining that whole “jail is bad” thing Rapunzel is trying to push with Dwayne and later with Cass. Not only is the show under cutting it’s themes for a joke, but it just reinforces the abuse Varian received. He’s now bought into Frederic’s stupid beliefs and winds up reinforcing to the audience that that his ‘reform’ was due to his past imprisonment.   

As an adult watching this series, Varian’s supposed redemption continues to increasingly look like a victim complying with their past abuser out of fear of further harm rather than anyone genuinely learning to be better.

Can We Please Stop Infantilizing the 16 Year Old

As if to deflect from Varian’s past mistreatment and continuing parentification, the show then goes on to showcase the opposite extreme whenever possible. I know it’s hard to tell just from these few screen shots alone, but over the course of season three Varian is spoken down too and treated condescendingly by the rest of the cast, and by Rapunzel in particular, even as he enters his later teens/early adulthood.  

Some of this is just to due to Rapunzel being her usual holier than thou self, but there’s also times, like here, where Varian is lumped together with the actual children of the show, even though he’s 6 to 8 years their senior. 

In fact out of everyone Rapunzel interacts with, Varian’s actually the closest to her in both age and development. Queen for a Day forced the two of them into a power imbalance due to a mixture of classism and society’s ongoing unhealthy (and often artificial) divide between younger and older teens, but as we get further and further away from that point in time and as Varian nears the same age Rapunzel started out as, that imbalance becomes less and less relevant. 

Look at how this scene is framed, He’s standing between Angry and Red and is placed lower than them to make it look like he’s one of them. He’s not. 

Varian may still look 12 with his big old eyes and short stature, but seeing as how we’re past Hearts Day, he’s actually close to being 17, if he isn’t already. The timeline gets even wonkier after The King and Queen of Hearts, but trust me, we’re close to being two years past Queen for a Day, if not more so. 

Varian, for all counts, should be Rapunzel’s equal by now in terms of story. Not only is he closest in age to her, but he’s also the only other person going through a coming of age arc. And of the two, Varian’s the one who has actually learned and grown as a person. He has more real world experience than Rapunzel ever will and knows how to implement that experience. (He’s also the more mature, but that’s more of a failure to write Rapunzel competently than a reflection of his capabilities.) 

No matter how you slice it, Varian shouldn’t be taking orders or advice from Rapunzel; no one should be, really; and he most certainly shouldn’t put up with her condescension. Rapunzel is not his nor anybody else’s mother. She’s not even a big sister like figure, and at no point should be treated as the leader of anything or anyone. 

Rapunzel is a Poor Man’s Rose Quartz 

I typically try not to draw too many comparisons between Tangled and other shows outside of the occasional parallel, as a show should be able to stand on it’s own for good or for bad, but it’s hard not to discuss the series without also discussing Steven Universe in some way. 

Steven Universe is this generation’s Batman the Animated Series or Scooby Doo. It’s the game changer that everybody else is trying to copy in some manner. Chris desperately wants Tangled the Series to be the next Steven Universe, right down to how the show is structured, paced, and what themes are presented. But unfortunately Chris has no idea why Steven Universe works the way it does. 

For starters SU adjusted it’s pacing as it went along, smoothing out its rougher edges while Tangled doubled down on its filler. SU had a planned arc from the get go and stuck to it, so that by the time the twists came they made sense. SU kept it’s focus on Steven purposefully so that the story unfolded from his view point while making to sure to acknowledge the importance of other characters around him and their conflicts. It didn’t make him infallible nor shove aside everyone else’s arcs.  

But most importantly, Steven Universe was written by a bisexual nonbinary person who set out to make a show for people in the queer community like themselves. Meanwhile, as a middle aged white man, Chis hasn’t a damn clue about his primary audience and has shown no interest in connecting with them. 

This isn’t to say that Steven Universe is a perfect show. No show is beyond criticism. Nor is this to say that straight white cis men can’t write; many of them do and can portray characters unlike themselves competently enough. But if you’re completely disinterested in other points of view than you can’t be a good writer of fictional stories, that’s just a fact. Because in order to understand proper characterization you need to acknowledge that not every character ever will be like you and that even you’re main heroes will hold beliefs and experiences different from yourself. Otherwise there is no genuine conflict to build off of. Either no one will disagree with each other or the conflict will come across as flat and forced, complete with lopsided bias. 

Therefore, in the end, Rapunzel winds up being less of a Steven and more of a Rose Quartz/Pink Dimond. Both are spoiled princesses/co-rulers of a kingdom that mistreats it’s people and anyone outside of it, who rebelled against their guardians, supposedly out of a sense of justice, but really for themselves and their own freedom, only to make things even worse for everyone. On top of that they both accidently harmed their friends, freindzone their best friend while also bossing them around, are condescending to their love interests, is controlling of people who trust them, and throws temper tantrums when they don’t get what they want, oh and neglected someone for an inhumane amount of time. 

Even then, Rapunzel winds up being the worst of the two. 

The whole point behind Rose was that she is someone whom the main characters place upon a pedestal and as the series went along slowly had the scales fall from their eyes and learned to view her for who she really was flaws and all. By the end, in Future, she is even metaphorically removed from her pedestal when Steven removes her picture from the wall.  

Rose also grows as a character, unlike Rapunzel. Her story is deliberately being told to us backwards. The awful person she was in the past was no longer who she was by the time of her death. True she was still flawed, and the consequences of her actions continued on even after her demise, but she actually tried to be a better person. She got called out for her behavior, she wasn’t excused for actions even when the show explained why she did what she did, and she stopped doing harmful actions whenever she realized that they hurt someone. 

Greg was allowed to stand up to her and show how she was wrong, and she respected him for it and later fell in love with him because of it. She tried to better control her temper when she wound up hurting her friend. Her failed revolution and her mistreatment of Spinel was actually born from a misguided desire to help, rather than outright selfishness. 

Rose Quratz/Pink Dimond is a brilliant fucking character. You may not like her, but you can’t deny that she is one of the most complex figures in children’s media to ever be created. She is real, nuanced, and multifaceted. He role within the story is complicated, messy, and intricate. She is the most well rounded female character I’ve ever seen and she is what I had hoped Rapunzel would be when I first watched season one, only even more so as the actual focus. 

I want women in cartoons to be people! 

But Rapunzel fails at every turn to follow through with this promise. She is not a deep complex character. She’s not a flawed and complicated heroine. She’s a blank canvas in which the creator can shove his creepy ass views upon. She is never taken off her pedestal, she’s never allowed to be wrong, and she is forced to spout the the creator’s personal bias against other characters. 

Rapunzel isn’t a person. She had the chance to be one, but then was reduced to .. to this. As a woman, the treatment of Rapunzel and Cassandra in this show is just flat out insulting. 

So What Is the Difference Between Angry and Red Now?

I’m all for character growth, but at this point Angry and Red are just interchangeable. Anything that made them uniquely them has been lost, and they’re now just fulfilling the generic rambunctious little kid trope. Red becoming more assertive shouldn’t mean she stops being an introvert altogether; that’s not how that works. While Angry shouldn’t lose her temper completely just because she’s wiling to open up more. 

So Why Dwayne?

I like Dwayne as a character and in truth I don’t mind his existence here, and unlike that werewolf hunter last time he at least was established in a pervious season. But this is still time that could have went to a more important antagonist. 

Also notice that Dwyane gets a villain song, but not Lady Caine or Zhan Tiri. Just saying. 

Rapunzel Has Not Earned the Role of the Wise Sage and Mentor 

Rapunzel has never learned to listen to others. Ever.

On it’s own this might have been a good speech, but when taken in context of the wider story it just makes Rapunzel look like an ass. 

A year traveling does not make Rapunzel suddenly all knowing. She is not wiser nor more experienced than anyone else in this scene. She’s also a crappy leader and big fat hypocrite.  

Even when she’s technically right, as seen here, she’s still in the wrong because she never follows through and acts upon her own advice; making this whole story pointless in the grand scheme of things. 

And that’s the core problem with season three. Rapunzel is shoved into a role she is not designed for and the whole premise of the series runs right off the rails. You’re main heroine in a coming of age story can not inhabit the mentor role. She can not simultaneously learn and grow and be always right while instructing everyone else. 

All through out season three Rapunzel is either rendered completely useless in her own damn series, or she utterly fails to fulfill any sort of narrative promise laid out for her while she infuriatingly hijacks the story from more interesting and dynamic characters. 

Behold The Only Reason Why Varian was Included in the Episode 

Speaking of hijacking things, Rapunzel of course has to get the idea to save everybody, even though what she thinks of isn’t anything special. It’s not derived from her character as an individual nor from all that experience she supposedly has. It’s literally an idea anyone could have come up  with and the show just hands it to her in order to justify her exitance. 

Meanwhile the character who actually is useful to the plot is sidelined and reduced to just a plot device. And not just here, Varian is rendered practically pointless in all but two episodes in season three, even in episodes that he actually should have more impact in, like the season opener and series finale. 

Good writing treats characters as equally contributing to the plot in ways that complements who these characters are.  

Ok I’ll Admit That This Line Is Funny

Look, I know this whole review series is about pointing out the negative, and I stand by my opinion that Tangled the Series is one of the worst written shows I’ve ever seen, but I want to make one thing clear.... I do not hate the show. If I hated the show I would not waste my time reviewing it. 

Yes the over all writing is shit, but there are a lot of good things to be found in the series beyond just the crap story arc. The humor is usually solid, the animation is gorgeous, the music is a delight, and the majority of the characters are likable even though they don’t develop in the ways that they should. There’s a lot of talent that went into this show and there’s a lot of potential to be had in it’s set up and lore. 

Being critical or negative about the aspects of something doesn’t mean you dislike it, or that you’re not a real fan, or that you’re just a ‘hater’, and I actually find TTS to be fascinating because it’s such a mess. I write reviews because they’re fun and because I genuinely think there is something to be learned from Tangled’s mistakes. 

So Why Do We Cut Back to Rapunzel Here and Not Varian? 

This is such an odd framing choice. Varian is the one who is talking and reacting to what’s happening. It’s his pet that’s in trouble and therefore he carries the emotional weight of the scene, and yet it’s Rapunzel’s shocked face we focus on? Why? What’s the point of that? She has no business being the center focus here. The action does not involve her. 

If you wanted to include her for a later set up then why not have both her and Varian present in this shot? Usually I can at least count on the story boarders to frame things better than this, but they really missed the mark here. Unless Chris is just that stupid and petty that he over ruled them and forced Varian out of the scene, but that seems like a pointless fight to pick, even for him. 

See This is How you Fulfill a Narrative Promise 

The conflict between Ruddiger and Max was set up in season one with What the Hair, then it was reiterated a few episodes ago during The Lost Treasure of Herz Der Sonne, and then it was reintroduced in this episode along with a stated lesson about working together that they needed to learn. By they end of the episode, guess what, they’ve learned to work together. That is how you properly set up and resolve a conflict. 

It’s clear from this that the writers of Tangled the Series know the basic tenants of writing and how to fulfill narrative promises. So the fact that they don’t follow through with this in the majority of the show’s episodes and ongoing story arcs just baffles me. 

Is it negligence? Is it hubris? Is it incompetent management and editorial mandates? Is it just one asshole ruining everything or is this a failure in the writers room as a whole? 

I just don’t understand what the fuck went wrong here. There’s no reason for why the show got as bad as it did. How does the most acclaimed animation company in the world put out such amateurish tripe? 

Just... wow. 

Now you know why I’m mesmerized by this show. It is a mystery to be solved, like trying to figure out how the crew on the Titanic fucked up so badly or why Hindenburg blew up. You just can’t look away. 

Conclusion 

Like I said at the start, structurally speaking this is the strongest episode of the season. I personally enjoy Lost Treasure a little more, just because Rapunzel annoys me less in that, but it’s not a bad story. However when you’re best episode in your final season is filler, then you know you’re in trouble. 

If you like my reviews and want to support my writing endeavors you can drop a tip in my kofi https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

[voidcat]

– a case of bad luck

1. spoke too soon

m.list ; prev ; next ; wc:1.7k

a/n: i’m trying to write one chapter ahead to have a little schedule in the near future so there’s that. there are no songs for this chapter. and i still hate writing dialogues + action based scenes. Oh and I don’t proof read so I may forget to type some verbs once in a while.

a/n 2: I know the title says “1” but this is actually the second chapter!!! ch1 is numbered “0”. This chapter probably doenst make much sense w/o its buildup

Crouching down to check on the boy, the one with bandages get up, his gaze directed at you. Like the boy, he seems young too, not any older than you most likely, but something about the way he holds himself contradicts what’s expected of someone in his age.

“Even Rashoumon is cast asleep before he got the chance to attack.” He leans in to touch his wrist and lets out a small hum at the lack of reaction on the boy’s part.

“Now let’s see how you got here.” And you take it as your cue, going back all the way you got through leaves a stale taste in your mouth, a feeble defeat, but your gut tells you to wait and talking like you did with the others will only make it worse with him.

Climbing all the way back, this time without being pushed by someone, feels like a walk of shame on itself. There really isn’t much to stop you from turning and running away. From the looks of it, the boy down by the door will be staying like that for another hour. And really, what can a possibly 18 year old boy do to you in the dead of the dark? A part of your brain screams at you. You didn’t spot any guns on him either nor any movement on his part, a hand at ready to draw out a weapon. And yet from the way he talks, looks around and talks, he is off. Everything about him is off and your brain keeps screaming ‘danger! Danger! Danger! Run for your life! Or die in the process.’

And he is awfully calm the whole way up, first coming behind you, probably a measure to make sure you won’t try to get away and by the time you reach the floor, he steps ahead, walk directly to the door you exited moments, maybe half an hour, ago as if he placed it there. Creaking it open and leaning in slightly, he examines for a second.

Then he pulls back and flashes a smile “Now go on, let’s see what you’ve created!” he says, tilting his head towards the door.

The sight of him is more unnerving with a smile.

Ambling to where he stands, you hear someone clearing their throat.

“Who were they?” you ask as you step inside, gaze locked onto him as he follows.

“Some small gang in the area, probably getting high schoolers involved with drugs.” He shrugs. Hah, it’s almost silly to have a somewhat victory in whatever you found yourself in but you want to smile at it anyway, look him in the eye and go ‘I knew it, I was right all along!’

The smile dies before it can make way to your face as you see his disfigured body cast aside, the other men laying around the room, all discarded as mere trash bags.

The smell of reaches you again, this time it’s worse, like a rock just fell right into your stomach.

The bandaged up boy squatting in the middle of the room, probably observing one of the men as you stare at the boy you saw several times before. When did they do this to him, what did they do, was the same going to happen to you-

The dizziness comes again and you take a step back to regain your composure. The bandages stand up then, you try to make something out of his expression but you can’t drag your eyes off what has become of that man.

If you were to ask another question, your words would die on the way out.

“Not sure.” He says, as if he hears the unspoken ‘what happened to him?’ in your eyes.

“It looks like his insides were carved out, not something that could be done without making a mess or cutting him out.” He sounds exactly as you first heard him. With nothing in his voice, not a part of identity or emotion. Like he’s just commenting on the quality of a food he has been served or a project he’s been presented.

“Which bears the question… aside from the obvious ‘what is your ability?’. What did you say to him exactly to create quite the work?”

Another step back.

You’re closer to the door, it’s unlocked and standart. The other boy still must be unconscious but can you make a run for it? Or does he have some inhuman power to get to you quick, maybe speed or teleportation, maybe something to grant control over you or objects around you.

Running away doesn’t seem to be a good option, when you’re unfamiliar with the area, not to mention it’s nighttime. But staying with whoever this is seems a lot worse.

The previous men were simple, easy to predict, open; but he is cautious, vary of his surroundings and it’s that smile that keeps popping up on him that creeps you out. You don’t want to imagine what might happen at the hands of him, especially if you try and get caught eventually.

The tapping brings you back, his foot this time, and he scrunches his nose. He asked a question after all.

“What do you mean ‘ability’?” you pronounce the last word as if it’s foreign. That only seems to annoy him apparently.

“Your ability! The thing you used to make-“ he turns sideways to show him with his hand “-this! And possibly to get out of here as well. This might be a low type gang but it’s not possible to make it out alive,-“ he takes a step toward you “-without a scratch,” another step in, you take one back, “-while everyone else is dead and a guy’s insides out like a carved pumpkin.” His voice drops with each word.

Another step in and he’s standing right in front of you, too close, his height over you makes the screaming inside your head worse, everything about him screams ‘red!’ now.

“So tell me again,” he nods with his head to where that guy was sitting hours ago, “was it the tragic death of your boyfriend that drove you to this?”

“he is not my boyfriend.” You whisper.

“was it witnessing his torture that did it?” his tone changes.

“I didn’t even know his name.” you look away.

“what was his last words? Maybe a declaration of love? Maybe a fight beforehand and his words were an apology for that? Maybe it was not proclaimed until now, wouldn’t that make things sad?” The more he adds on, the chirpier he sounds, almost enjoying this, ignoring each of your denials -maybe not even hearing them, too caught up in the story he fabricated.

“I didn’t know him!” You tell before he can continue his rambling. Eyelids halfway down, he looks down at you.

“No wonder you saved your own skin.” The coldness comes back.

Turning away, he walks toward the pile of red again “but it doesn’t explain how-“ he grabs something in the shape of a stick, “you managed to pull this off.” He punctuates as he raises what you assume is a part of the intestines with the stick.

“I told you, I don’t know. I fell asleep by the time they started questioning him and that was it.”

Throwing another glance at you, pitiful maybe?, he takes off to a table with stack of papers spread around.

“Here, they have information on your boyfriend. I’m assuming you attend the same school- someone has been studying.” Throwing the papers back, he strolls to you.

“It won’t take long to get information on you. You probably live on the opposite side of the city. With parents, I assume.” He leans in, “-a pet, maybe few? And a little poking around would provide enough on your parents and friends as well. But we wouldn’t want that.”

Raising his hand to your face, an arrogant smile takes place.

“And I’m sure you’d not want to see what my subordinate below would do, especially when he realizes he has been knocked out by a high schooler.-“ his hand, now standing right next to your face, you pull away before he can touch.

All the fear and the lights in your head have already made way to anger, “I don’t like being touched.”

“Who does?” He says with a tiny laugh, hand by his side again.

And just like that, he takes a step back as if the last five minutes never existed in the first place. “It’s late, let me escort you to your house.” He waits by the our, one arm stretched out to make way for you.

And learn where I live? Hard pass. The two of you start walking back, him a step behind you. The halls feel emptier now somehow. Not a single ray of light creaking in. “I don’t need the help of some douche from-“ you stop.

“Mafia executive, Dazai Osamu.” He keeps walking as he throws the title into the air, the word executive echoing in your ears. Isn’t he too young to be in a position like that, let alone the mafia?

Taking a step over the still body of the boy -his subordinate, as he called him, he stands right outside the door just like you first saw him.

How long ago was it? It feels longer than it should be.

“Stop loitering around, we got a long way back! You can tell me all about your ability as we go.”

He is younger than you, you’re sure. Appears to pale too, and what you can make of his outfit from all you see plays into the whole sick Victorian era child look. despite his age, he must be as dangerous as this man, Dazai, is, if he is a subordinate tailing along with no other back up. And yet, his form looks defenseless, vulnerable.

“Leave him behind, that’s what he gets for not being alert-“ “And for being defeated by a mere high schooler, yes we get it.” You cut in, jump over the boy and follow the man everything in your body tells you to run away from.

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing - Fandom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Donna Troy & Dick Grayson Characters: Donna Troy, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper (mentioned), Garth (mentioned), Joey Wilson (mentioned) Additional Tags: non-graphic injury, Stitches, Donna and Dick are plutonic soulmates, Dick is emotionally repressed, mention of vomiting, Bruce is a good dad, POV Donna Troy, childhood best friends to adult best friends, Whipped Cream, a little fluff at the end, Teen Titans as Family, technically they're adults though, no beta we die like DONNA SORRY HONEY, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Donna Troy is slightly better at feelings Summary:

The one where Dick gives Donna stitches as she reflects on how he's changed throughout the years.

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“Donna, sweetheart, I love you, now hold still.” Dick carefully positioned her forearm on an examination table. A deep gash left blood steadily trickling down, squeezing out through his iron grasp. He wiped down the area with disinfectant, smiling at her fondly and projecting the perfect image of calm.

 Donna marveled for a moment. He was a well-oiled machine, moving with explicit confidence and practiced precision. She could easily believe him to be a paramedic, or even a doctor, if she didn’t know he’d dropped out of college. She remained stony face as he injected the local anesthetic, acutely aware of his eyes flicking from the gash to her face. Despite the painful stinging radiating through her arm, she was proud to say she didn’t flinch.

She was tired of hurting her best friend. She was the one who wasn’t careful enough, hadn’t dodged in time. But none of that ever mattered to Dick, perhaps it wasn’t fair, but if she flinched, he’d feel even worse.

 She still remembered the look on his face the first time he gave Roy stitches.

 There’d been tears welling in his eyes, his brow furrowed in determination and his skin lacking any color; he’d bit his lip so hard it bled. The instant he was finished, he raced out of the room, faster than she’d ever seen. Garth had followed, only to have the bathroom door slammed in his face; Dick had sobbed and vomited until he was left dry heaving.

 And here he stood, expressionless before her. “Can you feel it?” He gently pressed a finger near the wound. <em>Can you?</em> She wondered, trying to read past the blank haze in his eyes. “Donna?” He asked more firmly, voice even and unrevealing.

 “Nope.” She popped the p and kept the tone light, watching as suspicion flashed behind his eyes. He knew she wouldn’t complain, even if she could feel her arm. “Dick, I really can’t feel it, I promise.”

 Dick’s eyes always reminded her of a hawk. He inspected her face, and finding it clear from deceit, he turned his eyes to the wound, flicking on a bright lamp, and began wordlessly cleaning it.

 That first time, Dick hadn’t come out of the bathroom for hours and when he finally opened the door, he announced he was quitting the team. He was back the next day with a medical textbook, refusing to do anything until he finished memorizing it. They had to call Bruce in the middle of their sleepover because he wouldn’t sleep.

 He’d been grounded from Robin; they hadn’t seen him for a week. She’d been angry at the time, but now she realized Bruce was probably just trying to give him a break. The day he came back the book was memorized, and he had a little fake pad to practice stitching on. Bruce bought him his own surgical tools and gave him extra lessons. He had a small, jagged scar where he’d let Dick give him his first set of sutures.

 Dick was thirteen when he’d frantically given Roy stitches (later she realized he only knew how from watching Alfred), fourteen the first time he’d practice on Bruce, and sixteen by the time he began doing it apathetically. He did a lot of things seemingly apathetic these days, but if she was careful, she could spot the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, or the downward twitch of his lip.

 Slowly, Dick’s tweezers found and picked out the last metal shard. He was twenty-two now, and as he was readying their x-ray machine, the equipment was purchased by Victor’s father and not his own. The Titan’s Tower had been destroyed several times over, but by some miracle of engineering, the medical bay’s equipment always survived. He wrapped the wound, and draped lead over her, hesitating briefly before speaking.

 “I’ll be back in a second, it won’t take long.” He promised. She nodded; not like she was going anywhere. They’d done this before; Dick always doubled checked. But she couldn’t recall a single time he’d found something more.

 One time, he’d skipped the double check, and she’d heard Roy yelling at 3am, having been woken up when Dick’s worry got too intense to wait. But Roy had given in, the x-ray done a few minutes later. Sometimes, it was just easier to give into Dick’s paranoid behavior. One of these days, she liked to joke, they’d just put lead in their sheets or MRI equipment in the walls.

 Dick strode back in, evidently pleased with the results, and they began their silent tradition. Well almost silent; he turned on some ambient music, the same kind he listened to when studying. She let her mind wander, and his fingers never wavered as he removed the bandage and began the first stitch.

 She closed her eyes, thinking about times when things were simpler. When they went on picnics in the park and played frisbee together, how Dick would braid her hair and paint her nails before dates with Roy, had laughed loud, cried hard, and loved freely. He was the same as before but could flip on a dime and shut away who he used to be. She found herself missing the little boy who cried after giving stitches.  

 “Done.” She opened her eyes to an apologetic smile. He began wrapping the wound once again. “Lay off it for a while.” It was an order and a request, sometime long ago the distinction had faded away. She rolled her eyes to finish the routine.

 Her arm stung, but the weight in her chest was heavier and more distracting than the steady throb of pain. She wasn’t thirteen anymore, and neither was Dick, but she could pretend for the rest of the night that they were young and invincible (despite having physical evidence contradicting her).  

 So, she grabbed his hand tight and before he realized what was happening, began dragging him across the room.

 “Donna, I have work tomorrow.” He protested. Well, that would be easy enough to deal with.

 “Call in sick.” She suggested, not slackening her grip, lest Dick escape and fly off somewhere far away.

 “I’m out of sick days.” He stumbled along, doing his best to protest without causing harm. “And I have to patrol tonight.” Donna laughed, but not unkindly.

 “Let the city watch itself. Take a day without pay. Honey, you’re rich.” She suggested.

 “Doooonnnnnaaaaaaaaaa.” He groaned, as they made it into the hall. “I have a life, I can’t just…”

 “Drop everything to spend time with me?” She asked sweetly. “Sweetie, you have before. What makes tonight any different.” Dick opened his mouth and closed it. She steered them into the kitchen, finally releasing him. “We’re going to make hot fudge sundaes, and watch Scooby Doo, and fall asleep on the couch talking about boys.” Dick wrinkled his nose.

 “You hate Scooby Doo, and only <em>you</em> talk about boys.” She gave him an unimpressed look. She saw the way he used to look at Joey. “Donna, I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s great but I-”

 “Need to take time to take care of yourself?” She asked incredulously. “Wow, me too.” She held up her arm. “What a coincidence, less talking, more cartoons.” Dick stared at her. She counted the seconds as she stared back.

 He sighed, breaking first. She’d won this battle, though she had no idea where she stood in the war.

 “I’m going to lose my job.” He muttered. A bonus in her eyes, it would do him good to sleep more than three hours a night. She rummaged around for ingredients in the fridge.

 “Cry me a river.” An empty demand, he never would, not anymore.

 “Why are you so mean to me?” He pouted. She grabbed a can of whip cream and pointed it at him threateningly.

 “Because you have terrible bedside manners.” He stuck out his tongue and stole the can, dangling it over her face as she laughed and opened her mouth. He accidentally squirted some up her nose, but she didn’t mind.

 And as he pulled out the bowls, they fell into familiar conversation; the space gained through the years seeming to slip away as she was reacquainted with the man who gives her stitches.

[gretchensinister]

I’m Your Boogeyman

A tense summer. A hot night. The need for touch, and the need to stop worrying about what’s normal.

A man in his late twenties is living in an apartment with a boogeyman, but naturally he doesn’t know that. The boogeyman is wildly obsessed with him, though, and one night when Zander lets his leg hang over the side of the bed, they finally meet. And a lot more besides. Classic meet-cute, right? 13,314 words. A whole lemon.

*** 

Zander had always run hot. That was the problem, and there was really nothing to be done about it. Oh, sure, there were mundane ways of addressing the issue—sleeping in just his shorts, getting a fan, making a dry cold-pack with rice and a couple of old t-shirts. He told himself if he ever got rich he’d set the air conditioning to whatever he honestly needed it to be at night and to hell with everyone else.

But right now he wasn’t rich. He lived in an apartment that was the west side of the second floor of a massive, venerable Victorian, and while there were many lovely details about it that had survived the renovations that made it into four homes instead of one, the large windows in his bedroom did not seem quite so lovely when they gathered every bit of the sun’s heat on long summer evenings. Even insulated blackout curtains didn’t do much to help his bedroom stay cool, which both baffled and frustrated him. The reason he’d had such curtains in the first place was because he’d lived in Texas for a few years before moving much farther north. They’d been effective there! But then again, a lot of buildings in Texas, even old, shitty ones, were built so that the people in them could easily shave a few degrees off the interior temperatures. If you didn’t do that, you just died.

Zander would concede that the place he lived now regularly experienced long periods where if your house didn’t retain as much heat as possible, that would be the situation where you just died.

Still, when he tried to sleep during the summer in his current apartment, he very much resented that the original architect had been so good at their job. If he had just needed to be a little cooler to sleep well, maybe running hot wouldn’t have been so much of a problem. Fans did work wonders when much of his body was bare, and the rice bag in the freezer was extraordinarily soothing when laid across his wrist where his all-too-warm blood rushed by so near to his skin. But his needs were not just about temperature. Zander needed to be cool to be comfortable as he slept, but to feel safe enough to sleep in the first place, he needed to be covered.

He wished he could let go of this feeling, he really did. He’d even tried to slowly ease himself out of the habit: falling asleep with one arm outside the sheet, then both arms, then his chest, but habits and instincts were harder to break than that. Whenever he woke up, usually from being too hot, he would be completely wrapped, even tangled, in the sheet.

The thing was, he suspected he might have been able to succeed in learning how to sleep without covers if it hadn’t been for…something…about his bedroom. Nothing had happened in it to make him feel unsafe. (Nothing much had happened in it at all, to his great disappointment, if he was being honest.) But there was something undefinable about it. After the sun went down, it always seemed a little darker than it should have been, no matter what kind of lightbulbs Zander put in the lamps. Sometimes, as he was getting into bed, the quiet of the room seemed expectant. Which was a bananas thing to think or say to anyone, so he didn’t.

He had asked his landlady about the history of the house. She’d only shrugged. “A few people have died here, I guess. Nothing crazy like a murder. But people mostly died at home back in the day.” When he’d asked her, she’d been out in the backyard, chain-smoking. “If you can get or fake some halfway decent ghost evidence, I’ll knock fifty bucks off your rent. Love to know there’s an afterlife with a habit like mine. But if you find a way to quit that sticks, I’ll knock a hundred bucks off everybody’s rent.”

It had been an unhelpful conversation, to say the least. He couldn’t stop thinking about paying for her cigarettes for weeks.

Anyway, he didn’t really believe that his room was haunted, nor that a standard bedsheet would prove a barrier to any sort of ghost. Whatever was off about the space probably had to do with old walls falling slightly out of true, and wiring that was somehow incompatible with modern technology (it was not his area of expertise). Or maybe he subconsciously hated being alone so much that he couldn’t get totally comfortable in the room he was alone in.

I wouldn’t have been such a big deal, except for the heat that made his compulsion almost unbearable.

And what good could it possibly do? What protection did a bedsheet possibly offer if there really was something malevolent about? (Which there wasn’t. Couldn’t be.)

***

It was a creature of instinct more than intellect. This was mainly due to the fact that it didn’t exist continuously. While it was intelligent, it was difficult to understand the world and form opinions about anything in it when it didn’t have a solid form most of the time.

It vastly preferred existence to non-existence, though, and the hours it was most coherent all took place in the presence of its otherbeing. It was aware that there were many otherbeings, even sensed that it existed because of otherbeings, but distinct memories were a luxury of form. It hadn’t had a form for a long time before this otherbeing moved into its territory, so it didn’t have many clear memories. When coherence was brief, only the broadest strokes of physicality returned—limbs, teeth, eyes. Only the memories, only the thoughts, necessary for survival. But when coherence lasted longer, as a more stable state—as it did when its otherbeing was close by—that was when it gained details: skin texture, claws, memory, continuity.

Its otherbeing was often close by, and the creature had become, to put it simply, obsessed. It knew every different way the otherbeing’s breath sounded, it knew every subtle variation of the otherbeing’s heartbeat, it knew the way the otherbeing smelled just before washing and just after, it knew every scent that was just the otherbeing, separate from anything the otherbeing brought in from the world outside. It knew the sound of the otherbeing’s voice, and could pick it out from any of the cacophony of sounds the otherbeing was often surrounded by, even though, for a very long time, the otherbeing rarely spoke at all. It knew the way the otherbeing moved, all the fantastic shapes the otherbeing was made of, the colors of the otherbeing’s skin and hair in moonlight and starlight and streetlamp light and indoor lamp light (even if it was uncomfortable to observe anything in such brightness).

All this knowing felt mostly normal to the creature, though the way it brought it so much joy did not seem typical—but then, there were no others like itself present to confirm its strangeness.

But maybe that was better! If it was a creature that was not supposed to feel this way about its otherbeing, it would rather not know. It did guess that some kind of line had been crossed, because it had spent enough attention to know that this otherbeing was a he-otherbeing named Zander. Sometimes the creature would whisper the name to itself, when it and Zander were in the places that felt most right: Zander sleeping in his bed, the creature curled on the floor beneath it.

Sometimes, the nights like that were so lovely and peaceful that all the creature’s instincts faded away, and it even fell asleep during the precious hours of darkness.

But the real line that it had crossed had been more recent, only several months ago (how sophisticated it felt for thinking of months rather than moon-cycles! So proud in its knowledge of Zander’s world!). It had still been winter, then—a wonderful season for the creature, when the nights were longer and Zander was more often indoors. But inevitably, the nights grew shorter, and the creature felt terribly, terribly cheated. Not of coherence. In a strict sense, it could survive with very little of that. But of its time with Zander. And in defiance of all its scant knowledge of itself, of the rules of its existence, it held itself together through the slow flare of sunrise, huddling in the greying dark under Zander’s bed, saying his name over and over again. It hurt to do this, and that was a warning, wasn’t it, that the creature was endangering itself? But Zander was still sleeping so peacefully, with such good deep breaths, such a steady heartbeat. How could it be expected to fade in the middle of that?

And in a thoughtless and sublime expression of desire, it had clawed its way up the side of the bed in the searing sunrise. Indirect, weak winter sunlight fell from the large windows upon Zander’s face, and the creature had thought it looked like the ultimate contradiction: the sun, but safe and beautiful.

What an irrevocable instant! Its being flooding with unfamiliar emotions, its physical body burning with pain it could never have imagined—it would have howled if the sun had not forced its dissolution in the very next moment.

That night, when it formed again, the memory of Zander’s sunlit face had returned immediately, sharper than any teeth it could form after such a harrowing morning. And it curled its vague form into a tight ball and held its head and shook.

Before, it had known that it lived and cohered because of Zander—the fine aether of his unease, the miasma of his nightmares: these were ultimately its daily bread. But now it also knew that it lived for Zander.

It had no idea how to face a craving that could draw it into the sun.

For a time, all it could do was continue as before, though its scrutiny became bolder and more reckless—enough to glut it on its actual sustenance, but doing nothing to appease its other pangs.

It took to exploring Zander’s bedroom as soon as it got dark, storing up memories, storing up knowledge.

It would stand in the shower behind the curtain, smelling the shampoo, the soap. What would it be like to use the shower, as if it was a being like Zander?

It would watch Zander watching movies on his computer in the living room, standing just inside the doorway of the bedroom. It would have the courage to approach and watch him from behind the couch soon enough—and that was but another sign of its derangement. The risk of being seen would be so great, and being seen was dangerous. It would…it would produce too much fear to process, and risked driving Zander away.

The problem with that was that it couldn’t know when another otherbeing would move in, and it could be consigning itself to nonexistence for a very long time. But the bigger problem was that it didn’t want to lose Zander, and if it did…it found it didn’t really care if any otherbeings ever moved into its territory or not.

The sun continued to gnaw away at the night, but not many days before it consumed over half the day, something wonderful happened. Zander started staying home much, much more. He started using his computer to talk to other otherbeings much more, giving the creature more of his voice to listen to and remember. His dreams and nightmares grew more powerful than ever, and the creature thought that if it had been normal for its kind, it would have been the most content of them all: strong, well-nourished, with peculiar otherbeing things to observe all the time.

Unfortunately, despite gaining much happiness from this new routine, it started to dwell on what it could not have of Zander.

It could not touch. It could not taste. There were rules to its existence that were truly impossible for it to break. Bearing the touch of the sun was excruciating, but there might be reasons for a creature like it to do so—moving from hiding place to hiding place, perhaps. But other choices didn’t result in an action and some accompanying pain. They resulted in nothing at all, as if the creature had not even thought of moving.

For example: the otherbeing was never to be touched with the creature’s mouth. The creature understood this. It didn’t feed with its mouth, and didn’t have a digestive system like that of a continuously corporeal creature. Bites and mouth-touches might produce sustaining terror, but as in the case of being seen, this terror might be enough to overwhelm a creature, or it might be enough to drive a creature’s otherbeing away. Mouth details, like fangs, were for…well, this particular creature had no idea what they could be for, when it tried to think about it logically. Just another instinct. (Though this one could be overcome, at least partially. For a while now, when the creature re-formed at dark, it had been experimenting with how small it could make its fangs. It had managed to make them small enough to easily speak like Zander did, which was interesting, and exciting, even, until the creature remembered that it would never have the need to speak this way.)

But the strongest instinct of all, and the strongest prohibition, was this: no matter how perfect the opportunity, no matter how dark the night, no matter how deeply the otherbeing was asleep, the creature could not touch any part of the otherbeing unless two conditions were met. The first condition: only parts of the otherbeing that weren’t covered by bed-fabric could be touched. The second condition: only parts of the otherbeing that extended over the edge of the bed could be touched.

The creature had lost count of the times it had stood at the side of Zander’s bed and tried to make itself reach out—to touch his face, to finally learn the texture of his skin and hair! But it could never move. It didn’t matter if its muscles were newly formed or if they were hours old, if it tried to concentrate on the action or move without thinking about it. Nothing. More than anything else, this prohibition seemed inherent to its very being. It was the kind of creature it was because of this.

Did any others of its kind feel that this was cruelty? That their existence as substantial beings depended on bonding with one particular otherbeing, and yet it was all too simple for this otherbeing to remain forever untouchable?

Then again, perhaps it was not such a problem for others. Perhaps Zander was an exceptionally careful otherbeing.

***

It was August, and Zander was pretty sure he was losing it. He understood that this was not a particularly unique feeling, but it still wasn’t good. His vague weird feeling about his bedroom had progressed into a full feeling of being watched, which occasionally hit him in the bathroom and the living room, as well. He would swear that sometimes his things had been moved, just slightly, as if someone had been picking them up and putting them down for some reason. None of the lights seemed to be as bright as they should be.

He toyed with several explanations, and tested each of them. Could there be another person secretly living in his apartment? A thorough search produced nothing. Could he be experiencing carbon monoxide poisoning? The two detectors he ordered online showed the same very low reading. Could he be developing a diagnosable mental illness, not just “losing it”? He was a few years past the average onset age of schizophrenia for men, but times were weird. This one wasn’t as easy to rule out, but he didn’t have any family with the illness, and as far as he could tell, he didn’t have any symptoms during the daytime. At least, no symptoms that were notable, considering the isolation. He decided he couldn’t dwell on this and if he saw or heard anything really off, he’d follow some advice he’d found and try recording it on his phone.

His phone had acquired a few new apps during the whole investigation. An infrasound detector told him that he was not being affected by infrasound. A sleep monitoring app remained unused.

It remained unused because even if he knew he wasn’t being haunted, because ghosts didn’t exist, it still seemed…foolish, somehow, to pay extra attention to whatever might be happening while he was asleep. He was waking up every morning, after all. But then again, how was he supposed to find answers if there were means of investigation that he was deliberately ignoring?

Return to the first premise: he was simply losing it.

He entertained the possibility that he was losing it and there was something strange in the neighborhood, so to speak, but this only led to more questions about how he was supposed to respond. He certainly wasn’t going to pay for a psychic cleansing over Zoom. Not with what only amounted to weird feelings, anyway.

But probably there was nothing weird going on, not in a supernatural sense, anyway! He was just losing it because the only people he could justify seeing face to face were his coworkers, and screw them, if he couldn’t be around his friends he certainly wasn’t going to voluntarily be around not-friends for eight hours a day; he was losing it because even if he could be around his friends what he wanted was to be held and sure everyone was queer and cool but he’d never been able to ask before all this so why did he think he was going to be able to ask afterwards, when he would doubtless be even weirder than five months (and counting) had made him?

And he was losing it because in order to keep whatever it was, he needed to sleep, and that was so often the most difficult thing about his day, because of the heat!

So he lay awake in his astounding solar oven of a bedroom, staring up at the ceiling with the sheet pulled up to his neck, while his fan failed to act on his sweat and his little animal thoughts chased their tails in his mind.

I need to be cool. I need to be covered. I need to be held. I need to be cool. I need to be covered. I need to be held.

Somehow, he always drifted off eventually.

And one night, he drifted off with the sheets less firmly anchored under the mattress than they usually were. As he floated off into sleep, the higher order of his thoughts that insisted on the necessity of covering quieted well before his body’s insistence on reaching a comfortable temperature. He shifted and turned, gradually freeing himself from the sheet, slipping ever deeper into dreams. With the sheet discarded, his body discovered one more helpful adjustment: with his leg hanging off the mattress, the airflow around it helped his body release heat very well.

***

A pounding heart, a dry mouth, even overwhelmed tears—these are all things that belong to continuous bodies. But the creature could tremble, and it did, even as it reached out, hardly able to believe its good luck, hardly able to believe this incredible blessing that had finally been bestowed on it.

***

It was from an instantly forgotten dream and to the unfamiliar, unexpected, and uncanny sensation of a light, cool grip on his ankle that Zander awoke. Fuck, I knew it! was his first thought, followed by a nervous, panicky negation. This couldn’t be happening. This was the remnant of a dream. In a few seconds he’d realize he’d misinterpreted the sensation.

Moments passed, huge moments where the grip on his ankle didn’t change at all, and Zander soon felt like he’d never been so awake in his life. And then the…hand? It did feel like a hand, with fingers on one side and a thumb on the other—had he missed someone living in his house somehow? The hand began to slowly move up his calf. Carefully. Gently. It was…it was honestly a caress, and Zander had no idea if that made it better or worse, more or less likely to be a hallucination. But the fingers and thumb were long enough that even at the midpoint of his calf, they almost wrapped around his leg entirely, and that meant that this hand was definitely not human.

This was bad, probably, but it was also something that he was sure no one expected him to just put up with and carry on through, and that felt like a relief. His mind cleared. First thing: determine if this was a hallucination. He lifted his phone from the windowsill, thumbed open the camera, and aimed it at his knee, where one…claw? Oh God. One claw was carefully poking at the scar from a childhood bike accident. The screen showed nothing he could see at this angle, as the only light in the room came from the phone itself or the line between the curtains where the streetlights shone faintly in. He tapped the screen.

The auto-flash worked just as it was supposed to. It also completely disoriented Zander, but not before he caught a glimpse of a gaunt humanoid figure with a mouth far too large and full of fangs crouched by the side of his bed. One or both of them gave a horrible yelp, and Zander was mentally confronting the possibility of being eviscerated when he realized the creature’s hand was still wrapped around his knee, unmoving.

***

Awful, awful, the sudden light! Zander must have seen it, but it was an accident, it was not breaking its rules. There was no light-pain anymore, in fact the light-pain had probably been a good thing, as healing used up much of the energy it was getting from Zander’s fear right now. And so it did not let go. This might be its only chance to touch Zander, and it was not yet satisfied, only ever more curious from its touches so far. His leg was so much softer than the bottom of his foot, and covered with hair, too. It was fascinating, and it suspected that this was far from the only fascinating thing about Zander’s body.

But it was so unlikely now that Zander would indulge it by leaving the bed. Or! If he did leave the bed he would leave forever, and there’d be no point in having a form ever again because there wouldn’t be Zander to watch and listen to and touch.

Unconsciously, the creature gripped Zander’s knee more tightly. Was there anything it could do? Was tonight to be the culmination of all its hopes, and the threshold of an existence of nothing but void? Had it been worth it to face the sun, when it would all end like this?

But! Oh! This was the power of memory. It had faced the sun. The things it felt were different. It was different. It could do things that were unaccounted for in the rules of its existence.

***

The image on the phone screen showed a dark gray entity with a huge mouth full of fangs, a collection of slits for a nose, two very large round eyes, and pointed, animal-like ears on the sides of its head that were probably bigger than Zander’s hand. It had a long skinny neck and long skinny arms connected to a torso that was, probably, also long and skinny. It didn’t have any hair. It looked very solid, blocking the view of his desk in the picture like any real thing in that location would. It also kind of looked…surprised?

You and me both! Zander thought. He found he had no idea what to do now that he had evidence that there was really something in his room. Something that was still holding onto his leg. Something that was, in fact, an actual fucking monster!

No, no, no, part of his brain chanted, a desperate negation, a call for the world to be as it had been. It’s not a monster, there’s no such thing as monsters, people see things and misidentify them all the time, it’s usually something like a starving bear with mange, that’s what this must be, a starving bear with mange, something that at least EXISTS—

Zander stifled a wild laugh. This wasn’t a bear of any kind, for one thing, and for another, how would it possibly be better if a starving bear with mange was in his apartment and holding onto his leg? That would be an almost certainly fatal situation. A monster, though? Well, who the hell knew?

“Zander. Please don’t leave.”

He dropped his phone. That had to be—that had to be the monster talking to him. And it knew his name, knew how to speak English, and knew how to be polite. And it was asking him to stay? Okay. Okay. Sure. This gave him something to work with.

“Why do you want me to stay?” he croaked out. “Are you going to kill me?”

“NO! No, no, no! I only want to touch you! I’ve waited for so long, and this was my first chance!”

“Wh—what do you mean, so long? How long?”

A short pause. “Since you became my otherbeing. My…human. Since you first dreamed in my territory.”

Zander’s mind raced. Did it mean since he’d moved into the apartment? That was almost four years ago! “Why…was this your first chance?”

“Because of the rules,” the monster said. “You have to be asleep. You have to be uncovered. You have to be off the mattress.”

Just as he’d always suspected. The part of his mind that had suggested the mangy starving bear tried to tell him this situation was weird and incomprehensible and was sending him slipping and spinning into totally unknown territory. But the thing was, if he accepted the scenario totally and completely as something that was happening, it was easy to understand. “Do you live under my bed?”

“Yes, or at least I did. As I got more and more curious about you I moved around more. I learned many things. And now that you’re around more, I have more energy to keep my form. I can remember more things.”

“You don’t always have a body? Where does your energy come from?”

“My energy comes from your nightmares and your waking fears, though there is a danger of waking fear being overwhelming. I am not sure how I withstood your reaction to seeing me. There is a correct level of energy for taking a form at night. It takes much more energy to maintain a form against light. It is…by instinct it is impossible to keep a form in sunlight. It is very painful. But I did it once.”

Zander stared up at the ceiling, which he could now make out the edges of thanks to the faint light from the streetlamps. He might be feeling like he was starting to understand this situation, but looking at the monster again—yeah, that would really loosen his grip on things. “So you…feed off my fear, but only a little at a time. You can only exist in the dark. You live under my bed. You can’t touch any part of my body that’s on the mattress and covered. You honestly sound like a childhood boogeyman, except that I’m not a child.”

“It is hard to remember, but I believe I came to exist because of a child. When a child dreamed in this room. I think there may have been other children, also. Others of my kind. But formlessness erases memory, and I was formless for what I think was many years. But then you came. And now I’m no child’s boogeyman. I’m your boogeyman. Only, only yours.”

Zander took a slow breath. Two things were occurring to him.

One: this boogeyman had kind of a nice voice, low and a little scratchy. It sounded like it had a bit of an accent, too, but that was no doubt because of the fangs and maybe—maybe never speaking to anyone else before? That seemed unbearably sad, but maybe it was normal for its…species? Kind?

Two: Maybe he didn’t have as good a grip on this situation as he had hoped.

“Do you have a name?” Zander asked. “And, um, I’m a he, other humans are she, or they, or…well, there are a lot of options. What about you?”

“No name,” the boogeyman answered immediately. “And I…I am an it.” It sounded puzzled with this last statement. And why not? thought Zander. Surely if I admitted to secretly living in someone’s house for four years, I wouldn’t expect them to ask my pronouns! There’d be other, more relevant, questions!

“Do you want a name?” This wasn’t one of those more relevant questions. But it was the only one that came to mind at the moment.

“Zander…you would give me a name?” The pure wonder in its voice. Had anyone ever said Zander’s name like that?

“Only if you want a name.” What was he doing? Why was he doing it?

“Yes!” It sounded a little different, now. As if it was shaking? “Zander, name me!”

“I—” He finally let out a little laughter. “I want to give you a good name, but I can’t hardly think now. Could I just—could I just nickname you ‘Boo’ right now, and come up with something better, later?”

“Boo,” the boogeyman said. “I am Boo!” It really sounded delighted, and Zander wondered if anything would have bothered it. Maybe not, as long as he had good intentions.

When the boogeyman—Boo—spoke again, it was quieter, more subdued. “I do not think that having a name is a usual part of being what I am. What you call a boogeyman.”

“Is that…a problem?”

“I don’t know. I like it, though. Anyway, it is not the first strange thing I have done since becoming your boogeyman.”

The mangy bear part of Zander’s mind posited that everything the monster had ever done was strange, because it was too strange to exist in the first place. Zander told that part of himself to pipe down. It was past time to accept that Boo was real, and as a being of a certain type, some things would be strange for it and others would be normal. Boo had even mentioned one, earlier. “Yeah. You said you braved the sun, once. Why did you do that?”

The hand around Zander’s knee twitched nervously. Oh. Yeah. Best not to forget about that. The claws, very close. (And also, Boo’s one stated desire so far: to touch him.)

“I was…curious,” Boo said. “No. That is not the right word. I wanted to know more of you than I already did. It shouldn’t matter to a boogeyman, but I liked watching you, whether you were uneasy or not. I liked knowing how you looked in different amounts of moonlight, in different colors of lamplight. You’re my favorite thing to look at. But I can only do that at night, when we both have forms. Last winter when I noticed that the nights were getting shorter I felt like you were being taken away. I wanted every sight of you I could hang onto. I hadn’t ever seen you in sunlight. An ordinary boogeyman wouldn’t have thought of it. But I did. I wanted to see your face in another kind of light, and sunlight was the only kind of light left. And I managed to endure it, and now I know what your face looks like in the sunlight.”

“Was it…was it worth it?”

“Yes.”

Zander’s first impulse was to push the story away, to tell Boo that maybe it needed to see more faces if it thought Zander’s was worth pain, but he held his tongue. Because there was something about what Boo had done that seemed understandable, familiar. To see someone and then begin to desire and to act in previously unthinkable ways—to irrevocably abandon normal—to risk pain for the sake of joy that it seemed so few others would understand—oh, he’d done it. If Boo’s experience was at all related…he didn’t want to make it seem small.

“You’re being strange for a boogeyman right now, too, aren’t you?”

“I was never supposed to talk to you,” Boo said. “I didn’t understand human language so much before I started paying attention to you. I couldn’t speak it. In the form I have by instinct, my fangs are too big to make all the sounds correctly.”

Are you FUCKING kidding me those are your SMALL fangs? Zander’s fear returned in a rush, and he heard Boo shift by the side of his bed. He forced himself to take deep breaths and did his best to push his fear to curiosity. What did it feel like to Boo, to be feared all of a sudden like that? Would it be like sipping water through a straw and then having someone pry your jaw open to dump a gallon down your throat? But maybe there was no metaphor, because the physical was always a limit for a human, and that didn’t seem to be the case for Boo. Unless Zander was totally wrong and it did need large fangs to chew up nightmares.

“You okay, Boo? Guess I wasn’t as calm as I thought.”

“I am okay. I will have to expend this energy soon, but that will not be dangerous to you. If I don’t find a way to use it myself, the excess will manifest as darkness. The lights in your apartment might not work for a few hours. It is enough energy to seek a new territory if a human leaves the original territory after seeing one of my kind. I did not understand this before, because leaving my territory had never occurred to me before you saw me. Another instinct. But you should also know that my fangs are only for the frightening appearance. No bites or mouth-touches are allowed. I have no digestive system. Any bites would be pointless.”

“Mouth-touches,” Zander repeated. It was an odd phrase for someone who otherwise used English so well. It sounded like a little word-veil, drawn between them so that they could both ignore what mouth-touches not part of eating would be. Or maybe that was a completely bonkers interpretation. Boo wasn’t human. Who could say how it would use language?

The obvious thing to do was ask for clarification. Zander closed his eyes for a few moments. He was going to have to come at this from an angle, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it. If he was wrong, he would create an awkward roommate situation that couldn’t be equaled, and if he was right…well, what did he plan to do?

“Anyway…you’re not supposed to be talking to me, but you can. I get that, it’s a new thing. Your instincts don’t have anything to tell you about it. But what about the way you’re still touching me? Is that also strange or…what am I not getting?” He felt a faint twitch from Boo’s hand once he fell silent.

“I can touch you because touch could make you more afraid,” Boo said. It sounded like it was trying to pick its words very carefully. “But…yes. This is also strange. And I am surprised that no instincts have made me let go. I think…it is better for a boogeyman if its human is not sure if it is really there. So touch should be fleeting. It is not…a need. But maybe that doesn’t matter. You must be very certain I’m here.”

“Yes,” Zander said. Oh, he had to be careful, now, very careful. Just because Boo would undergo the worst of boogeyman agonies just to see his face in the sunlight didn’t make his half-formed idea good. But then again, even if what he was thinking was a bad idea, at least it was fully his own bad idea. And he’d been buffeted around enough by other people’s bad ideas lately. So…let it all come together. Survival and need and want and…touch. “But maybe…maybe your instincts don’t have anything to say to you now because you don’t have any needs right now—is that true? I mean…from what you’ve told me. You have my fear, and that gives you energy to hold your form and do whatever else, and you’ve got the dark.”

“That is all a boogeyman needs.” Boo sounded troubled. “Zander…it does not feel like these are my only needs. Not when you are here.”

Zander swallowed. “Well, it sounds like you have some really strong wants, then. I think that’s…that’s part of being alive. Wanting more than the bare minimum of what’s needed to survive. I mean, that’s one of the first things you said to me.”

“That I wanted to touch you. Yes.”

Boo drew out this last word into a hiss, and shiver ran down Zander’s spine. Sure it was fear, Boo was a creature formed to scare��but that wasn’t all of it.

“I still want to touch you,” Boo said. “Much more than I already have. Now that I know that I can while you are awake, while I am talking to you—I do not know if any other boogeyman has wanted a want like this. And I don’t care, because you are my otherbeing, my human, my Zander. Everything I have of you only makes me want more, and it doesn’t make any sense, and I don’t care, because even getting a little bit of what I want is wonderful. If you were all the way out of your bed, all the way uncovered, I—I don’t know if that would satisfy me. I don’t think it matters, I want that anyway.”

Zander’s heart beat faster—how could it not, when being talked to like this, even when he’d seen the terrifying form the pleasant voice belonged to? It was clear that Boo had no concerns about approaching this subject delicately. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the feeling of lightheadedness that had come upon him. It didn’t really help. This was weird! Very weird! But it really boiled down to this: Boo wanted to touch him. He wanted to be touched.

And he was starting to get curious, now, to see if Boo would like to be touched, and how.

“Boo, I think I want to have you touch me, too.”

“Zander! I…” In contrast to the declaration of its desire, Boo now sounded shy, even a little confused. “I want to make sure I touch you in a way that won’t make you leave. I don’t want to have to be anyone else’s boogeyman.”

“Yeah, we can talk about that, we can figure it out,” Zander said. “We’ve got all night, don’t we?”

“Yes!” Boo said, and again the word turned into a hiss.

This time Zander was able to find it more fascinating than frightening, though now he guessed that being frightening was the whole point. Whenever Boo didn’t think about what it was doing, it would probably end up doing something scary. It was probably the best way for a boogeyman to survive as a boogeyman, even if it was doing something unusual like talking—err on the side of scary. Zander smiled a little, just at the idea that something as strange and incredible as Boo should exist in the first place.

“What are you feeling?” Boo asked. “It’s because of me, but it’s not fear.”

“W—wonder, I think,” Zander stammered. So Boo could feel any emotion it caused, not just fear? That was bound to get interesting.

“Wonder. It feels good.”

Very interesting.

“Boo, before you get to touch—two things: Would it be safe for you if I opened the curtains a little more? To let in the streetlights? It’ll help me be less afraid if I can see what you’re doing, at least a little.”

“The streetlights won’t trouble me—but I don’t understand. It has become less frightening to see me?”

“Well, surprise adds a lot to fear,” Zander said. “If I can see your movements, I won’t be surprised when I feel your hands.”

“I see,” Boo said.

“And the other thing is—you did give me a good scare earlier. I have to go to the bathroom before we do anything else.”

“All right.” Boo made no move to let go of his leg.

“That means you have to let go of me for a couple minutes.”

“Oh. But I could come with. I’ve been in your bathroom lots of times. I like being behind the shower curtain.”

The thought so sometimes there actually WAS something there clashed with has Boo watched me pee?! and Zander pushed them both aside. It was time to focus on the now, and he didn’t want to fall down a rabbit hole of wondering what Boo might have seen him doing. Though, to be very, very honest, there was a sort of dirty little frisson to think that Boo could have seen him taking himself in hand—he really had lost it, hadn’t he?

“But you’re not coming with me now,” Zander said. “Hey. You know that bathroom doesn’t have any windows. I’m not going to run away.”

There was a pause, and then Boo gave a sigh. The hand at his knee slid back down his calf, over his ankle and foot, and then was gone.

“Please don’t grab my ankles when I step on the floor,” Zander said. “I’m guessing that might be—it might be another instinct.”

When Zander had taken a few steps away from his bed, Boo spoke again. “You were right. It was.”

Zander grinned, even as his ankles tingled with the apprehension of touch, and continued into the bathroom.

When he returned to his bedroom, he found that Boo had already opened the curtains. Zander had left the light off in the bathroom (after all, he knew the boogeyman wasn’t in there at the moment) to keep his night vision. Now, the orange glow from the streetlights outside was more than enough to reveal everything in his room. Including Boo.

At first, he couldn’t take another step forward. The sight of Boo pressed buttons older than wonder or sympathy or even curiosity, and he had to close his eyes before he could even pull himself together enough to speak. “Boo, can you say something? I’d gotten used to your voice, but, uh, seeing you was still a surprise.”

“I did use my time alone to use some of my extra energy to change my form,” Boo said. “I wanted…I wanted to try out hair.”

Zander sensed that this was not the whole truth, but he wasn’t going to get into that now. He took a deep breath. That was Boo’s voice. He’d talked to Boo. He’d—well, he’d really liked hearing that confession of desire from Boo. And yes. Boo was a monster. And when he opened his eyes, he was going to see Boo, and step closer to Boo, and check out Boo’s brand new form with hair. The seconds of preparation helped, and when Zander opened his eyes, fear gave one last jolt before swiftly receding in favor of wonder.

He walked forward slowly—his legs still felt a little weak from the first shock—never taking his eyes off Boo. To look at Boo properly barely seemed possible—to look away and back again? Absolutely not.

When he got within Boo’s reach, he paused and tried to take in as much detail as the streetlights allowed. Boo was the same color as before, that dark gray. Its skin was more matte than a human’s. The body that skin covered was very, very tall. At least seven feet, maybe a little more, it was hard to tell how close Boo’s head was to the ceiling in the low light. And still—Zander’s stomach lurched like it did when he looked out from the top of a roller coaster—from his earlier brief look, Boo had probably been even taller before. Whatever shapeshifting it had done had included changing its proportions so that it looked a little bit more compact, a little bit more human, now. But really, only a little.

Zander wondered if there was some mass Boo had to take on when it solidified, because in addition to being shorter than the first picture indicated, Boo now had a little more muscle and flesh on its body and limbs. Though it still made you wonder if it was hungry enough to make you its next meal. Too, the slight musculature it now had was…off…in some indefinable way. Zander had never made a study of human anatomy, but what Boo’s said to him was that it wasn’t an elongated human, but something else entirely. And there were other, far more obvious differences. Boo had only four toes on each foot, each of which ended in a sharp black claw. It had no navel, and the area between its legs appeared as smooth as a mannequin. And its hands, the hands Zander had invited it to touch him with…well, they had five fingers each, but he was almost sure each finger had an extra joint compared to a human finger. They definitely all had significant claws. But, perhaps…he wouldn’t know until Boo touched him again, but he thought maybe Boo had done its best to tone down the claws.

After all, Boo had done quite a bit on its fangs.

Boo’s face was what he had seen on his phone, and Boo’s face was where the changes it had made were clearest to Zander. Though its jaw remained somewhat prognathous, its fangs were now small enough that its lips closed over them easily. Its ears, too, were much smaller, even if they were still much larger than a human’s and still pointed. But they didn’t remind Zander so much of a bat anymore. But even with these changes, some things about Boo had stayed the same. Its nose remained as it had been, just a slight protrusion with two large nostril slits framed by two smaller, additional slits. Boo’s eyes were still enormous, and very round. They had no whites, but in the lamplight Zander thought he could see the distinction between iris and pupil. Incredible, that this faint light would cause such a contraction.

And, yes, finally, Boo had hair on the top of its head, now. It was black, several inches long, and quite messy. Of course, it has been formed rather hastily. It made Boo look—well, it was hard to say. Less alien. More uncanny.

Zander knew that most anything with hair or fur liked having it groomed. Would that be a built-in side effect of his boogeyman’s changed form? Who knew? No one, absolutely no one, and that was the most wondrous thing about this moment. They were both so far outside, and so hidden from any norms that either of them knew, that they were both looking at each other completely as themselves.

And this was where, and how, they were going to touch each other. It might be glorious. It might be terrible. It might simply be monstrous. But most of all, it would be theirs, and only theirs.

“Zander,” Boo said, and Zander saw its long, clawed hands flex, “now can I touch you?”

Zander realized that Boo must have been studying him with the same intensity as he had been studying Boo—perhaps even more, considering that Boo could see much better in the very dim light. And still this was its reaction: this desperation, this desire.

Seeing Boo’s whole form had not made Zander any less vulnerable to being desired. And, hey, some part of his mind that couldn’t let a numinous moment stand pointed out, you’ve always liked lanky guys.

He smiled, and Boo’s already-wide eyes went wider. “Boo, I was thinking. Your rules say you only get to touch me when I’m uncovered and hanging off the edge of the bed, but now that I know you’re here—now that we’ve got an understanding—well, is that still the case? What I’m saying, is…can I invite you onto my bed?”

Boo visibly shivered, but not, Zander thought, with revulsion. Anticipation, maybe.

“I have no idea,” Boo said. “I want to find out.”

Zander took a deep breath and another step forward. “Take my hand,” he said. “It might make it easier.”

Boo reached out, and Zander, focusing only on the wonder of it, found it easy to reach back and put his compact, soft hand into Boo’s spindly fingers. Its skin was smooth and dry—no natural oils like human skin, Zander guessed, since it didn’t really have that biology to maintain from day to day—and barely seemed warmer than the ambient temperature of the room. He must feel much different to Boo; would that be good, bad—?

“Your warmth,” Boo breathed. “It’s the first wonderful thing about touching you.”

Ah. Good, then.

“Well. Warmth I can guarantee,” Zander said. “It’s why I had my leg sticking out in the first place.” Keeping hold of Boo’s hand, he eased himself back into bed. “So far so good, huh? Nothing made you let go, even though I’m completely on the mattress.” He smiled up at Boo, and Boo blinked down at him, its lips twitching in a tentative answering smile. Sure, there was something unsettling about it, but also Zander guessed that most expressions might not come naturally to Boo. It probably learned them…from him. Astonishing. “Come on up, however you like, though you might end up getting another shot of fear if you—” He broke off, as Boo immediately took his invitation and climbed onto the bed.

And on top of Zander, which was what he’d expected, because it was the most frightening way to get close. Boo moved in a rather spidery way (of course) and when it stopped moving it had its hands planted on either side of Zander’s head, its knees to either side of Zander’s legs. The light from the streetlights no longer helped so much to see Boo’s face, though he could see a glint of eyes and oh, again, the fangs. Boo was grinning as it was poised above him.

“Comfortable?” Boo asked, and Zander immediately wanted to giggle. He held back, though, because despite all the absurdities in this situation, he didn’t want to risk Boo feeling laughed at in this moment—the first time it’d gotten into bed with someone it really, really wanted to touch.

“Yeah,” Zander answered softly. “You all right with that jolt I gave you just now? I couldn’t help it.”

“Yes.” Boo sounded thoughtful. “I am less worried about having too much energy now that I’m not trying to escape your notice. And you are still wondering at me more than anything else.”

“I suppose I am,” Zander said. He stretched out his arms and legs under Boo. Had he ever even been this vulnerable to another human being? Sure, he still had his boxer shorts on, but that was pretty insignificant compared to the fact that Boo knew him better than literally any other human being. Also, if Boo had been lying about itself and what it wanted—if those fangs and claws were about to be put to their more typical uses—he’d basically served himself up on a silver platter. Though that image did cause some sparks in some crossed wires in his brain.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “All right, Boo,” he said. “You can touch me.”

Boo immediately lifted one spindly hand and cupped Zander’s cheek. It was a bizarrely human gesture, but it lasted only for a moment. Boo didn’t have any script to follow; all it knew was that it had been given permission to satisfy its desires, its curiosity. And still, Zander felt as though some kind of tightly wound spring inside him was easing with such a simple touch.

Boo’s fingertips poked gently at the softness of Zander’s cheek, and its claws were noticeable, but not in an uncomfortable way. Boo seemed to have the intent to treat Zander as carefully as it could, as it found his cheekbones and jaw and traced them, as it circled his ear and brushed across his forehead, as it investigated the shape of his nose and eyebrows.

And then Boo held the side of his face again, and slowly dragged its thumb over Zander’s lips.

“Boo?” Zander whispered, when it left its thumb at the corner of his mouth and hung over him, perfectly still, just looking.

“I think I’m changing, somehow,” Boo said. “Like when I become substantial. But I already am. I don’t understand.”

“Does that feel good or bad for you?”

“I think…good. But I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Boo shivered, a familiar motion made unfamiliar by the undercranked-film quality of it. Still a boogeyman. “Zander. I am going to touch you more, now.”

With only that much of a warning, Boo bent down and pressed its face against the side of Zander’s neck. Zander’s heart raced, some part of him still convinced that Boo wanted to rip his throat out, the rest of him clamoring that Boo was kissing him, actually kissing him on the neck. He could feel Boo’s lips moving gently against his skin, and though he could also tell that there were fangs behind them, he didn’t care at all. He hadn’t been kissed at all, anywhere, in so long, and if this wasn’t really kissing, but rather what Boo had distantly called ‘mouth touches’ earlier, well, it was impossible for his skin to tell the difference.

Boo didn’t stay at the side of his neck. It made a line of kisses up to his jaw, over the lower part of his cheek—and there was really no denying now that they were kisses, kisses from a being very new to the practice of kissing, but kisses nonetheless—

And then Boo kissed him on the lips.

Does Boo understand? Does it? Does it? His mind whirled while Boo lingered at his mouth. Maybe? Probably! He answered himself, as reality began to supersede any of his earlier half-formed fantasies. You were the one torrenting classic Disney to combat depression and the creepy feeling in your apartment!

It was really so absurd. And yet he still felt as though his heart was being cracked open like an egg, and instead of yolk and white flowing out there was all his loneliness and his curiosity and his fear and his wonder and his desire. There was so much of all of it, more than he’d ever realized he was holding onto, and it made it impossible to think lightly of kissing Boo.

Oh well.

He kissed Boo back. He kissed Boo back and raised his hands to touch Boo in return. It had said it liked his warmth; let it have the warmth of his hands, then, roving along the smooth, dry skin of its spindly form, back and waist and shoulders.

Boo gasped at Zander’s touch, and let itself sink down onto him, its narrow body pressing full against Zander’s soft and substantial chest and belly. Boo twined its fingers into Zander’s hair, and even that eagerness pierced his heart—his grown-out hair wasn’t neglect and isolation to Boo, it was something new and wonderful to touch. Zander closed his eyes, thrilling at the light touch of claws on his scalp and no longer trying to distance himself from any desire he felt. Boo was doing exactly what it had told him it wanted to do, so why not enjoy it? He hoped, oh he hoped that Boo was taking pleasure in these moments, because he was; he felt like he wasn’t just unwinding thanks to the ability to touch someone, but like he might unravel entirely, lose all the stress and constraint of having a form.

Maybe that wasn’t the best simile, considering Boo’s existence, but was he supposed to come up with a better one while making out with the thing under the bed?

He held Boo ever closer, and with very little conscious thought, slipped his tongue past Boo’s lips. He brushed up against Boo’s fangs, and his body tried to set off every alarm system that it had. However, most of his systems were already highly occupied, and all the signals of his nerves and hormones could only merge. He felt like he was blushing all over, like he’d been given a jolt of electricity just this side of lethal, and, oh yeah, his cock was now straining at the fabric of his boxers. He hadn’t gotten so hard, so fast, in a long while. His state would be immediately obvious to anyone familiar with hard-ons; the question was, did that include Boo?

Boo made a soft sound in its throat and pulled away from Zander just far enough to speak. “I—you—I can feel your desire,” it said.

That sounded way too much like a euphemism in a novel where the author wasn’t allowed to say “cock” and Zander was momentarily baffled as to why Boo was talking like that. But then—Boo lived off his fear. Boo could tell when Zander was wondering at him. So when Boo said it could feel his desire, that’s literally what it meant.

And was that a good thing? Well—

Boo sat up, laughing a little. It ran its long, strange hands boldly over Zander’s chest and belly, and Zander could see the glint of its terrible, sexy fangs in the streetlight as it grinned. “Zander. Zander. Zaaaander. You like it when I touch you and—I don’t know if any boogeyman has ever felt this. And I don’t care. It’s so good. I can’t tell if feeling your body under my hands or feeling your desire is better. What—what am I doing that makes you want me? I—I want to do more of that.”

“Boo—I—it’s easy to want you when you’re touching me like I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen in your life!”

“You are,” Boo said, continuing to caress him with earnest hands. “And your desire…” It took a shaky breath. “I had noticed it, before. It was always faint because it wasn’t directed at me. But I was still curious because it was something of you.” Boo’s touches became lighter, but not teasing. It traced a claw around Zander’s nipple, almost shyly.

Zander shivered, but it felt like he was almost feverish, how hot he was. How much of a strange dream all this seemed. “Boo,” he whispered.

“I never realized what it would be like to have desire directed toward me,” it said. “I only hoped to touch you and try to satisfy my own desire, but now I—I think I might be insatiable.”

Zander reached out and covered one of Boo’s hands with his own. “Hey, Boo. We can figure it out. I mean—you’re doing things with your body, with me, that you’ve never done before. I mean, there’s probably some way you can be satisfied. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Yes.” Again, that alien sibilance, and Zander found that a monster accepting his promise to help satisfy it somehow only made him impossibly harder. And he should probably say something about that, but what? Boo had clearly been in the room, at least, while Zander had taken himself in hand, but how much did it understand about what he had been doing?

“Boo,” he began, “this desire that you’re feeling from me to you, it’s…there’s a physical component—”

“Yes,” Boo interrupted. “I’ve noticed it all. The speeding of your heart, but not in fear. The slight changes in your scent. The hardening of your nipples and your cock.”

To hear Boo say “cock” was nearly as disorienting as when Zander thought he was using a euphemism. But then, what other word would it know for penis? It would have had to learn from the porn Zander watched to associate any word with the actual body part.

“Okay,” Zander said, his feelings about Boo watching him masturbate much more ambiguous now that it had apparently been the case in reality, “then you probably know some, uh, other things.”

“Yes, and I…” Boo hesitated.

“Boo, if you don’t want to do anything with my cock, I, well, it’s not what my body’s hoping for, but I can deal.”

“No, that’s not…” Boo flipped its hand over and squeezed Zander’s, really seeming nervous now. “I’ve touched you, and you’ve touched me back, and it felt—it felt so good. I didn’t know the kinds of things my nerves could tell me. I don’t know to say all this. But I’m not shying away because I don’t want to give you the most pleasure that I can. Now that I know I can.”

“Well, all right, do you just need a little guidance or—”

“Maybe, but first I need to show you—” Boo broke off, and lifted itself up, moving forwards until its knees were on either side of Zander’s waist. Its fingers fluttered and it dropped Zander’s hand. “I changed myself when you were in the bathroom. I said I wanted to try hair, but that’s not all I did.”

Zander’s eyes widened. He didn’t want to look too surprised, considering how shy Boo seemed now, but if this was going in the direction he guessed it was, it seemed almost impossible not to be surprised.

Boo picked up Zander’s hand again. It guided him to the place between Boo’s legs. “I don’t know if I did it right. But I made this change before I knew how much you wanted me, because I knew how much I wanted you.”

Zander looked up at Boo, trying to get a glimpse of its face as he left his fingers gently resting against where they had been placed. But then again, what could Boo’s expression tell him that Boo’s actions didn’t? Boo had made an orifice, apparently on the wild wish of an off-chance (or so it had thought) that “touching Zander” would lead into “getting fucked by Zander.” He allowed himself a moment to ask himself if this was too weird but shoved the question away before answering himself. It was the wrong question. Tonight was about Boo and him, and if it was weird it didn’t matter. There were better questions. “Boo, do you want me to be inside you?”

“Yes,” Boo said, quietly, and with no hesitation.

Zander traced his fingers around the edge of the opening Boo had led him to, and he heard Boo pant above him. I wonder if I can make your nerves tell you some really incomprehensible things, he thought, as he continued to carefully stroke Boo. “Any particular word you’d like for this new part of you?” The question wasn’t just a courtesy. Zander wasn’t hugely experienced, but he had enough practical knowledge to know that what he was feeling wasn’t really like any human orifice.

“Oh,” Boo said, again sounding embarrassed even as it breathed heavily and tilted its hips towards Zander’s hand, “I—I don’t really know—it’s just a hole. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Zander said. With his free hand he stroked Boo’s side and bony hip, doing his best to clear his mind of any negative reaction. Boo had claimed “it”; Boo had a hole. That was all there was to it. Nit-picking the language used by a wondrous, unknown creature was no way to proceed.

Especially not when that wondrous, unknown creature was relaxing and opening thanks to his fingers. “I’m going to put a finger inside you,” Zander said, and Boo made a soft sound in its throat, followed by another as Zander did exactly as he said. Inside, Boo was slick, wet—biological details that it had to have chosen. Zander didn’t know exactly how Boo formed their body, but this didn’t seem like something it had come up with on the spur of the moment. “I think you did really well, remaking yourself this way,” Zander said. It felt like another of his fingers could slip in easily, so he tried, and was right. Boo pressed its hips towards his hand, and when Zander started to gently thrust with his fingers, Boo soon started moving in counterpoint with him, seeking deeper stokes, seeking to be filled. Its smooth inner muscles wrapped around his fingers with a tight strength that made his cock throb and ache in anticipation.

But he’d be careful, no matter how much his body was screaming for Boo. He was giving it its first time, after all, and, well, he wanted to prove himself worthy of its obsession with him.

“Boo, tonight wasn’t the first time you thought about making yourself a hole, was it?” he asked softly.  

“I thought about it but I—I couldn’t think about thinking about it,” Boo said. “A boogeyman doesn’t—but I tried to figure out how to construct myself for pleasure—the plan was ready in my mind when you said I could touch.”

“It feels like it was worth the effort,” Zander said. “You feel good to me, Boo. How wet you are, how tightly you hold my fingers—I just want to know if you feel good in yourself, like this?”

Boo took a shuddery breath. “I feel—wonderful,” it said. “I don’t have any way to compare this with my existence as an ordinary boogeyman. And still—the bodies I make have a lot to do with yours. The nerves I make are based on yours—you’re the only living thing in my space. So—is your whole body this attuned to pleasure, too?”

“You know, I think I read that humans do have some nerves that are just meant to feel good when we’re caressed,” Zander said. “Like this.” He ran his hand down Boo’s side, over its hip, down its thigh. Amazing that Boo could instinctively create all the complexity of a living body, that it could guide those instincts when it wanted to—when it developed new and strange desires. And was Boo still changing? During those first touches, Boo had hardly seemed to give off any heat, but now, now it felt distinctly warm, more alive, more fleshly, than ever.

“Then why—why are you not always touching?” Boo asked. Its hand slid up his arm and tangled in his hair.

Unexpected tears burned in the corner of Zander’s eyes. “We—we want to be. I think we really want to be. But sometimes we can’t.”

Boo bent its face close to his, as terrifying and wonderful as ever. “I don’t understand,” it said. “But I am here to touch you now, and you are here to touch me, now. We can have this pleasure of touch and touch-back.”

“Yes,” Zander said. “You’re right, you’re right.” He smiled a little; started moving his fingers in Boo again. Boo arched its back, raising its long body.

“This feels—I don’t understand, but I want more,” Boo said. “I—I showed you my hole with your hand to—to show you it was there. But I want to feel your cock inside me.”

That disorienting shift—from the alien first-timer to the pornographically familiar. Zander wasn’t sure he was getting used to it, but he was certainly ready to roll with it. “Yes—I—I think we’ll both like that.” Boo smiled and reached down between them, and with claws that Zander now realized must be much sharper than he had been thinking, deftly reduced his shorts to rags and tossed them away. It should have been terrifying, but Boo hadn’t dealt him even the slightest scratch. There was only delight in this destruction, and as Zander’s cock stood free, it was practically dripping, just like Boo’s hole.

Despite both their states, Zander reached over to the bedside table and took a small bottle of lube out of the drawer. It would never be a bad thing to have, especially in this uncharted territory. He slicked himself up more carefully than usual, trying to ignore any sensation for the moment. “All right, Boo,” he said, about to guide them back that crucial small distance, when a thought occurred to him. “Do you like the position we’re in now? You on top, and me underneath?”

“Does it make a difference?” Boo asked. “I’m ready. I want to be filled.”

So matter-of-fact when it said these things! It wasn’t trying to seduce him, and yet he was as seduced as he’d ever been!

“With you on top you have more control over how deep you take me. The—the pace, also. But if you were underneath me—how do I even put this? You wouldn’t have to constantly be deciding how to fuck? You could just let yourself feel, if you wanted to do that?”

“Oh,” Boo said slowly. “I think I like the sound of that.” It grinned. “I’ve spent a lot of time under you with the bed in the way. I’d love to find out what it’s like with nothing in between us.”

Amazing, Zander thought. Amazing. Humor, or a very near relative of it. Just another thing that a boogeyman wouldn’t strictly need to survive, but that this wondrous being was able to use.

With Boo on the bed, and only the streetlamp providing light, it was harder for Zander to see it than ever. But there were glimmers enough, of eyes, of teeth. There was suggestion enough, in the subtle variation of shadows. Boo’s new, messy hair spread out on the pillow. The long, narrow shape of its body, with all its suggestions of curiously attached muscles. And now, rising into the clarity offered by the streetlamp, Boo’s strange hand, with its fearsome claws. It cupped Zander’s cheek and he nuzzled against it.

“Even now that I’ve touched you, I’m still going to love looking at you,” Boo said. “I understand that now. I’d thought it was just something to go before touching. But now I know more about pleasure, and I know that looking is a pleasure, too.”

Zander quashed the impulse to laugh this off, to say something cliché about flattery. He didn’t want to build any barriers between them for Boo’s first time, for Boo’s sake. And for his own sake, he didn’t want to force any distance between himself and someone who so plainly and earnestly desired him.

So he didn’t say anything that went back to himself. “You’re the most astonishing being I’ve ever seen, Boo.” And he leaned down and kissed it. Boo sighed and arched up towards him, a vivid reminder of what they both so wanted. He ran his hand lightly down Boo’s body, traced the path of its hipbones, and again found that soft, wet opening. Boo had said it was just a hole, but it was incredible that it had made one at all—that it had gone so far outside its version of normality as a boogeyman in the hope of making a sexual connection. Zander could only hope that Boo would find it everything it’d hoped for. He eased the head of his cock against Boo’s hole, and, taking a deep breath, slid inside the body of his boogeyman.

Immediately, Boo grabbed his shoulders with its hands, its claws pricking against his skin. The tiny points of pain were immediately subsumed in the heat of desire, however, as Boo lifted its hips urgently against Zander’s.

“Am I really giving you this much pleasure?” Boo asked, sounding dazed.

Zander gave a single, breathy laugh. “Just you wait.” He hoped the connection between them would be strong, that it would help Boo figure out how it could find the satisfaction and relief that Zander knew he was going to find in Boo. He began to thrust shallowly, Boo at once joining him in his rhythm.

“Yes,” Boo said, a sigh and a hiss at once. “Yes.” Its hands crept over him in ever-greedy caresses, boldly grasping handfuls of his flesh with alien, yet ardent, delight and desire. Its wet heat held him close, inner muscles tightening around his cock every time he withdrew. It drove all thoughts of biological artistry from Zander’s mind, leaving room only for the thrill of this deepest, closest touch.

“Tell me—tell me what you want,” Zander said. “Want to make you feel—as good as I do.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know—” Boo wrapped its long legs around Zander and pulled him closer. “Just—more, more. Harder, faster!”

Boo’s groan of pleasure when Zander obeyed was nearly his undoing. He had no clear idea at all how he managed to hold back, save that he suddenly craved to know what other sounds he could coax from Boo. Every little moan, every little gasp seemed to speak volumes, but volumes that would contain only the simplest statements, over and over again. I want you. I need you. You feel good on me, you feel good in me. But what more needed to be said in the bizarre little paradise his apartment had become? It could never be shared, never be explained, but that didn’t matter. It only mattered that he was real, and Boo was real, and no matter how astonishing their first meeting, they were both finally getting the touch they had been so desperate for.

Zander bent to kiss Boo’s fanged mouth, their disparate bodies pressing together as if there was no reason for them ever to have been apart.

“Zander,” Boo said softly, breaking the kiss for a moment, and Zander smiled down at it and impulsively nuzzled his cheek against its. Then, “Zander!” Boo cried out, baffled and worshipful, arching up against him and clenching around him tighter than ever before.

The thought “did I just make my boogeyman come?” just barely had time to form in Zander’s mind before his thrusts lost their steadiness and his own orgasm washed over him in a bright wave of pleasure.

“Zander,” Boo murmured, once they had both collected themselves a little and were lying side by side, “I want to sleep here. In your bed. With you.”

“No going back, huh? I’m happy with that.” He lightly ran his hand down Boo’s arm. “But what if you sleep too deeply? I can close my blackout curtains, of course, but they haven’t worked great here and the sun might still get through. I don’t want you to get injured after all the—all the good things of tonight.”

“I’m not worried. I…even if I’ve changed, I’m still a boogeyman. I’ll wake when the light is too much. And I feel like…I have reserves of energy. Even more than I did at the start of the night.”

“Well, all right,” Zander said. “I’m going to guess that you won’t mind cuddling?”

Boo flashed a grin. “Oh no, never.”

*

When Zander woke he wasn’t disoriented that Boo was in his bed; he knew very well he hadn’t been dreaming last night. But he was surprised that he was able to see Boo so clearly. The sun wasn’t fully up yet, but it was undeniably dawn. And Boo was still sleeping peacefully, an absurdly elongated little spoon. Zander did want to spend some time looking at Boo, at the form it had made of both instinct and desire, but its description of the terrible effects of the sun made him reach out and shake its shoulder instead.

Boo blinked sleepily, as if it had a lot of experience with sleeping and not just phasing out of existence during the day. “The daylight, Boo! The daylight!”

It yawned, revealing every single one of its astonishing fangs. “Can’t be daylight,” it said. “You have more uncomfortable lamps.”

“Boo, really!” Zander started trying to move Boo’s miles of limbs around so he could get out of bed and get to the blackout curtains. Why hadn’t he just taken the time to close them last night? It wouldn’t have hurt, it might have helped, and now Boo was way too close to being burned by the sun for the second time because of him! And apparently it was too disoriented? Unused to waking up? To stop hindering Zander from trying to keep it safe—wow, how weird, to go from terrified to protective of one’s boogeyman within a few hours—wait. Did the boogeyman thing explain the situation he was having right now? He was afraid for Boo, Boo naturally did things that were scary, and so Boo’s arms and legs were trapping him in his bed. It was the same thing as not being able to run in a nightmare.

Zander flopped back down and tried to calm himself. Boo was a grown boogeyman, much older than Zander if he’d correctly deciphered its comments on when it had come to exist. If it was going to take these risks, let it! It had come back from the other sunburn just fine!

Zander had maybe three seconds of calm before Boo sat upright quickly enough to make the bed springs squeak. “This IS sunlight!”

“Yeah, and don’t you need to hide from it?”

“I…I hide from light because it hurts me. Or it hurt me.” Boo slowly turned one of its hands back and forth in the dawn light. “But I barely feel anything now. It’s just a tingle. I think the light still might be dissolving me, but somehow it’s so much easier to heal, now. More sunlight would probably still be too much. But I don’t feel any need to dissolve for the length of the day.” It frowned. “I have changed.”

“Boo.” Zander sat up. “How?”

“I couldn’t have guessed…” Boo spoke softly. “But then again, maybe I am the same. Maybe this is part of being a boogeyman, but a boogeyman that followed its instincts, a boogeyman without a Zander, would have only ever tasted fear.” It fixed its gaze back on Zander. “You wondered at me. You were curious about me. You felt desire for me. And now, this morning, you were afraid for me. All of these emotions…I think they are more powerful than your everyday fear. At least for me. At least when they come from you.” It paused, and when it spoke again a note of trepidation had crept into its voice. “Do you think you could continue to wonder at me? I…want to have continuity. In your space. With you. If I don’t have to worry about the sunlight so much, and staying out of sight…there are so many ways I could do more than just exist.”

“Boo.” Zander took its hand. “I think I’ll be wondering at you for a long, long time.” He paused. “Do you still need fear, specifically, now?”

Boo shrugged. “Nightmares are always enough for a boogeyman. I just…ended up different.”

“I’m glad you did,” Zander said. “I’m glad you ended up different with me.” Boo immediately sprawled around him in a clumsy embrace, and Zander laughed. “But it’s a hell of a time to start being part of the world, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Boo said.

Zander sighed, though he smiled, too. “Well. I’ll be here as you figure it out. Now, let’s find a safe place for you to spend the day.” And though he didn’t say anything then, the question still bloomed within him—if wonder can carry you through the dawn, what might love do?

[spiritualgateway]

The crisis virus

written by Steven Black:

While you look around and get the impression that the whole world has gone crazy and is going nuts, you have to realize: This is all perfectly normal and has happened over and over again. With the pest plague, the cholera and the Spanish flu – people reacted with unreasonableness, resentment and rebellion, against ordered measures.

With the plague, people selectively believed that bad winds, an unfavorable constellation of Mars, Jupiter and Saturn or the contaminated water were to blame because the Jews were poisoning the wells. As a logical consequence of such thinking, persecution of Jews throughout Europe occurred. Entire Jewish quarters were burned down and their inhabitants murdered.

Oh yes, a punishment by God was also possible. Even then, in the early 14th century, quarantine and isolation were ordered – as a very late measure.

In the case of cholera, 1831, quarantine and isolation were also applied. From the chronicle of the german city Stettin of this time, one learns:

„The burial of the deceased, buried in a special newly built churchyard […] aroused fear and horror, especially among the lower classes of the inhabitants. These precautions were made even worse by the complete blockade of traffic, which deprived a large part of the inhabitants of their livelihoods and probably also their means of subsistence. The lower classes could not bear this state of affairs and, believing the most absurd rumors, saw in the precautions taken only the means to their perdition.

„The prolonged duration of the cordoning off increased the bitterness, the excitement grew with each passing day, so that the workers most affected were finally inclined to use force to overturn the hated coercive rules.

„…because the agitated crowd, misled by some troublemakers, was under the delusion that cholera and security measures were only being used „to exterminate the common rabble.

The Spanish Flu, 1918 – 1919, rolled over the globe in three successive waves and claimed millions of lives. Conjecture and conspiracy theories arose among the most diverse peoples. Some saw the disease as the devil’s work of German agents, and Germany was suspected of either using insidious biological weapons or poisoning aspirin tablets from the pharmaceutical manufacturer Bayer in order to win the world war. Another theory, widespread at the time, was that the flu had been imported from Spain in tins, which had been poisoned by the Germans who had brought the Spanish canneries under their control. Or it was oraculated that the cause was consequential damages of the war by poison gas missions, which were caused by the exhalations from the mountains of corpses of the battlefields. And of course there was also the evergreen that it was a punishment from God …

First with the second wave, the danger was really recognized and flu alarm systems were introduced, quarantines were imposed over ports and railroad stations, isolation stations in hospitals were set up. „Social Distancing“ was ordered, mass gatherings were prohibited. Schools, theaters, markets and churches were closed. The use of face masks and disinfectants was recommended and in some areas made mandatory by law.

Those who refused to wear face masks were fined. By the way, later studies proved that the prohibition of mass events and the requirement to wear a mouth-and-nose mask reduced the death rate in American cities by up to 50 percent. Where it was not prescribed by law, i.e. only announced as a recommendation, there were many more deaths. The same thing is currently happening in Sweden.

The Corona Virus – today

100 years after the Spanish flu, a new medical crisis is entering the global stage. And just as with the plague, cholera and Spanish flu, where fear and uncertainty accompanied the daily events, the most colorful rumors and theories are flourishing. There seems to be a lid for every pot.

Some political party sees the Corona virus as an obvious foreigner epidemic. Logically, migrants must be to blame for it too. Within the extreme right groups the old perennial argument is active that the Jews are to blame for Corona.

Many vaccination critics freak out at the name Bill Gates, who allegedly wants to decimate humanity and enslave it with microchips. He has the WHO, the media and Angela Merkel personally in his pocket. Then there are people who believe that the new 5 G technology is the real cause of the Corona virus. The Qanon community believes that the virus is merely an excuse for Donald Trump to free thousands of poor, tortured children from underground tunnels.

There are an ever increasing number of people who believe that the virus is nothing more than a normal flu. There is also the idea that this Corona virus does not exist – it would all be just an excuse to get rid of cash and have a controlled financial crash. The usual suspects also know exactly from whom and why – of course to enforce the infamous New World Order, either by the „Deep State“, the „Kabale“ or the „Illuminati“.

A few fundamentalist church officials also took up the same cause:

In a text entitled „A Call for the Church and for the World – to Catholics and all people of good will“, signed among others by the German Cardinal Gerhard Ludwig Müller and initiated by Archbishop Carlo Maria Vigano, former Pontifical Ambassador to the USA, the Corona measures were sharply criticized. The signatories had previously spoken out against bans on worship because of the corona virus and they are all arch-conservative opponents of the current pope. The text stated: „It is a fact that under the pretext of the Covid 19 epidemic, in many cases inalienable rights of citizens have been violated and their fundamental freedoms have been disproportionately and unjustifiably restricted, including the right to freedom of religion, freedom of expression and freedom of movement.

It was further stated that there is reason to believe „that there are forces that are interested in creating panic among the population. Their goal is to permanently enforce „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom and the associated control over persons and the persecution of all their movements“. „These illiberal attempts at control are the disturbing prelude to the creation of a world government that eludes all control“.

Personal note: By the way – dear church idiots: What about the „forms of unacceptable restriction of freedom“ of my mind, by your religious doctrine? Or „the associated control over persons“, where you let people slide around on their knees and establish a sense of sacrifice by having a figure nailed to a cross worshiped? But a „God’s world government“ would be all right with you, wouldn’t it?  

Anyway, I don’t really expect an answer to that. But what else you should know – the signatories represent an arch-conservative, right-wing current within the Catholic Church. They fervently hate the current pope because he accepts homosexuality and divorce as facts of life and is open to pro-migration and capitalism-critical positions. It is also no coincidence that these clerics of all people are waving their fear of a „new world order“ around. The whole thing is organized by a notorious ultra-right-wing populist – namely Steve Bannon. The man who brought Donald Trump to power through tons of fake news and conspiracy theories.

By the way, there are strong indications that the art product „QAnon“, a fictitious Internet personality, is a product of Steve Bannon. He is the thinking head and mastermind of the so-called new right.

The American government, led by Donald Trump, sees itself as the victim of a Chinese conspiracy initiated either by a mysterious „Deep State“ or preferably by the Democrats – which is one and the same thing in his case. Evangelical clerics see the Corona virus as a punishment from God for homosexuality. A handful of doctors contradict the official statements and believe that the Corona virus is little more than a common flu. The population would get scared over nothing and wearing masks would be very unhealthy. And in the chest tone of conviction, many an empathy-free idiot rambles that it would only affect pre-existing patients who would have died soon anyway.  You know, just collateral damage …

In the USA, the president himself is the main accelerator of emotional states. There were protests against the curfews in several US cities and about 3000 demonstrators, some of them armed and wearing Trump campaign caps and flags, took to the streets in Michigan. Encouraged by Donald, who tweeted „Free Michigan,“ dozens of gunmen entered the parliament building in the city of Lansing.

In Germany and Austria, people suddenly took to the streets and demonstrated against the corona measures of their government. Against an alleged panic-mongering, against an allegedly intended compulsory vaccination, against the curtailment of their basic rights, against an allegedly threatened freedom of opinion, against the obligation to wear masks, against an alleged „Corona dictatorship“, against a „New World Order“ by Bill Gates and much more. What one would not have thought possible before, happened now:

People who call themselves „leftists“, right-wing conservatives, neo-Nazis, people of the freeman movement, spiritual people, and also people who had never been involved with any of the groups mentioned before, stood together in a public square and chanted „We are the people“. And of course they did not wear masks, and of course they did not keep a „minimum distance“. With righteous indignation they held flyers in their hands where „The Basic Law“ is written on them and lamented a loss of it. Although the basic right to personal liberties was only limited due to the situation and receded into the background in favor of the basic right to personal integrity of EVERYONE, suddenly not only the Corona virus seemed to mutate.

A wide range of people suddenly mutated into virus specialists and health experts, legal luminaries and political insiders. It was not at all helpful if individual physicians and virologists publicly held different views, which are not in accordance with the scientific consensus. These people were suddenly elevated to „heroes of „truth“ and made anti-witnesses of the establishment.      

Like moths to a flame, all the discontented, angry opponents of the system, critics of capitalism, right-wing populists pouring oil on the fire, bawling bald-headed people and „Merkel must go“ yellers flocked together and mingled with yoga practitioners, meditators, as well as people who simply wanted a „better system“. Emotional fire accelerators like KenFM, Sven Liebich, Lügenstöckl, NPD offshoots and various AFD supporters moderated the „happening“ and it did not take long until this situation led to the foundation of a new party – called „Resistance 2020“. Founded by Victoria Hamm, the Sinsheim swindle doctor Bodo Schiffmann and the Leipzig lawyer Ralf Ludwig.

The appeal of „Resistance 2020“ continued as long as Covid 19 and the restrictions imposed by governments were highly active. In the meantime this has abated. First the chairwoman Victoria Hamm stepped down from the party (because of internal differences of opinion), her replacement, the chairwoman of the supervisory board of „Humanimity“, Sandra Wesolek, also threw in the towel soon after. And now also the founder and vice-chairman of the party, Bodo Schiffmann, has left Resistance 2020. Only Ralf Ludwig remains, who keeps the coma patient „Resistance 2020“ alive.

In conclusion – it will not yet be completely silent about the topic Covid – 19, but it slowly fades in its importance. At least for the moment. If we are lucky and there will be no 2nd or third wave, it will stay that way.      

Crisis intensification

Another topic has now captured the attention of the world, people and media – a topic that has never been completely absent: racism and police brutality in the USA.

The violent death of the African-American George Floyd, after a police operation, was followed by peaceful protests in the USA, but there were also riots and looting. And as in dealing with the corona virus, Donald Trump shifts to denial of the structural problem, puts the blame on others and does just about anything to pour even more fire into the heated atmosphere.

Under the hashtag #blackllivesmatter, which has been known since 2013 and is a name for an African-American civil rights movement, people are gathering again to demonstrate against state arbitrariness, police brutality and unfair treatment of dark-skinned people. Previous slogans of the movement, such as „Hands up, don’t shoot“, „White silence is violence“, „No justice, no peace“, „Is my son next?“ are being used again, including the now popular „I can’t breathe“ and „BlackOutTuesday“.

It is no longer just a movement of the „black community“. Within just a few days, numerous politicians, celebrities and large companies have raised their voices and spoken out in favor of the BlackLivesMatter movement. More and more representatives of the video game industry are also joining in. Sony, for example, has refrained from presenting the new Playstation 5 due to the current situation. But also companies like Microsoft, Activision, EA, Massive Entertainment, Square Enix, Bethesda, Naughty Dog, Disney, Marvel, Warner Bros, and many other global big players made clear statements against racism and expressed their solidarity. Over 50 influential companies have donated large sums of money to the movement.

Yes, Soros‘ Open Society Foundation is one of them (about $33 million), but is rather outdone by all others, especially FORD Foundation and Borealis Philanthropy (about $100 million). Also worthy of mention are the Hill-Snowden Foundation, Solidaire, the NoVo Foundation, the Association of Black Foundation Executives, the Neighborhood Funders Group-Funders for Justice, Anonymous Donors, and many more.  

It is already becoming apparent that this issue could potentially break Donald Trump’s neck and prevent his re-election. „Poor Donald“, after his mismanagement in the Corona crisis became visible to everyone, now police brutality and racism challenge him. And here again he reacts headlessly and impulse-driven instead of showing presidential leadership. Instead he meets the problem in the familiar perpetrator-victim reversal tactic.

Incidentally, the same thing happens as in the Covid 19 demonstrations in Austria and Germany – extreme right-wing „withe supremacy“ agitators mingle with the demonstrators. They incite people and loot, start brawls and set fire to buildings. Incited by Donald Trump, who simply claimed that it was „the ANTIFA“ that was firing up the demonstrations, his followers do everything in their power to discredit the movement and make it look bad in the eyes of the public.

In a series of messages, a Twitter account called „Antifa US“ had called on protesters to march into neighborhoods and „take what is ours“. Twitter itself had cleared up the fact that behind this account „American Identity Movement“ is the extreme right-wing formerly known as „Identity Evropa“, that was behind the protest and deleted the account.

Blacklivesmatter is a movement that I wholeheartedly endorse. What I find less good about it is that this conglomeration of people is happening on the streets while the corona virus is still highly active in the  world. There is also no question of keeping a distance, a large majority can be seen wearing masks during the protests, but not all of them. I fear that this will have some unpleasant consequences. But the German demonstrations against a „Corona dictatorship“ and against police arbitrariness and brutality by blacklivesmatter could not be more different.

The sense of demonstrating against a world domination by Bill Gates and an alleged forced chippings or because one is forced to wear a mask temporarily stinks against blacklivesmatter. This is about addressing really important issues of the human species. The core statement of „Blacklivesmatter“ is – “ stop treating us like shit!“

It did not take long, of course, for the rumor mill to start bubbling on this topic as well and the „usual suspects“ went peddling „THE truth“ about it to everyone. You know, from „it’s all a government diversion“ to George Floyd wouldn’t be dead. It would all be a false flag operation and George Soros would be behind the protests. Xavier Naidoo also tells his followers about it and although the man from Mannheim had his own experiences with racism, he is not too stupid to devalue the blacklivesmatter movement. He described the demonstrators who are now taking to the streets against racism and police violence as hypocrites. And ends with a whataboutism rant – „anyone who comes up with an organization called Black lives matter is a divider“.

Naidoo justified his statement by saying that for him all lives count. Sounds plausible on the surface but clearly demonstrates that he did not understand the fundamental problem at all. Naidoo parrots something he has probably read or heard from Alex Jones or another opponent from the disinformation movement. The blacklivesmatter movement has been struggling with such whataboutism arguments from the beginning, since 2013. Not surprisingly, „All Lives Matter“ is often used as a counter-argument by the racist „white supremacy“ groups.

Barack Obama found good words for this: „I think the reason why the organizers use the term „Black Lives Matter“ was not because they wanted to imply that other lives do not matter. They are saying that there is a specific problem in the African American community that does not exist in other communities. This is a legitimate problem that we need to address.

Sounds logical, right? It is. Let’s say you broke your arm and you go to the doctor. He won’t tell you – „all bones count“, but will turn to the current problem. The bone that is just broken. If your house is on fire, the fire department will not tell you “ all houses caunt“ – they will simply put out the fire.  

If you come to blacklivesmatter with alllivesmatter, you are part of the problem not the solution. This tries to ignore or disguise the problem by directing the criticism behind it to another topic.

It is definitely crisis – and virus time

A virus form that is completely unknown to most people is going around and is at least as infectious as Covid 19. They are mental and emotional viruses. Positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. Created by humans every day and they influence all humans, more or less.

We are usually not used to accept the idea that our thoughts as well as our feelings and the words we utter have substantial meanings. Substantial is literally meant here – both thoughts, emotions and words contain substances that act as carriers of their expression. Through which the respective content of thoughts, feelings/emotions and words is transported, which always involves an „inaudible“, complex bundling of frequencies and takes on form, sound and tones. We do not „just think“, we generate a thought form for it, depending on the intensity of our respective thoughts – a kind of „pale being“.

And we do not „just feel“, we generate emotional signatures that can be perceived, „read“, felt and recognized by other people, consciously or unconsciously. We do not „just talk“, our words always convey a large context of mental and emotional content. Whoever listens carefully can often discover contradictions in the words, because the transported feelings are not in harmony with them.

As the person we are, we resemble a piano. We are a musical instrument with many keys and tones, with which the most diverse vibration frequencies can be expressed. Depending on how well we have learned to handle our instrument and how the individual tones are tuned, it will decide how harmonious or disharmonious our personal sound, our own melody, is. Everything we think, feel, say or do sounds through us and creates sounds that are received by others.

The more sensitive a person is or the better he can listen, the more contents of his counterpart he will be able to perceive. How aware someone is or is not of these levels, however, is basically irrelevant. The thought forms, emotional content, sounds and frequencies of other people are also perceived unconsciously. Basically, we all speak through individualized codes – the spoken or written words mean nothing in themselves. The linear arrangement of symbols (letters) that form words has a meaning for us because they are charged with emotional and mental sounds that form a kind of overall picture. We all encode such images on a daily basis and send them out from us. And we all decode every day a huge accumulation of sent consciousness images – which we have either seen, heard or read.

How much we are influenced by the opinions of other people or media – their generated images – depends to a large extent on our own identity structure. And on the respective topics that are founded in it.

Our exchange of information and images becomes a virus – either constructive or destructive – when it spreads in wide circles and becomes more and more emotionally charged. Our thoughts, emotions and the words we speak not only influence ourselves, but also other people. This means we infect other people with our ideas. And other people infect us with their ideas. If an idea or assertion fascinates, impresses, captivates or outrages us, it can go so far that we forget the origin and, spurred on by the charge of an idea, run amok with it.

All of us together are embedded in a collective frequency field, which is reflected in personal, national and global situations. None of us is virtually „an island“, we all manipulate and influence each other. We can hardly escape this, unless we have no contact to other people anymore. But even then it would probably be difficult to escape the collective astral field.

The collective field contains positive, negative, destructive and constructive viruses of all kinds. We encounter emotional and mental viruses all the time, but nowhere in such a concentrated form as in the „social media“. In this respect, the Internet is a single, gigantic virus slingshot. And all of us who make use of it cannot get away with it.

The opinion of others

The technical development of the Internet has made it possible for us to be exposed to a storm of opinions and views on a daily basis in a way that has never been possible before. About 22,510 GB of data are fed into the Internet every second. That is about 2 billion GB per day (exactly 1,944,864.00 GB [2015]). YouTube has a monthly data volume of about 16 Exabyte (Exabyte = 1018 Byte). About 3 million videos per hour are consumed on YouTube. There are 1. 012 315 000 websites on the net. About 16 million of these websites are hacked annually.

About 4 million new blog entries are written every day, 80 million photos are uploaded to Instagram, 618 million „tweets“ are posted – that is 7130 tweets per second. Facebook processes 2.5 billion pieces of content, 2.7 billion likes and 300 million photos every day. All in all, this adds up to a daily data volume of more than 500 terabytes, just for FB alone. About 4 billion search queries are made daily via Google and 10 billion videos are viewed on YouTube. And these numbers will increase, the rush on our inner senses will become more and more intense.

One drama after the other is being chased through the internet every day. An ever-increasing number of bloggers and websites vie for our daily attention. And hardly anybody takes the time to ask themselves, is it really true what I hear or read? What is it really about? And what would be even more important: Does it really have anything to do with ME? Is this really MINE? Or did I just get infected with an emotional virus that is related to a personal topic?

Although we humans generally assume that we have reasonable opinions and justifiable arguments, or that we see the world with clear eyes – this is rarely the case. Each of us lives in our own reality and we all believe that the world is as we secretly assume it to be. The perspective of how we see the world is largely based on the filter of our own beliefs.

One of the effects that has come through the Internet is the amazing development that many people have become aware of how the mainstream press often reports manipulatively or at least with omission – and sometimes doesn’t present the whole picture. By the way, this is not the fault of the press. Nobody can cover all sides of a story, and certainly not in a single article. If you want to know halfway exactly what’s going on, you have to make an effort yourself and look at different perspectives. But the same people then believe every shit that somebody says on YouTube. Actually, many people today don’t believe anything anymore.

But „alternative facts“ to the corona crisis, you believe them. Doctors who are not virologists or virologists who have not been up to date in this field for a long time, we listen to them more than to the top specialists.

We believe that a statesman who uses victim reversal as a means of perpetration. People who lament with a chest sound of the conviction that the Basic Law is in danger – we let ourselves be influenced by that. We reject a black civil rights movement because we allow ourselves to be persuaded that this means that not all lives count. One encounters „BlackLivesMatter“ with WhiteLivesMatter or „AllLivesMatter. Or if someone once again complains – „you’re not allowed to say all this anymore“ – we agree with indignation. Not realizing that he/she has just said it on Facebook, Youtube, Twitter, blogs, etc. Which of course leads the statement ad absurdum, but somehow we don’t really notice it anymore.

A youth movement for environmental awareness, „Friday for future“, is met with „Friday for poverty in old age“. Renewable forms of energy, such as wind turbines that generate renewable electricity, are met with „but they kill innocent insects“. If you read somewhere, in any newspaper, that right-wing extremist violence has increased again in the last year, you don’t have to wait long for someone to comment „hey, what about left-wing violence? A women’s movement for sexual abuse and violence is countered with the argument that there is also abuse of women against men. An African-American movement against police brutality and structural racism is countered with „and what about racism against whites? Particularly deep-seated – „what about racism against Germans?

What is actually wrong with us?

Why do we let „whataboutism arguments“ manipulate us? Why can’t we see through the transparency of such cheap maneuvers and recognize that they distract us from the actual core of a situation or a justified criticism and divert our attention to another area?  

Besides all the positive and constructive things the Internet stands for, there is also a dark side to it. Among other things it is misused for a modern form of witch hunts and witch burning. Angela Merkel, Greta Thunberg, Barack Obama, George Soros, Bill Gates, the Rothschilds, Rockefeller and many other public figures are burned at some Internet stake every day, applauded and cheered. And this comes not only from the right, but from all sides. If you look at the comments on such postings, you can observe the violent reactions, where a storm of indignation, anger and hatred is unleashed, which is then projected onto the designated persons.

The art of differentiation seems to have become a lost art.

There is such a variety of information and opinions, often colored by interests, sometimes just imaginatively lied about and only partially true, that it would basically take some time and energy to separate the facts from rumors and lies. A personal effort that hardly anyone is willing to put in, or perhaps doesn’t have the time.

But that is what we all have to learn.

Media competence

Without media competence, we run the risk of drowning in the flood of information. Not only reading texts, but also watching YouTube videos or films today requires more and more critical discernment. The critical filtering of information, comments, text content and the images offered in addition, is proving to be an ever increasing challenge. Today, for every x any topic, completely different and often contradictory opinions are in circulation. And we are experiencing the phenomenon that people often only read the headlines of articles and not the whole article. The attention threshold has become extremely low for some people. Headlines alone can lead to emotional convulsions …

It is important that we learn to understand how communication works and how information affects us. When we read or hear words, we don’t just sort the meaning of the words and sum them up in a particular context. We also record all the unsaid, the energetic, mental and emotional signatures that the speaker or writer gives to their words. It is already scientifically known that in communications, brains are synchronized. To a synchronization of brain waves that goes beyond mere speech processing. It will not be long before we discover that this synchronization does not only occur in spoken communication, but in any kind of communication, even when the information is transported via screens.

If we identify with what someone writes or says because something within us resonates with it, then synchronization occurs with the mental, intellectual and emotional content that is presented to us. Emotional content of all kinds affects the heart field, the glands and the electrochemical energies of the body, i.e. the energetic environment in the body, which causes either an increase or decrease of the personal energy level.

The question that arises is, what do I focus my personal attention on? And can I think for myself or do I simply take over every piece of information offered to me, which includes concepts and perspectives from other people that I usually don’t even know? If we take over everything that strangers prepare for us, we are condemned to walk around with concepts that are not our own.

But the only person who has a responsibility here, what kind of information he lets into his system, is me. The only person who is able to differentiate between the information and my personal feeling about it is me. The only one who can learn to check the opinions of others is me. Nobody will do that for me.

Nevertheless, it is also true that constant effort, investigation, checking and research is no guarantee for a secure knowledge – sometimes you are simply confronted with the fact that you cannot know at the moment! But you can learn to endure that.

What we see is in my eyes, in many respects, an expression of a massive crisis of orientation and a resulting upheaval. Humanity is beginning to define itself anew, once again. We are moving from an age where people were rather „prisoners of their consciousness“ and their experience, to an epoch where people understand that they are NOT their consciousness. But that his consciousness is an attribute, a quality, his very own being and his creative power. And how this is expressed, lies in his very personal responsibility.

The old psychological self of humanity, which accepted oppression of the weak, predator capitalism, perpetrator-victim conversion, wars, exploitation of earth and humanity, will be replaced. But this old energy is struggling for survival. Hard and fierce. We are far from being through this.

One thing can be sure – the next crisis is waiting. And again it will be driven through the Internet village in an over-dramatized way. Where will you stand then? To which side will you then give your spiritual support? What will you be guided by? Your reason and your own views after you have dealt with the situation to some extent or will you follow the emotional pull that was triggered by the opinions of others?

What kind of sound will you add to the overall melody?

Until next time same station

DISCLAIMER: Nothing you read here is THE truth. It is my truth. My perception and how I see things – now, in this moment.

THE INFORMATION SPACE

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part one)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

I got big plans for this AU! Hopefully you all enjoy it!

Featuring @spooner7308‘s Sixtended OC, EB!

Word count: 2722

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

Mud slopped around her ankles as the late afternoon rain pattered off waxed robes and soaked into the churned forest soil. The woods around this area were shrouded in thick mist, too dense to see through, so Katherine scrambled up a nearby tree, moving slowly but carefully, swinging higher until she could see clearly around her. Something about being high up relaxed her, even as she surveyed the land. 

War had ravaged the territory outside her province. Straight ahead, thick, billowing tendrils of dark grey smoke twisted high into the air, evidence of another battle fought. She wondered how many died this time. 

To the right, the distant city, Orkpool. The people there were heavily influenced by the celestial gods, too much so for Katherine’s personal taste. 

And to the left, a wall of dark clouds bearing heavy rainfall. The soft grey sky was already being consumed in its mass. The forest would be replenished with its water.

Katherine paced over the stretch of winding tree branches, watching the surrounding perimeter closely. Her village was much too soft to be on guard duty, as they didn’t really believe in violence, so she decided to step up and make sure no threats were trying to come in. With the war going on, they could never be too safe. Her father didn’t seem to understand that no matter how many times she spelled it out for him.

Sighing, Katherine ran her fingertips over the length of the bow strapped to her back. It was made of soft birch wood and carved with small knobs and pointy bits, perfect for her hands. When she first got it when she was just a teenager, she had fantasized about defending the entire village with just the weapon alone, sending down a barrage of arrows down on the enemies and wiping them out with a single attack. 

But now she’s almost thirty and she doesn’t really feel like much of a hero.

She had spent her entire life cooped up in the forest. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like Ghent, she did, she just wished for more freedom to explore. But after the death of her mother, her father tightened the security of the village. Nobody leaves and nobody comes in without an intense security check. Well, at least they moved past killing anyone on sight- now THAT would have caused a war just by itself.

Rustling came to Katherine’s left and she turned, spotting a squirrel munching away on some berries a few feet away. She crouched down, slipping her bow off of her back. She knocked an arrow and aimed for the animal’s heart, hoping to take it out with one shot. It would make an excellent snack for her friend.

Arms muscles tingling with the strength of drawing back the string, Katherine exhaled a breath and--

  “KATHERINE!!!!”

The arrow flew into the tree trunk, and the squirrel shrieked in fright and took off into the underbrush. Katherine growled in frustration and swung her head down to the young man standing below the tree she was in.

It was Elan, an Wood Elf like her, but several years younger. He had chords of ivy woven in his oak brown hair, and his dumb hazel deer eyes were blinking in confusion.

  “Oh. Were you hunting?” He said obliviously. “Sorry!”

Katherine rolled her eyes and hopped across the branches to retrieve her arrow. When she hopped down from the tree, Elan looked nervous.

  “You shouldn’t jump from that height,” He said, as worried as always. “What if you break your ankles? Or your leg? Then what shall we do?”

  “Not leave me out here to die, I hope,” Katherine said, gliding past him. He jumped and hurried after her, skittering like a baby deer that lagged behind its herd. “And this wouldn’t be such a problem if we set up an actual guard post. Then we can have proper ladders AND security.”

Elan actually wrinkled his nose at that prospect. “I prefer having everyone in the village. It’s safer that way. Especially for you, princess.”

Katherine struggled to suppress a groan. She hated that she was considered a “princess”, when their village couldn’t even rank to a real kingdom. Just because she was the chief’s daughter didn’t mean she was anything special.

  “I told you to not call me that, Elan.” Katherine chided.

Elan fumbled. “I-I know, but--”

  “No buts. Don’t call me princess. It’s just weird.”

Katherine whisked past him quickly, breaking through a threshold of braided willow curtains to enter into her village.

Ghent was a marvelous forest city made of hunts and tents and tree houses. A winding river wove through the territory, burbling several spring deposits near the many shops and apothecaries. Colorful flowers bloomed like starbursts from house to house, making the place seem more like home and less like a prison that you weren’t really allowed to leave. Elves and fauns and satyrs and a few cat-folk mulled around, shopping or eating or selling their wares. A certain faun with speckled brown fur like an axis deer, bounded up to her and happily strummed a lute.

  “There she is!” The faun chirped in a singsong voice. “The princess has returned! The city is saved!”

Katherine shoved the faun playfully. “Oh, shut up, Anne. And don’t call me princess!”

  “Uh oh, princess is getting feisty!” Said another voice from behind.

Katherine whirled around to see a smirking satyr standing there. Her fur was a deep russet brown color, contrasting her lighter brown hair, and her body was held with great strength. This particular satyr always had an abundance of smugness, which she didn’t care to hide. Like right now.

  “There’s my partner in crime!” Anne trotted over to the satyr. 

  “Ran off again?” Maggie asked Katherine. “You disobeyed your father. I like it.” She smirked even wider.

Katherine shook her head. “Someone has to. We need to stay safe.”

  “We are safe,” Anne said. “Don’t worry so much.” And then, to completely contradict her words, “Oh, by the way, that orc lady is back.”

Katherine groaned. Of course.

After just a brief moment of scanning the area, she spotted the half-orc sitting by a small campfire and chewing on some dried deer strips, sticking out like a sore thumb in the village.

EB was a mountain of a woman thanks to her orc blood. She had dull, greyish-green skin, matted dark brown hair, and a terrible under and overbite, with the sharp canines almost overlapping each other. Her upper body was scrawled with inky black tattoos of things Katherine didn’t understand, and her face, neck, and chest were marred with several scars in various stages of healing. The most recent seemed to be a stab wound in her shoulder, dressed in a dirty bandage that looked like it needed to be changed. When Katherine walked over, she stood up, towering over the usually very tall wood elf.

  “Elizabeth,” Katherine said.

  “It’s EB,” The half-orc rumbled, and her voice was deep and biting. Up close, her face looked like it was set in an expression of permanent rage. “I’ve told you that many times before.”

  “My apologies,” Katherine said. “EB. Why have you returned to my village?”

  “I am once again asking your people to join us in our fight,” EB said. She slipped a scroll out of her crumpled satchel and thrust it into Katherine hand’s. The paper was stained by rainwater, mud, and droplets of dried blood that had seeped through the leather of her bag. “Henry will not be asking again.”

  “It’s about time,” Katherine said, nothing bothering to open up the declaration. “I’ve given him the same answer three times now. I’m glad he finally took the hint.” 

She tried to hand the scroll back, but EB didn’t take it. She just glared. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab the massive ax on her back and slice Katherine’s head in two.

  “You don’t have a choice.” EB said.

  “This is not our fight.” Katherine deflected. “I’m not putting my village in danger just because of some petty war. And for what? What exactly are you people fighting for?”

EB faltered for a moment, letting her guard down for just a second. She blinked her flashing flash eyes, then gathered herself up again, gruffly saying, “You would know if you joined.”

Katherine barked a laugh. “Nice try.”

Once again, EB’s expression twitched, but this time it actually stayed slightly more fearful. She reached out and grabbed Katherine’s forearm with a huge hand, squeezing it tightly.

  “Listen,” She hissed softly, urgency in her usually-rude voice. “You all seem like good people. I don’t want you to die. You have better chances surviving in the war than defying what Henry wants. Trust me, I’ve seen what he can do. I’ve had to do horrible things. I don’t want the same thing happening to you.” She gripped tighter until Katherine thought her bone may snap in two pieces. “Please, Just agree. Fight with us.”

Katherine looked up at the huge half-orc and said, “No.”

EB was taken aback. She released Katherine’s arm and stepped away, quickly settling her facial features back into rudeness so as to not break the obvious mask she was having to wear. Then, she snorted.

  “You’ve got guts,” The half-orc said. “It’s a shame that they’ll soon be sprawled out all over your village.”

Katherine raised her nose haughtily. “We aren’t as weak as we seem.”

EB eyed her up and down, then said, “I sure hope so.”

Then, she gathered her belongings and stalked out of the village, earning wary looks from civilians as she went. The moment she was out of the willow curtains, Katherine exhaled a shaky breath and rubbed her forehead tiredly. She looked down at the scroll in her hand and worried about what she just got herself into.

  “What was that all about?” Maggie asked as she and Anne trotted over.

  “Another alignment pact,” Katherine said, showing them the rolled up piece of paper. “I didn’t agree, of course. I don’t want anyone fighting in a war.” Then, softly, “I don’t think half of us would even know how to properly fight.”

Anne tilted her head at the scroll. “Oh dear. Well, at least you saved us! No war for Ghent!” She strummed happily on her lute.

Katherine chuckled lightly, hoping to look on the bright side of things like her distant cousin. She turned to go to her tree house, hopefully to rest up before dinner and--

  “OW!!”

That’s right. She had more company. Though, this one she was actually looking forward to seeing.

Katherine walked over to the apothecary hut where the cry originated from and peeked inside. Past the shimmering vials and bubbling cauldrons and various ingredients hanging up, was a straw bed where a young woman laid.

She was an Aasimar of around twenty-three, with glowing golden skin, pupil-less silver eyes, and long, luscious dark brown hair that had glistening yellow feathers growing out from the scalp. She was bold-faced and well-muscled on her arms and neck, and there were patches of golden-white feathers fluffed on her shoulders, where wings would sprout if she commanded them. Despite her nun’s robes, her belly was thick and swollen with pregnancy of around five months. Her frustrated expression brightened when Katherine knelt beside the bed.

  “Kat,” She said in relief. “Finally.”

  “Sorry, I was out scouting,” Katherine said. She watched as the village’s physician, an old Wood Elf named Faedi, ran her hands over the Aasimar’s stomach. “How are you, Catalina?”

  “In hell,” Catalina groaned, slumping her head back on the pillow. “I HATE being pregnant. Faedi says there’s no way to speed this along with ‘hurting the baby.’ What about ME? You know how hard it is to wear armor AND be as fat as a beached whale?”

Katherine chuckled and ran her fingers through Catalina’s hair to soothe her. “You aren’t fat, dear,” She said. “And maybe you shouldn’t wear armor, then?”

Catalina eyed Katherine’s thin frame and rock-hard muscles incredulously. “I am NOT giving up my armor. I already gave up booze. That’s ALL you’re taking from me!”

Katherine laughed, smoothing down some unruly gold feathers on Catalina’s head. “I do hope your baby does not inherit your stubbornness.” She looked at Faedi. “How is the baby?”

  “Healthy, Faedi said. “Very active, too, which is good.”

  “Keeps kicking me in the fuckin’ ribs,” Catalina grumbled. “Why couldn’t I have slept with, like, a mermaid? I rather lay eggs then deal with this.” She lifted her head to yell at her stomach. “Like, hey, bitch! You aren’t even paying rent! The least you can do is not beat me up!”

Katherine couldn’t help but laugh again. Catalina always knew how to cheer her up, even if she did so without really realizing it. Even now, with risking her life every day for having to hide her pregnancy from the church, she still remained fierce, brave, and courageous. 

  “I don’t think laying eggs would be very fun,” Katherine said. “There would be a lot to lay.”

  “At least eggs don’t have legs.” Catalina said, then laughed. “Ha. Eggs. Legs. That rhymes. I am hilarious.”

Katherine remembered the first time Catalina showed up in her current state. They had been friends for years, but never before had she seen the young woman look so worried. She had clutched at her middle and begged for an examination, where Faedi had then announced she was with child. Catalina explained to Katherine that she had slept with a sweet man named Arthur, desperately needing to get her mind off of things, but found that he was gone when she woke up the next morning, leaving only his sperm fertilizing her eggs to remember him by. Since then she’s been hiding her pregnancy from the church she worked at, making excuses for morning sickness and mood swings and cravings. But now she looked too far along to hide the bump under several layers of robes.

  “It may be best for you to stay in the village until you deliver,” Faedi said. “I’m worried about you getting discovered.”

  “I agree,” Katherine said.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Catalina said, but Katherine shook her head.

  “Please. I insist.”

Catalina smiled. “Thank you, Kat.”

Faedi excused herself from the hut a few minutes later to go check on some other patients, leaving Katherine and Catalina alone. Beside the bed was a shiny silver sword and polished steel shoulder pads, since Catalina insisted on wearing protection and fighting when necessary, even with her pregnancy. She didn’t like being hindered, but Katherine knew she would have to stand down eventually, especially when she got further into her trimester.

  “Oh no,” Catalina said. “Not that look.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow at her. “What look?”

  “The ‘I’m worried over Catalina’s pregnancy’ look,” Catalina stated. “You always get it when you look at my sword.”

  “I just want you and the baby to be safe,” Katherine said, earning her a loud groan that made her smile.

  “I AM safe, though. Now that I’m here, I don’t have to worry about being discovered and crucified.” Catalina said. “I’m safe.” And then she yelped loudly. “Ow! You spineless, pig-fucking bastard! Stop kicking me!” Katherine laughed and set a hand on Catalina’s belly, rubbing soothing circles around it. She felt light kicks underneath her palm, but Catalina didn’t cry out at those.

  “I think they like you,” Catalina said. “Thank god for that. Now I know to come to you when they won’t let me sleep!”

  “Oh, so then I won’t get sleep?” Katherine said.

  “Yup!” Catalina beamed, and Katherine laughed.

The good mood was abruptly cut short, however, but shouting from outside the hut. Katherine shot to her feet instantly, with Catalina right behind her, but she ushered the young woman back down.

  “But--” Catalina tried to argue.

  “No buts. Stay here.” Katherine ordered, then ran out, taking her bow from its straps. Was EB back? Was Henry really going to attack the village for not siding with him?

A crowd was gathered by one of the ponds. Katherine could see Maggie pointing a flint-tipped wooden spear at something as she rushed over. She knocked an arrow as she pushed through the group and--

--and aimed for a tiny Tiefling child with pure white skin.

[luque-moreau]

y'know i think its about time ive refurbished my psychonauts headcanons/theories

what??? me??? rewriting my psychonauts headcanons in a more comprehensible and informed way???

ye

alright, i think everyone knows what im talking about, by headcanons i mean headcanon as in singular, and as singular, i mean my "raz is somewhere on the spectrum of adhd".

so lets just get into it:

what is adhd actually?

adhd by definition stands for attention deficit hyperactive/hyperfocus disorder (yes, let me get into the details in just a sec). it is a nerodevelopmental disorder that is almost completely reliant on genetic factors, however conditions during pregnancy can sometimes contribute to certain aspects of how adhd manifests itself.

long story short, people with adhd have a smaller frontal lobe, and therefore less dopamine in general (even though yes, it is more complicated than that).

theres also a little bit of "chicken or the egg first" goin on here, certain behaviors or personality tendencies can also affect how adhd is presented in one individual to the next, however its still not clear if that is because it is an accommodating for a certain thought process or if someones experiences and personality shape their symptoms of adhd entirely. its a very blurry line, and the answer is different for everybody.

hyperactive type

hyperactive type is probably the closest to most stereotypical depictions of adhd, think the 5 year old whos parents brush off their child’s hyperactivity as something that will “go with age”. however, this isn’t only present in children, adults with adhd have to deal with a constant need for stimuli to make up for the lack of dopamine their current activity is providing them. this results in someone fidgeting frequently in repetitive or predictable motions, unable to hold attention to a specific task for long periods of time, or many other of the symptoms associated with adhd.(i sadly cannot provide more information in this area, i am not knowledgeable enough to...)

hyperfocus type

hyperfocus type is a tricky one, it can look like the complete opposite of adhd in theory. hyperfocus can look similar to special interests or hyperfixation, a great deal of time and knowledge dedicated to a very particular thing (although it is important to note that even though hyperfixations and special interests are incredibly similar, special interests is a term more typically used within autistic-circles, and isnt really the best word to use if you happen to be neurotypical). Think of maybe that kid who knows all the cool animal facts and won’t shut up about them. Its because certain trains of thought or activities might release more dopamine then others, so to get more of that dopamine, someone of hyperfocus type will be mentally unable to stop thinking or doing a very specific task or topic. this results in someone seemingly always spacing out, unable to change subjects or changing subjects too fast or with little to no correlation, or being completely unable to have enough motivation to do simple things.

personally i tend to fall under the category of hyperfocus myself rather than hyperactive, however the two are not mutually exclusive, its more common to find people with both types rather than just one. even myself, i might exhibit more tendencies to place me under the label of hyperfocus, but that doesn’t mean i don’t have any symptoms of the hyperactive type. its my personality that affects my mannerisms, which then makes certain aspects of my symptoms more or less apparent. Thats because im an INTP-T, i just tend to be more to myself and constantly in a state of thinking abstractly. I have trouble communicating and even sometimes recognizing my needs, and get to a point where im unable to do the simplest of things without feeling emotionally drained. Thats just my experience though, everybodys different. 

so what the fuck does this have to do with raz then?

well lets think about it, rather than have it just be me projecting myself onto a comfort character:

raz finds issue with connecting to kids his age

lets be honest. none of the campers really like raz that much. or at least some do the bare minimum to be try and be polite. it doesn’t seem like any of the other campers besides dogen, whos also socially outcasted, are really fond of raz. lili might like him, but that can definitely be interpreted as curiosity in someone new and different from the norm. It might not be that the kids despise him, but nobodys opinionated enough to care whether he is around or not.

social isolation is one of the most damning things i had to experience from an early age and still feel even today. there is a sense of feeling that you are different among your peers, whether that is a good thing or bad thing. it feels difficult to interact with other people you are not familiar with, and can really stunt you emotionally and socially. from a really early age, theres somethin in you that knows something is very different between the experiences of your peers compared to your own, and it can feel incredibly isolating.

raz and his borderline stupidity

time to get real again. raz is a fucking idiot. at least in the sense that sometimes his decisions seem incredibly spontaneous and not really thought through. he runs from home to attend a summer camp, not really thinking about the logistics of how he will get there, how the staff will react, how long its gonna take for his parent to find him, and so on. it doesn’t seem like he over or underestimates his abilities, he just goes for it without considering. that doesnt seem like the smartest thing to do, even though we know hes incredibly intelligent when it comes to larger, abstract situations. its the little details that he misses, small minuet things that seem unimportant that he overlooks, which can sometimes make things harder for him in the end.

i think its obvious that impulsivity is one symptom of adhd. however i cannot stress how difficult it is to think at supersonic speed and still feel incredibly stupid. i mean, thinking faster doesn’t inherently mean you will have better ideas, you can always be stupider faster, but being able to realize stupid mistakes or inconsistencies in your own thought process is annoying as hell. it feels like every time you try to recognize the issue, fix it, and move forward, you only end up not paying attention to another issue that gets bigger and more annoying than the first. Its always two steps forward, one step back, constantly making the same mistakes even though you try everything in your power to avoid them or grow as a person. The simplest of facts, ideas, or just things to remember end up being forgotten, and once youre reminded of them you remember them and feel like an idiot. however, arbitrary things and complex issues are much easier to digest and remember for me, things like history and the whole blame game charade of it all, biology and how every minuet thing has a greater impact on others and intertwines with every single factor of its environment, philosophy and theorizing why we think the way we do and what can be changed. but oh shit, im a dumbass i forgot to do my laundry. shit. god fuckin dammit.

empathy over sympathy

one of the basic themes of psychonauts is empathy. simple as that. raz goes around into other peoples brains, and tries to help them as much as he can, even if his efforts are not always successful in the way he intended. he never demonizes anyone to the point of unredeemability, and can empathize and understand other peoples perspectives. hes open to new ideas and

although some studies out there theorize that empathy is impaired due to adhd, from my perspective i feel like that is simply not true. if anything, i would say the sensitivity that comes with adhd (hypersensitivity) only enhances that empathy. i could definitely see social disconnection being one of the reasons it might appear that someone with adhd is less empathetic, however i would doubt that adhd would impair a persons empathy. adhd tends to also entail heightened emotions, this doesn’t necessarily mean a more outwardly emotional person, however it definitely shifts a persons perspective of their own emotions as well as others. the concept of hypersensitivity also completely contradicts the idea of people with adhd be less empathetic.

miscommunication and disconnect

sigh, the dad thing. yup. raz has that very iffy relationship with his dad at the beginning of the game which is eventually resolved. very abruptly, might i add. but thats not what this is about, thats a topic for another day. miscommunication seemed to be the root of the issue, however we only get razs side of the story. not to mention the severity of his claims and willingness to seemingly drop everything afterwards. kinda sus, ngl.

alright this ones a doosey. this, i feel, cements my theory pretty well. like i mentioned before, social disconnect and hypersensitivity are side effects of the symptoms of adhd.  this means people with adhd are highly more likely to either misinterpret someones words or actions if those in question are not completely transparent, its because they tend to overthink and interpenetrate responses with too much thinkin n such. the social disconnect makes a whole lot of it worse, it can just pile on top of already established feelings of inadequacy and isolation. and oversharing as a poor coping mechanism isnt an exclusively adhd related thing, it tends to be shared within similar neruodevelopmental disorders such as autism or even ptsd. i find it incredibly easy to disconnect myself from my own emotions at times and think critically at what i feel and how it affects me. which is a bad thing. if i dont acknowledge my emotions like they are my own for too long, everything falls apart. its not fun. but, that disconnect can make talking about certain more traumatic experiences or instances that had deep personal effects on my life and development as a person much easier to just share. and not always in an appropriate manner, comedic opportunity can be   v  e  r  y   enticing. this also explains why raz might have been able to drop everything about his dad after he apologized. he didn’t really, he probably still suffers just as much afterwards as he did before. but he probably wont realize that for awhile, since logically, the issue has been resolved. long story short, he has not had the time to cope, and to put that off he detaches himself from those feelings. w a c k

of course i have other reasons why i feel like raz could potentially have adhd, or at least be accurately represented in headcanon with adhd, some minor mentions being:

he uses his camp map as a journal to track his in-game progress, list of goals, and notes/snip-its of information. writing down information on some form of notepad or book is a common tool used by kids and even adults with adhd to help them keep track of minuet, individual tasks. its just using a planner, but with a bit more information. 

just from my personal perspective, the lengths raz goes to pursue his dream of being a psychonaut feel more like a special interest/hyper fixation sort of thing. he can jump between having genuine conversations with his fellow campers and just exploring the campground, to investing himself entirely in obtaining his goal, even when it seems almost impossible. thats some serious dedication to one very specific thing, y’know?

this one isnt as solid as the other but: m̶̖̰̯̫̍͝o̵̦͖̟͈̹̤̥̝͐̿̄̀̀̎̓ņ̶̛̭̠̐̊̆̍͝ķ̸̝͈̺̙̰̊e̶͉͚̼̅̔͗̂͐̍̕͝͝y̶̦̖̼͖̪͎̝̖̠̐̑͋̾̔̑́͐͘ ̵̢̲̘͎͉̔̀͒̄͌͊̀͌̀m̴̲̫̮̪̖̍̐͆̕͜͝ͅả̶͙͚͗n̶̗̳̩̙̘̼̦̦͇͝ ̷̡̨̡͔̗͕̘͍̥̑͒̎̐̃g̴͔̔̈̅̐̏́̌̔̈́́o̶̥̱̽̆̂͌̀͗ ̶̝̩͙͕͛́s̴̛͓̥̲̜͓͚̣̠̆̓̌͌p̶̜̹̯̦̫̯̣̎͐̽̉̾ḙ̴͇̬͑̈́̐̈́͘͠ͅȅ̶̡̗̞̩͔̫̪͈͑̓͗d̵̠͇͎̜͔͇͒̈́́̀̅̈́̒͘y̸̡̦̠̻̖̥̿ͅ. yeah, its the most generalizing reason but look, hes moving nonstop the entire game, climbing and running around the entire goddamn place wrecking havoc. a bit of imp can be found in most people with adhd if you look hard enough.

so thanks for reading this far i guess? im oversharing even right now with this, like an i d i o t but yknow what i dont want to read the great gatsby rn, so ive got nothin better to do. who knows, maybe the second game will give us more info to either support/discredit this theory? gotta wait for pn2 i guess

:^)

[oswincoleman]

2020 Jenna Coleman’s Year in Review, part 3: Jenna and the Media

To summarize all of the following in one sentence; it is absolutely despicable how terribly print media treated Jenna Coleman this year. 

The Daily Mail’s obsessive stalking of Jenna

Typically, the Daily Mail releases about 5 sets of paparazzi pictures of Jenna Coleman each year (not counting instances when she was seen attending, arriving, or leaving an event). This year, there were 21 such instances. It seems as though the Daily Mail, desperate to keep their celebrity section going, have increased their efforts of stalking celebrities. The pictures themselves reveal a lot about the kinds of methods the paparazzi employed throughout the year to fill the tabloid with nonsensical repeated stories, and desperate attempts to turn boring uneventful stalker pictures into somewhat interesting stories. 

It all started out so well, with what might be my least disliked set of paparazzi pictures of Jenna. You could see Tom Hughes buying her a new bike for her birthday. Jenna could be seen beaming ear to ear while riding it, and Tom was visibly happy at having found such a great gift for her. The pictures captured such a beatiful moment that provided a great light during a dark time. 

Jenna was pictured by the paparazzi once in a while over the next few months, mainly in Islington, and other nearby areas of London. The frequency was already alarming, but the pictures and articles weren’t nearly as intrusive as they would become later in the year. That all changed thanks to one particular article from The Sun. 

The Sun and their invented rumour of Jenna and Tom’s split

On the 11th of July The Sun dropped a bombshell. They claimed that Jenna and Tom had split, after being together for four years. It didn’t take long for this news to be picked up by numerous other sites, who also wrote their own take on this news, eager to not be too late to the party.

And yet, where was the proof? Did The Sun have any evidence for it’s claim whatsoever? No, they didn’t. Their “evidence” is that an “onlooker” (aka the paparazzi taking pictures of them) said:

She seemed pretty subdued. She’s usually very smiley, but she and Tom looked really flat when they were talking — it was clearly not an easy conversation.

I wonder why they might look subdued when being stalked by a paparazzi, any ideas? The only other evidence is that an unnamed “source” who has no justified authority to speak on these matters said about them: 

They are trying to salvage a friendship but obviously these are trying times, and it’s not easy. Tom actually helped Jenna with her new place, and they’ve met up this week to talk things through and keep everything as friendly and civil as possible. Both Tom and Jenna are terribly sad, but the relationship ran its course. There was no third party involved. Jenna’s career is going from strength to strength, she’s being offered increasingly more roles abroad, especially Los Angeles, and she wants to focus on this while she’s still young.

Notice how this “source” said a friendship. Not their friendship. A friendship. Not their relationship, but the relationship. Then there is the incoherent nature of these comments. Why does this “source” never directly say anything as simple as “Jenna and Tom ended their relationship”? All of this makes it seem as if The Sun saw the opportunity to invent a “rumour” of their split, and then cut certain parts of a text from the “source” to remove the context, and to make it seem as if the “source” was talking about Jenna’s and Tom’s split, even though they were actually talking about something else entirely. Taking a few choice segments from a long text, rearranging them, and telling the reader what the are supposed to say, will allow you to get readers to think pretty much whatever you want them to think. 

But it should also be noted that not a single part in the above text provided anything to justify this “source” as having any authority whatsoever. In fact, the ability to look at this in retrospect puts even more doubt on the above quotes from the “source“. Jenna hasn’t had any role in LA except a tiny insignificant role in Captain America. And as pictures of Jenna and Tom since this article showed, they are still living together. Jenna does have a new house in the Cotswolds, but she has still not moved out of her London home, more than 5 months after this “source” seemingly claimed that that is exactly what she had done. In her recent interview for BBC Radio 1, Jenna was in her London house (the one that The Sun and the Daily Mail had claimed she had moved out of in July). And just briefly before and afterwards, Tom had also been seen at that very same house. They have both been seen there several times in all the months since The Sun first published these fake “rumours“. 

The article in itself had more problems than truthful sentences. The authors of it even forgot how to write Jenna’s name halfway through, said that Jenna and Tom had been together for 4 years, even though they it’s been 5 years already,  they got names, roles, places wrong, and didn’t bother checking their work afterwards. There are probably more mistakes in that article than there are sentences. Does that constitute a trustworthy source?

Oh and a friend of Tom had also confirmed that the breakup rumours told by The Sun were lies, that they didn’t break up. In the last 5 months, there has been more and more evidence to suggest that they didn’t break up at all. But that didn’t stop many news outlets from repeating The Sun’s lies, without ever questioning their validity. It’s like a repeat of 2015, when The Sun claimed that Jenna was dating Prince Harry. Countless media jumped on board with that, never even questioning the validity of the claim being made. And to this day there are still news outlets saying that Jenna dated Prince Harry, even though Jenna very clearly said that those rumours were completely wrong, on live TV. 

This whole issue has been very illuminating in terms of which media outlets can not trusted; which news sites just copy and paste newsworthy articles, not bothering to question the validity of the claims being made, not trying to do their own investigation, not even considering the possibility that the claims could be wrong, not even if they are made by a highly dubious source with a long history of lying and deceiving. It’s startling how many news sites care more for jumping on the bandwaggon than accuracy, truth, or the principles of good journalism. Many sites that I had thought to be more respectable have lost that respect. 

And even once the media will finally catch on to the lie that this story is, it will probably still persist. I won’t be surprised if we will still get media articles referencing Jenna and Tom’s 2020 “breakup” and subsequent “reunion” for many years to come. 

Subsequent intensive stalking by the Daily Mail

Once the “news” of their alleged breakup was revealed, the Daily Mail decided to show it’s worst side. They ramped up attempts to stalk Jenna as often as possible. They stalked her right to her doorstep. So many of the paparazzi pictures since July were taken right in front of her and Tom’s house (though of course the Daily Mail never admitted where those pictures were taken, because that would contradict the story they wanted to tell). So it seems as if the paparazzi were just waiting in front of her house every few days, to see her either leaving or arriving at the house that she had, according to them, moved out of months ago. 

The Dail Mail thought that they could test the gullibility of their readers even more than The Sun had already done. They pictured Jenna giving Tom the keys to their car. It is completely unambiguous that she is handing over car keys, not house keys. And yet, the Daily Mail made a huge deal of apparently capturing THE moment when Jenna gave Tom back the keys to the house they used to live in. And people actually believed it, even though the picture very clearly shows something very different. It’s times like this that I really lose faith in humanity, when a very dubious tabloid writes “this is a circle” below a picture of a square, and people genuinely believe that what is shown in the picture is a circle, and won’t be swayed by any evidence to the contrary. It sounds absurd, but that is what happened. 

One week later, a paparazzi saw Jenna and Tom at the house that Jenna had allegedly already moved out of. The paparazzi even wrote “Have Jenna Coleman and Tom Hughes reunited?” alongside the pictures they took. But of course this contradicted the successful story the Daily Mail wanted to tell about them breaking up, so they obviously did not abandon their wrong narrative in favour of the truth. Once the paparazzi realized that the Daily Mail was willing to go with the story of their breakup, no matter the lack of evidence for it, and the mountain of evidence against it, they took special care to never picture Jenna and Tom together, even though the paparazzi did see them together several times over the next few months. Several pictures sets feature Jenna, and Tom at the same place at the same time, but the paparazzi deliberately waited for them to stand apart, before taking pictures of them separately. 

In September, when Jenna was packing her stuff for a weekend trip with her school friends, the Daily Mail alleged that they had captured the exact moment in which Jenna was moving out of her house that she had lived in together with Tom. They never bothered mentioning that their new article completely  contradicted all their previous articles, and yet people still believed the lies told by them. Unsurprisingly, time would tell that once again, the Daily Mail was wrong. And yet, it seems that the phrase “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me” does not apply to many people who can be fooled by the same lie again, and again, and again, and again, even though the new lies from the same dubious source always contradict the previous lies. 

The intensive stalking of Jenna in this period seems to have had one main goal; to picture Jenna together with a possible new boyfriend, so that the Daily Mail would be the first to announce her new relationship. But no matter how hard and how long they tried, not even the liars at the Daily Mail could spin the frequent paparazzi pictures to indicate any new relationship with anyone other than Tom. 

The Daily Mail’s Publishing of pictures of Jenna’s and Tom’s house

On the 24th of October, Jenna and Tom put their house in London up for sale, and attached several pictures of the interior of their house, featuring all their possessions, which provide a lot of insight into them, and their private lives. The listing of their house never mentioned thier names. Unfortunately, 3 days later, the Daily Mail got word of this, and knowing their precise address from all the stalking they did, published the pictures of their house on their front page. 

Now I have to say, their house looks absolutely beautiful, they made such a wonderful job of decorating it to their tastes. But I really hated how these pictures were associated with them, and how these were then seen by many thousands of people, who now were able to learn very intimate things about them. Who could, in less than a minute, find out the exact address at which they are living. Jenna and Tom have tried their best to keep this a secret, and to not attach their names to this, but in vain. 

Jenna and Tom have had a very clear approach to discussing their personal lives in public. They don’t say a word about it, ever. I think they are absolutely right to do so, because it is nobody’s business, and they deserve to at least have a tiny bit of privacy left, that was not yet completely invaded by the media. So this must have been a very great shock for them, to see how the Daily Mail discussed their house and their possessions in great detail, to many thousands of people. 

It was a horrendous thing to do, and the real magnitude of how hurtful this was to Jenna and Tom can be seen in what happened within the next day. They no longer listed their house as being up for sale, got all websites featuring it, and the pictures from it removed, and even managed to pressure the Daily Mail into deleting their article. Unfortunately, the damage was already done, and could not be reversed. It is entirely possible, that Jenna and Tom would have already sold the house, had it not been for the Daily Mail’s horrendous decision to share these pictures to all of their readers. 

Obviously, given the other “rumours” that the Daily Mail had repeated for months already, the selling of their house only had one reason; the proof of the breakup of Jenna and Tom. They even went so far as to ignore the fact that the house had been put up for sale by both Jenna and Tom, and instead said that Tom alone had put it up for sale. They ignored the fact that they would have no reason to sell the house if they had split; one of them could just keep on living there. They ignored that over the next two days their paparazzi pictured Jenna entering and leaving the very same house that they had claimed she had moved out of in July, and then moved out of again in September, the same house that was now up for sale. 

Tatler and The Times

This year, Jenna had two photoshoots and accompanying interviews; one for Tatler, and a second one for The Times. I think the style of the Tatler photoshoot doesn’t suit Jenna at all. But The Times’ photoshoot looks amazing, but unfortunately, only 2 pictures of it have been released so far. 

As for the interviews, although they both were initially intended to be about The Serpent, most of it (for Tatler), and a significant portion of it (The Times) was devoted to other issues, most notably, to badger Jenna repeatedly about her personal life, even though she made it very clear from the beginning, and has done so far years, that she was not going to say a word about it. 

It is quite depressing to see both of these magazines blindly trust the lies told by The Sun without evidence, and repeatedly ask Jenna questions directly about that. If the rumours were true, those are painful questions, and if they’re not, those are still very painful questions. And even besides the repeated pestering of Jenna on a topic she wasn’t going to discuss with them, there were some unpleasant parts in both interviews, with the interviewers making quite disrepectful comments to Jenna. It’s a shame that these magazines felt the need to resort to this. 

But on the plus side, both of these interviews provided several interesting points, for instance the mention of Jenna’s upcoming secret big-budget fantasy project in The Times’ interview, or Jenna’s story of taking a spaniel into Boots. 

BBC TV and Radio Interviews

In the last 2 weeks, as promotion for The Serpent has finally gotten started, Jenna took part in a TV interview for BBC Breakfast, and three radio interviews, one of which was filmed. A segment of that can be seen here: https://youtu.be/4FqH8GvxVzA

These interviews were all really lovely, especially the last one, which was by far the longest, most informative, and most interesting. The interviewer, Ali Plumb, did his research on Jenna really well, and it’s a real joy to watch. I think this has become my favourite interview with Jenna that I have ever seen. 

Since this post is already getting very long, I will not be discussing these in detail here, but you can always look up my recent posts in which I was discussing them, in the last few days. 

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Haven (10/50)

Summary: They say Resembool is a haven, and they’re right. Lush pastures, quaint country town, farmers’ markets on Saturdays: a bucolic paradise.

But it’s more than that. Resembool is a haven for the runaways, the deserters, the people who don’t want to be found…

The Resembool community knows there’s something odd about Hohenheim, but they’re not going to let that stop them helping him out. This is Resembool after all, a place where no one has to hide and neighbours help neighbours, be they building a fence, chasing a sheep, or trying to save the country from an evil they inadvertently helped release centuries ago…

Or: A series of slices of life in an AU in which Hohenheim never leaves, and several broken state alchemists find hope and home in Resembool.

Rated: T

==

Haven

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [AO3]

Ten

Summary: Hohenheim’s souls provide parenting advice of dubious quality.

Characters: Hohenheim, Ed, Al, the many voices in Hohenheim’s head

==

On the face of it, it should have been a comparatively easy task. However, Hohenheim is known for overcomplicating things, whether he’s actually doing them or just thinking about them, and as such, he has managed to think himself into a panic. 

Taking care of his own children is not in and of itself a challenge. He has done it many times before. He has been looking after them since they were born. It is not the first time that he has been in charge of both boys at the same time. 

It is, however, the first time that he has been alone in the house with both of them. 

Trisha needs the break, he is the first to acknowledge that and the first to agree when the idea of her taking a girls’ trip into town to the flea market with Sarah is mooted. It’s only now that she’s out of the house that the reality of her not being within shouting reach should something go terribly wrong is setting in. 

Hohenheim takes a deep breath. He’s a disaster in most areas of his life, he’s long since accepted this, and whilst he might be a disaster of a father as well, no-one is going to be traumatised by this. Himself included. 

Al is asleep in his basket in the corner of the room, and Ed is playing happily on the mat. So far, so good. The peace lasts all of three minutes forty-two seconds before Al wakes up and begins to bawl, the sound sending Hohenheim into a complete state of panic.

He’s done this before. He should not be freezing up like a rabbit in front of a fox. 

Ed just stares at him for a while, challenging him to do something about the racket that’s interrupting his play, and several helpful souls keep chivvying him to move. 

Finally, he moves, picking Al up. This seems to serve only to make him cry even harder, as if he knows that Mom isn’t around to come to the rescue if Dad does anything wrong. 

His nappy is dry and Trisha nursed him just before she left, so Hohenheim doesn’t know why he’s crying. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s crying because he’s a baby and he has no other way of communicating. 

Try rocking him, someone says helpfully. Or maybe bouncing! Perhaps he’s just got wind. Or hiccups! Give him a fright!

“For the love of Xerxes, be quiet,” Hohenheim hisses. “Not you,” he adds to Al, although he doubts Al can understand him. “I mean everyone else.”

There are a few exclamations of affront in his veins, but the most vociferous souls dutifully pipe down. 

Is he sick? 

Hohenheim feels Al’s face. It seems hot, but that might just be because he’s upset and crying, his little fists flailing and grabbing a handful of his beard. 

Rub him with an onion, that’ll do it. 

No, you want a spoonful of oyster sauce.

You’re all mad.

The arguments continue in the back of his mind and Hohenheim closes his eyes as he tries to detangle Al’s fingers.

“Daddy?”

There’s a tug on his trouser leg and he looks down to find Ed staring up at him with concern. The two brothers do feed off each other, and it looks like Ed is about to burst into tears in sympathy with Al at any moment. 

“It’s ok,” he says, although he really doesn’t sound reassuring. “We’ll be ok.”

Another chorus of unwanted advice starts up in his veins. He’s sure that it’s all very good advice in its own way when taken individually instead of all at once with everything contradicting everything else, and whilst he appreciates the souls wanting to help him out, he’s pretty sure that there are some things they are never going to be able to help with, and learning how to be a decent parent is one of them. 

“Let’s go out into the garden,” he suggests. “We can watch out for Mommy coming back.”

Ed seems dubious, but it’s a nice enough day, the last of the summer sun just beginning to turn into autumn. Hohenheim succeeds in detaching Al from his beard and pops him back in his basket. 

“Just for a little while. Just to get Ed’s shoes on.”

Ed dutifully sits down to get his shoes on, and Hohenheim helps him put them on before he leads the way out into the front yard, Hohenheim bringing the basket. The change of scene seems to help Ed at least, and he pokes about at Trisha’s long-suffering flowerbeds as Hohenheim settles on the bench and takes Al in his arms again. He’s still crying, but it’s more of a snuffle than a wail now. 

“All right, let’s see what we can do for you then.” He rocks him gently, the way Trisha taught him to get Al off to sleep. The boys are so similar in so many respects, but there’s no guarantee that what worked for Ed will work for Al. Ed liked to be held close when he was a baby, chest to chest, and Hohenheim remembers long evenings soothing him when he was colicky and feverish, his tiny face nuzzled into the curve of Hohenheim’s collarbone. Al prefers to be cradled.

Ed comes toddling over with an interesting stone, which he leaves on the bench beside Hohenheim. Ed has been unearthing stones for a month now, with Trisha putting them back every time he loses interest in them so that he can discover them anew with fresh enthusiasm the next day. 

“It’s a very good rock,” Hohenheim agrees. “Don’t you think so, Al?”

Al does not respond, but he quietens and gives a huge yawn. Maybe a change of scene and a cuddle from Dad was all he needed. Presently Ed leaves the flowerbeds and comes to peer over at Al. Hohenheim gives him a hand up onto the bench, and Ed stares in rapt amazement as Al drifts back off to sleep. Coming to think of it, it’s probably high time that Ed had a nap as well.

Routine is important, someone in the back of his mind agrees. 

Still, he can’t quite bring himself to move again when they’ve only just got settled and Al is now asleep again. He’s amazed how comfortable he feels. Back when Ed had been Al’s age, it had taken him a lot longer to get to grips with holding him and carrying him, scared of hurting him in some way. Practice makes perfect, he supposes. 

Ed loses interest in Al and goes back to playing with the stones for a while until he too gives a yawn and leans against his father’s side, nodding off. They’re still like that when Trisha comes back up the path, and she smiles on seeing them all together. It’s a moment that Hohenheim never thought that he would be able to have. Living philosopher’s stones don’t deserve this kind of happiness. He can’t understand how Ed and Al can be so trusting of him; he’s always expected them to shy away with that innate fear and hatred that animals do. And yet they’re here, Ed curled up against his side and Al snoring softly in his arms. 

For once, none of the souls are giving him any advice.