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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years ago

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The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 20: Second Assist

Characters: Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson, Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters

Summary: Shane reunites with friends and family, hashes out some feelings, and gets real with Sy. Can their relationship survive her trauma? And the threat that still looms above them?

Romance and Smut Abound HERE!

Word Count: 4500

Warnings: Mention of rape, alcoholic beverages, violent imagery…feels out the butt.

Author’s Note: You guys are so splendid and beautiful! I can’t thank you enough for your support and encouragement to finish this piece. First, welcome to new readers! I know poor Henry’s injury and subsequent physiotherapy has driven some of you here, and while I’m sorry for him, I’m glad I can consider myself something of a pioneer in this particular genre and provide you some help for your newfound thirst. To my OG readers, it is to you I owe this entire work, parts written and incomplete, and I hope an eventual book deal. I mean to mention you in my acknowledgements, should this ever reach a willing publisher. You’ve inspired me so supremely that I cannot quantify it, even with the words I hold so dear.

Since my last chapter was posted, we’ve said a relieved goodbye to 2020 and a tentative hello to 2021. To be honest, this year has started out worse than last year. Lots of bad weather in my area this winter, my sister is currently on her way to a new life in another state, and my grandmother, the last grandparent I had, passed away in February. Those last two things have been especially difficult to shake off and recover from, both coming to fruition pretty suddenly. Amongst all that, I’ve been pretty distracted by my other fandoms, especially Marvel, and I’ve been reading a killer book series that I’m utterly in love with. (The Throne of Glass novels by Sarah J. Maas. 10/10 recommend.) But I knew I needed to get back into Shane and Sy’s story, especially given the new and rekindled interest in the subject matter. In all honesty, I’ve had most of it written for months. It’s just been a matter of finishing it off to set up the rest of the story.

I really hope you all enjoy Chapter 20, Second Assist, and would love your feedback and notes. You are all so important to this story, and your notes, reblogs, and comments are cherished. Thank you so much for reading! Love from Hannah!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. This is an original work by me, Hannah. Please reblog if you wish to share. Please do not repost either in whole or part, as the work of anyone but myself. Thanks so much for reading!

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@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira@oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka @thisismysecretthirstblog @speakerforthedead0 @tumblnewby @suavechops @radkesgirl83 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @heartfelt-pen @auds24 @geekycanuck @lunarstarknight @wilma-g @coldmuffinbanditshoe @feralrunaway @sugarpenchant @bichibibi @mzchievous-blog @shesakillerkween @madbadidc7ed @foodieforthoughts @toomanyfandomsshreya @oqueequesentes-borboletas @kebabgirl67 @indigosaurus (some of you new readers didn’t ask, but I took the liberty. If you want me to remove you, I totally will without hard feelings.)

If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

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Shane woke in her warm bed, late morning sun streaming in through her sheer curtains, the heavier drapes parted to let in the light. She wished she'd remembered to close them before now. She really was not ready to be awake.

She was sore. Achy. Her sleep had been fitful and full of shadowy nightmares and muffled screams. Beyond that, she didn't try to remember images or events. She knew the general premise of the dreams. It would take a lot of time, effort, or a miracle to make her forget those traumas she'd been through in the last week. Not even forget. She knew she never would. But move on from them. Accept them. And heal from them…even that seemed a mighty obstacle. One she was not sure she could surmount.

Through the open bedroom door, she could hear Lynyrd Skynyrd and the clanging and sizzling of pans, and she could smell bacon and freshly brewed coffee. Sy had left the room, but had not, it seemed, gone far. She gingerly sat up, stood from the bed, and donned her robe as she walked out into the hall and down the corridor to the kitchen.

The sight before her warmed her heart. There was Sy. In only his boxers, daringly frying the notoriously dangerous breakfast meat. Upon her entry to the kitchen, she could also smell pancakes, and she thought syrup, as well. He seemed to be warming a bottle of the maple unction in a pot of hot water. He turned as she stepped on a squeaky floorboard, and grinned widely at her.

"Mornin' sunshine." And she was struck by the irony of someone with such a radiant smile calling her sunshine. Especially when she didn't feel much like beaming. But she couldn't help return the expression, even through her pain.

"Mornin' bear. Did you go to the store?" She knew she couldn't have any bacon in her fridge, and she doubted her eggs and milk were still good at this point. But she also couldn't think that he would leave her for any reason.

"Nah, some of the guys brought over some provisions. Matt worked on your car all night, too, and filled up the tank. It's as good as new. He and Nate brought ‘er over as well as the groceries. I just had ‘em get stuff I knew your family wouldn't be bringing later. They've had tons of food given to them this week, and they're ready to share. You should have seen your mom loading me down with sandwiches and chips and whatnot when I visited them."

"I still can't believe you met them. I really wanted to introduce you personally." Shane's face fell. She would never be able to get that back. She wanted to cry. Sy had poured her a cup of coffee and sat it in front of her with her favorite creamer.

"Darlin' I’m so sorry. I had to talk to them."

"I know." she sniffed. "I'm not mad. Not at you. Just…"she didn't want to say Elliott's name. "I'm disappointed that the experience was stolen from me." That so many things had been stolen from her. By that monster. There was no other way to describe him. Sy growled. As if he could read her mind. He really just knew her well enough and shared her thoughts.

"Well, don't worry, we'll have a nice dinner with them one of these days, and we can pretend. Sound good?"

"Yeah, and I can feign nervousness." she laughed.

"And I'll pretend too. That I'm scared to meet your dad." he chuckled. "What if he threatens me with his shotgun?"

"I'll pull the ol' 'Daddy, no, I loooooove him!' line, as I throw myself between you!"

"That oughta work." he laughed and kissed her on the forehead as he stepped toward the stove and flipped a pancake.

As they sat eating their late breakfast, Shane's mind wandered. Nothing had changed on the surface, but everything was different now. This cozily mundane breakfast with her boyfriend felt like an out of body experience. As delicious as it was, as wonderful and comforting as it should feel, her guard was up. Even through her amiable façade. She was not the person she was two weeks ago. She was not the same woman who said goodbye to Sy at the base. Maybe that was the real transformation. Maybe that was why nothing felt normal. It wasn't the world, but her own self coming back into it.

"Shane?" Sy asked, gently, but it felt like he was speaking through a megaphone directly into her ear. She was so startled, she nearly dropped the half full mug of coffee that was paused midway to her lips. A bit sloshed out onto the table and splashed her shirt.

"Shit!" she chided herself. It wasn't a big deal, but she felt stupid jumping at the sound of her own name.

Sy reached for the closest towel, hanging from the oven handle, grabbed it and started for her clothes with it. She stopped him. But she couldn't think about why the intimate act made her uncomfortable.

"No, don't, it's fine. These clothes have seen better days, anyway." She pulled the towel from him and began to mop up the small puddles of coffee around her plate.

Sy seemed to note the stains already present on the shirt, as if trying to divine their history. She was something of a messy eater, so the battle wounds of many a barbecue, spaghetti dinner, and hurried breakfast peppered the now off-white SATB club tee she'd gotten her second or third year in college choir. She thought back to a huge room with high ceilings. White, cinder block walls, flecked tile floors, a beautiful, glossy, black baby grand in front of a long whiteboard with black lines to resemble sheet music. She thought about the mnemonic device she'd learned to help her remember what notes appeared on each line, and in the spaces between them. She pondered the deeper meanings and implications of these devices. EGBDF…every good boy does fine. She thought about the "good boys" in her life. She knew many. Her dad, her brother Ethan, Sy, obviously, her many male coworkers and friends…and honestly they did far better than "fine." They were wonderful. But she was letting the "bad boys" she'd encountered dictate her mood. Permeate her psyche. Tear her down. She didn't want to be like this. Then FACE came to mind, and above their purpose of indicating the notes between the lines on the staff, they called her to action. To face these newly minted demons with all the strength she knew she possessed, and she too would "do fine." But as with almost all actions, this was easier said than done.

She felt a warm presence on her left hand which had paused it's torture of the now coffee-infused kitchen towel. Sy's hand was squeezing hers gently.

"Shane." he uttered, barely above a whisper this time. She looked at him through tears that she had not realized had formed. He continued.

"Shane, what can I do, darlin'? I'll do anything."

"Babe, you're doing everything you can, and more. This…this is all going to have to come from me. I…don't know when I'll be myself again…" she paused, tears streaming now. "I'm…I'm different."

"You're not though." he reached for her face, but she pulled away.

"I am, damn it! Sy, I was…" Words had power. And the one she was thinking of had more power than she thought was warranted. She knew that uttering it would take away it's power…and yet mustering the courage and strength to actually do so…seemed impossible. She took a deep breath, and disassociated herself from the statement, even though it was about her own past.

"I was raped." She refused to cry. She felt it all again. She had never said the words. She had never thought it necessary. Everyone understood. Sy, his friends, and she was sure her own loved ones had made the connection. But she knew she needed to say it now to drive home the points she was about to make.

Sy, looked at the table, nodding, not needing to be told in so many words something he already had surmised from the clear evidence. He remained silent. She went on.

"I love you, Sy. I have since the day we met, on one level or another, and I believe that I always will. But I…right now I can't be a proper girlfriend to you. I can't…be with you, touch you, be touched by you, in the way we used to be. In the way you deserve…and I don't know when…or even if…I ever will. Not that I don't want to. That's ALL I want in the world. To go back. To be the woman who fell in love with this…incredible man. To make love with you, but…I can't."

Sy's eyes were full of tears, their predecessors already descending his round cheeks and disappearing into his thick, dark beard.

"Sy, I don't want to lead you on and keep you tied to a relationship with no life in it. You deserve someone who's whole. Someone who can be a fully invested partner for you, and not this broken, damaged--"

"You stop that, Shane. I won't hear no more of this kinda talk. Y'hear? You're my girl. My woman. My person. No matter what. You gotta know I'd never leave ya just cuz you aren't ready for sex again. You don't think that I would, do ya?"

"Well, you went to Virginia…you took that job…knowing the distance it would put between us. Literally and figuratively."

"Biggest mistake of my life." Shane raised her eyebrows in surprise as Sy elaborated. "I couldn't focus on my classes without wishing you were there. Wishing I could team up with you for discussions and hand to hand combat training…that thought got me a little too excited, if you catch my drift." He smirked, pulling a sheepish smile from Shane. "Then in that forest. I dreamt about you every night. I thought of you constantly. I could barely breath sometimes, I missed ya so damned much. I was an idiot. I was insane to think that I needed anything other than you. Any MORE. There IS no more. You're it. You're the MOST! The most important thing in my life."

The declaration hung like vapors in the air, more felt than seen. Tangible yet ethereal.

"And when I found out that you were missing…I was…well, I think I looked like death…and not warmed over. You can ask the program director I met with after I got the news. She could tell I was just sick over it. And as I thought about it on the way home, pieced things together, started thinking about who'd taken you, I got murderous. Shane, I have been in dozens of battles, skirmishes, firefights, you name it. War. But…the sheer bloodlust I felt thinking about what you could be going through…I've never experienced anything like it. Everything was red. Everything. For days. Until I saw you, alive. And then it went red again when I saw the fear and damage on your face." she could tell he was doing his best not to talk about the farmhouse and that basement, but she still flashed back to the moments before and after his appearance there. The moments when she simultaneously prayed to live and hoped to die.

"You don't owe me anything, Shane. I just want you in my life, and I don't care what your presence looks like. Romantic, platonic, or somewhere in between. I'm here for you. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Shane felt the urge to wrap her arms around her boyfriend, but could not seem to move more than one arm to place her other hand on top of his. She hoped the gratitude and love behind the small, but heartfelt gesture landed. It was all she had in that moment, no matter how abundant her affection.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shane's family's arrival was a complete blur to her. It was joyous, tearful, and the happiest she'd been in a long time. The moment she opened the front door for them, she was surrounded, engulfed with hugs from her parents and siblings. They stood in their affectionate huddle for several moments before Peg waved Sy over with marked insistence. He'd been standing by, observing happily, but not wanting to intrude on the familial reunion.

When they finally dispersed, John asked the two younger men to help him bring in groceries. The women headed into Shane's bedroom for a more private setting in which to talk. Shane filled her mother and sister in the best she could given the rawness of the wounds left on her mind by the events.

She leaned against the headboard cuddling with Gabby while her mom rubbed her feet. She had insisted on doing this thing that had always comforted her children, and made them feel much better when they were younger.

"Well, I'm very proud of you, pumpkin." The girls both looked at their mother, who rather uncharacteristically hadn't spoken in some time. Shane was nonplussed. Peg elaborated.

"You survived something that many women don't. You're talking about it now, which even more women don't. You may think you're broken, but you're just a tree damaged by a storm, but standing stronger than ever." Trust her mom to lay such wisdom on her. When she felt like giving up. When she just wanted pity. When she could only see defeat. Her mother had always found a way to encourage and buoy her and show her the victory.

"Mom's right." Gabby affirmed, and it was Peg's turn to be nonplussed, as the two women, though similar in so many ways, never seemed to see eye to eye. "It's true. Shane I've seen a lot of women come into the clinic in shoes very much like yours. And trust me…some of them…they don't make it to this point. You've got a long way to go before you're fully recovered, don't get me wrong, but you'll get there. You have us. And you have Sy."

"And then there's Sy." She diverted. "How am I supposed to plan any sort of future with him when…" She looked at her mom, and hesitated. Peg rolled her eyes.

"Shane, I know what the two of you get up to when you're alone. You don't have to be shy with me."

"Still…" she took a breath and spoke. "When I can't bring myself to…sleep with him?"

"Look at him, you're kidding, right?" Gabby chided, insensitively, but recanted at the pained expression on Shane's face. "Sorry, sis. Trying to lighten the mood a touch. Too soon. But seriously, I don't think this reluctance you feel will be permanent."

"And even if it is," Peg took over, "that man is out-of-his-mind in love with you, Shaney." She kissed Shane's toe before putting a sock on her foot. "He almost seems to worship you. Now, you know how I feel about using that term outside of religious context, but that is exactly the kind of love I want for you. Devout, and unconditional."

"But, mom, I can't--"

"Did you hear me? I said 'unconditional,' sweetie." Peg interrupted. "No matter what. No matter the obstacle. No matter the distance. No matter the circumstances. Love unwavering. That's what Sy has for you. I've seen it in him. Trust the momma."

The insistence her mother placed on trust had always ruffled Shane's feathers. Gabby's too, who she could feel stiffen slightly beside her. But Shane, for once, really wanted to trust her mother, hoping against hope that she was right. And that she, herself wouldn't screw up the best relationship she had ever been in or was likely to ever be in again.

The girls had begun talking about some of the coworkers who'd brought food in the past week, and Peg couldn't resist remarking on the character of her favorites and judging the ones she didn't care for…oddly enough, getting more or less, the correct measure of them, as Shane saw it.

After what must have been an hour from the time they'd arrived, they heard a knock on the slightly ajar bedroom door. John poked his head in.

"Ladies, we've put a casserole in the oven, and completed various manly projects around the house--"

"Oh, daddy, what projects?" She cringed. She hated that the men had felt the need to "fix" things.

"Babe, your guest bathroom had not one, but two leaky faucets, your kitchen table seemed to be more of a teeter-totter, and half the light bulbs in the living room were out. Among other tiny things. You're welcome." he smirked his crooked smirk so similar to her own, and she returned it as if he was looking in a mirror.

"Thanks, dad."

"Anyway, lunch is almost ready. So, when you've finished your confab, let's eat."

Dinner passed amiably, Shane found a reserve within herself to allow some quasi-normal behavior, as long as you didn’t look too closely. She was talking animatedly with her siblings, making their parents and Sy laugh riotously. Shane noticed some odd looks passing between Sy and her father, but chalked it up to paranoia. She wished at least Gabby and Ethan could stay, but Heather would be over soon, and she deserved her own dedicated time. Shane wanted to give that to her.

She said her farewells to her family with promises to visit them the next day, and at least one more time before her siblings went back home, if she could work it out.

Sy was so wonderful the whole time. Standing by her, a hand resting lightly on her shoulder as they waved goodbye to the departing vehicle. He made her feel so safe. They went into the kitchen and cleaned up from lunch. Well, Sy cleaned. Shane was texting Heather about when she'd be over.

"Heather says she'll be here in about a half hour. She's picking up wine and pizza." Shane told Sy without looking up from her phone. She could see out of the corner of her eye, though, that he had just closed the dishwasher and was selecting a cycle.

"Sounds great. Do you want me to get out of here? Give you guys some time, one on one?" He asked as he dried his hands, wet from preparing dishes for the machine.

She thought about it, and shuddered. She played a scene in her head that startled her. In her mind's eye, she saw Sy leave and then moments later heard a knock on the door. Presuming it was Heather, she opened the door with abandon, only to see Elliott standing there under a flickering porch light, smirking maliciously at her and ready to overpower and abduct her again. She shook the thought from her head, but remained uneasy as she answered his question.

"Uh, no. Thanks. I'm sure she'll want to talk to both of us. She likes you." Shane grinned softly at Sy in an attempt to mask her trepidation over the thought of him leaving her alone for any period of time. She thought it had worked.

"Okay, well, whatever you think, sunshine. I don't wanna get in the way." He was wiping down the countertops. She felt so impossibly full of love for him, she was starting to wonder how she hadn't yet burst with it. She couldn't bear the thought of holding him back from a fulfilling relationship. He deserved everything she couldn't give him right now. And she knew she should make him leave her. Cut him loose. But she was, as she'd been since she'd met him, a weak woman. She couldn't stand the thought of being without him. Of him no longer being hers. And somehow worse, of not being his, herself. She would always need him for so many reasons, not least of which being her love for him. Maybe one day, she'd recover from this trauma, and be able to be who he deserved. To give him what he needed.

"You're never in the way, bear." She walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed him as tight as she could. He placed a loving hand over hers, sighing and smiling, though she had no visual proof of the latter. It was just a feeling.

Heather's greeting was no less exuberant than that of Shane's family, but it was more joyful and less emotional, even though she was immensely relieved to see her best friend after so long. They talked as if no time had passed, and Shane mustered up the dregs of her former self to have one more interaction for the day. Thank God it was Heather and not someone who would require more. She wouldn't have it to give.

"I am so glad you're okay, Shane! Things around the clinic have been bleak as fuck. Susan is loosing her mind, Anita is beside herself with concern, and the rest of us just plain ol' miss the hell out of you. And not just because of all of the overtime everyone has been pulling to get your patients seen."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize…wow, I'm awful. I didn't even think---"

"That you'd be missed? Think again, sister. The place would fall apart if you ever really left. But don't feel guilty. It's the least everyone can do, and they've all said it themselves. We all love you, and know that you'd do the same for any of us if you could at all. Hopefully you won't have to, though!"

Shane nodded, eyes wide in agreement. She wouldn't wish the last week of her life on her worst enemy. On the worst person in the world. Except maybe the people responsible. Tit for tat.

"Well, I'm sorry my absence has caused extra work for all of you." Shane looked into the deep glass of Chardonnay Sy had poured her from the bottle Heather had brought. She felt about as small as the air bubble making it's way up the sloping curve of the stemless vessel. She felt a guilt that she knew was fully void of logic. It made no sense for her to feel guilt for being kidnapped. But she had always had this notion, this nagging voice in her head that told her that her misfortunes were a direct result of her decisions. That she'd inadvertently stepped on the butterfly that resulted in the monsoon she was currently experiencing, and whatever cataclysmic events she would face next.

"Why in God's name are you apologizing for this, Shay?" Heather's tone was kind, but still mildly scolding.

"If I'd never been with Elliott, none of this would have--"

"Bitch, are you a fortune teller?"

"No, but--"

"Soothsayer?"

"No."

"Time traveler?"

"I wish!" Shane chuckled. But she really did wish.

"Have you any real and proven success at consistently predicting the future?"

"I don't, but--"

"No. No buts. No howevers. You had no idea what becoming involved with Elliott could have done. Were there signs, sure. But you can't look on the past as a rubric to judge the quality of your decisions. You know that. You can only learn from your mistakes. And you have."

"Heather's right, sunshine. You really have learned. You look for Elliott's behaviors in mine and shut me down quick if you see 'em. You're not going to let yourself go down that road again. And I'm proud of you for it."

Shane silently worried her wine glass. It was hard to argue with such truth. But it was hard to agree when her own feelings were in such stark opposition. So she did neither.

"Well, I've preached my sermon for the day." she laughed. "I've taken up enough of your time. Oh, your phone. It's in my purse. I think it's fully charged, but I turned it off."

Shane thanked her friend, then Heather hugged them both and took her leave.

"Y'okay, bug?" Sy asked her after what she surmised was several minutes of silence. Minutes she didn't notice as they passed.

"Mmm…" she trailed off.

"Can I do something for ya?" And she really thought about the question. He could probably do a lot of things for her. He could make love to her until she felt whole again, even if it hurt her at first. Not an ideal option. He could probably get them both some new identities and enough money to spirit her away to somewhere her past wouldn't follow. If she became someone new, literally, would she have to bring that old baggage, those old scars, with her? Again, suboptimal. But he could definitely take the source of all grief and turmoil in her life far into the Missouri back country, somewhere not even the hunters would venture, some fallow field or forgotten cistern, and end him. Snuff out his spark of life like a candle caught in a tornado. Spill a fatal amount of his monstrous blood onto the unforgiving earth and send him to the Hell to which he was undoubtedly destined. But did she want that? Did she want another soul as a scar on that of the man she so deeply cherished? He'd say it was worth it. He'd say he'd take a thousand more for her. A million. That was Sy.

"Nothing comes to mind." She lied. And he knew it was a lie, but didn't push it. She was so grateful that he respected her, not for the lie itself, but for the reason she wasn't giving him the whole truth just now.

His phone went off and he picked it up as he stood from his seat at the table. She could only hear that it was Matt, the guy she thought she understood had the car place, before she heard tension in Sy's voice. Even from the next room, she could tell something was wrong, though he was talking too quietly for her to make out words.

She heard him suddenly shout a stream of profanities that he rarely said at all around her, at least, let alone together. There was a bang, and the walls of her kitchen quaked like the tectonic plates beneath them were shifting.

Sy walked back in, his face was red, as were his knuckles. He was shaking an injury out of his hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked, deep concern at his appearance and demeanor, suddenly ominous.

"I need to fix your wall in there." he grumbled, evading, without success. She'd be doing therapy on his hand, next.

"What's really wrong?" she repeated, sternly.

"That was Matt. Elliott's…escaped, somehow. He's in the wind."

Shane's heart became so heavy, she could almost feel it smashing through the kitchen floor and burying itself deep in the cement floor of her basement.

"Oh, God! No! What if he goes to the police!?"

"Fuck that, I'm more concerned about him coming after you!"

The two stared, faces full of equal measures of concern for the other.

Up Next: Chapter 21-Patient Education

#netflix #netflix sand castle #captain syverson #Captain Syverson x OFC #captain syverson fanfic #sigh for sy #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader

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linkspooky · 5 years ago

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Toga Himiko’s Normal Life

Himiko looks like the most straight forward case of what pop culutre considers to be a classical sociopath / psychopath in My Hero Acadmia. Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks were all groomed to become the way they were, but Himiko possessed a natural inclination towards blood and violence from the start. She seesm to be a natural born cold blooded killer, however in this meta I’ll argue that while Toga seems like the flip-side of a normal, good person like Uraraka, she’s actually just a normal girl herself.

1. Character Origins

Volume sixteen of My Hero Academia had an official illustration included as an extra that shows the characters Twice and Himiko drawn together in an illusion to a famous Joker and Harley Quinn illustration.

Now, I’m not going so far as to claim Himiko was based off of Harley Quinn, but one the league of villains and characters like Twice (and ReDestro) have made similiar references to the Joker before that especially with the quote “All it takes is one bad day”. There’s also enough similarities betweeen the two characters, they’re both the only female members of a crime syndicate that is mostly men, and dominated by men. Their backstories mirror each other, they were both relatively sane, normal, girls, until suddenly they cracked one day and became a total inversion of their previous presonality. There are enough similarities that I could use Harley as an example to explain a few of the important ideas present in Toga’s character.

They are also both female characters who are written with love as the central concept of their characters. Harley’s origin as originally depicted in the comic and episode for the Batman the Animated Series “Mad Love” goes as follows: Harleen Quinzell was a psychiatrist working at Arkham. Eventualy she came to sympathize with one of her patients which triggered a transformation in her from well meaning doctor, to love-sick sycophant of the joker who broke him out of prison.

A lot of Batman Villains have origins like this. The most comparable one is Harvey Dent. Proescutors, Doctors, we are told the people who hold these jobs are good and righteous people. Even Harley herself started out as someone who just sympathized with a patient too much. However, somehow they become flipped into the exact opposite versions of themselves. They go mad for lack of a better words. Harvey Dent who was once a symbol of justice, becomes nothing more than a murderer, and Harley Quinn goes from healer to the sidekick of a mad clown willing to destroy everything in the name of love.

The question, asked in both Himiko and Harley’s stories is how can good people flip like this?

Most people have a black and white view of these issues: good people are only capable of good actions, and bad people are capable of bad actions. It’s hard to swallow the fact that any normal person has the capacity to cause so much harm inside of them.

We see similiar remarks in the background of Himiko’s story. Himiko comes from a good upper class family, she went to what was most likely a good school, she was always smiling and surrounded by friends. Everyone who comments on her sudden transformation reacts in a similiar way. “She was aways so cheerful and well-behaved, I still find it hard to believe.” She was always such a good girl, and good people don’t do those things.

Normal people, good people, don’t have the capacity to do bad. That’s what makes the transformations so shocking. Therapists/Doctors are supposed to heal, Prosecutors are supposed to be just. And now we return to our old friend Jung.

The story of Harleen Quinzell and Harley Quinn. The story of Himiko Toga the happy middle school girl and Himiko Toga the serial killer is a tale told over and over again, it’s just usually told with male protagonists instead of female ones. It’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886) is a late-Victorian variation on ideas first raised in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818). Stevenson’s monster, however, is not artificially created from stitched-together body parts, but rather emerges fully formed from the dark side of the human personality. In the story Dr Jekyll, an admired member of the professional Victorian middle-classes, conducts a series of scientific experiments which unleash from his own psyche the ‘bestial’ and ‘ape-like’ Mr Hyde (ch. 10). Gothic fiction had examined the idea of the sinister alter ego or double before on many occasions but Stevenson’s genius with Jekyll and Hyde was to show the dual nature not only of one man but also of society in general.

“Man is not one, but truly two.”

Robert Louis Stevenson

Both cases are tales are transformation, of the monster coming from within. Himiko transforms from middle school girl into serial killer. Harleen Quinzell transforms into Harley Quinn. Dr. Jekyll becomes Mr. Hyde. We witness a transformation into a monster that seems the antithesis of everything that person was boefre, but was inside of them all along this works because of the jungian idea of the shadow.

The shadow is the unconscious side of personality. The shadow is what exists but what we do not acknowledge. If our behavior during everyday life, choosing to smile, choosing to talk to people, choosing to use our manners is a mask then the shadow is the face beyond the mask. The conscious personality conceals, the shadow reveals. It’s the difference betewen who we are and who we choose to be. The shadow isn’t necessarily negative however. The shadow is just the repressed side of our personalities, it’s what we try to hide.

The shadow plays a role in Harleen’s transformation. While it’s present in Mad Love as well, a recent miniseries ‘Harleen’ really dives into the Jungian symbolism. There’s even several similarities in common with Himiko’s story, for example there’s a scene where Harleen is shown watching the bat man beat up joker and notice how everyone is cheering despite the fact that it’s violent.

Himiko’s interest in a boy is sparked by watching him get into a fight while everybody else is cheering for him.

The cover page depicts the change between Quinn and Quinnzel as a crumbling mask, which is the exact same imagery used for Himiko.

When she enters Arkham she chooses to depict Harley Quinn’s silhouette in Harleen’s shadow. Once again implying that the transformation is not so sudden and jarring as it seems, that Harley Quinn has always been there and is a part of her psychology the same way Mr. Hyde is inside Dr. Jekyll.

The comic even points it out. Harleen, and also by extension Harvey Dent are people who claim to be “good, righteous people’ and yet both of them end up transforming into murderers. Two-face’s name is literally two-face.

There’s also one particularly Jungian sequence in the middle of the conflict. She dreams (dreams are unconscious and therefore the realm of the shadow in Jung’s theories) about the city of gotham as a place inhabited with citizens who are monsters wearing the faces of human beings.

The idea is consistent throughout that Harleen is not really a ‘good person’ she’s merely repressed. She has had this capacity to be violent inside of her, this selfishness, all of these dark desires carried with her all along but rather than deal with them in any healthy way she repressed them until repressing them is no longer an option. Harvey Dent’s face gets half burned off, Harley’s skinn gets bleached by chemicals, the monsterous features inside of them are now worn on their faces and they have to wear their ugliness on the outside rather than the inside. They are now expressing every single thing they have repressed. However, the suggestion in both stories is that these are not special cases, that Gotham is such a repressed society that everyone is repressing the things they don’t like about themselves in that way. Harley fell in mad love sure, but love was just the reason, just the trigger, the truth is those feelings always lurked inside of her and she had no healthy way of dealing with them before that point.

That is the shadow, it’s everything you repress but it never disappears. If you ignore it, it takes on a life of its own. In some cases, like Harley’s you basically become your own shadow. Harley is the flipped upside down version of Harleen Quinzel, now her inner demons are what are expressed on the surface (desperation to be loved, violence, etc.) while her ‘normal’ self is hidden under a mask of insanity. That’s in fact how she ends the comic, Harley qalking around while Harley is trapped on the other side of the mirror because they have basically traded places. Now Mr. Hyde is walking around, while Dr. Jekyll is hidden personality. But it’s important to remember it’s not something like a split personality, Harleen Quinzell and Harley Quinn were always two sides of the same person. Even when she starts expressing her ‘bad’ traits, the good traits don’t go away. They’re just hidden underneath the surface the way the repressed bad traits used to be. Because you’re not good or bad, you’re not one side or the other. You’re both at the same time. Man is not one, but truly two.

So the complexity in Himiko comes from understanding that she’s BOTH a normal girl, and also a blood crazy yandere psycho.

2. A Normal Girl - Uraraka Ochaco

Uraraka is a pretty standard shonen heroine. She’s a cheerful girl. She’s a supportive friend. She’s the embodiment of what you’d call a good, kind, person and doesn’t seem to be any more complex than that. She lacks say the drive to be a hero that Midoriya does, the superiority complex that Bakugo has, the emotional issues that Todoroki has. She seems to always be agreeable and in a cheerful mood.

If you look just a little bit closer though she always seems to be walking on eggshells when she’s around others. She doesn’t want to join Deku and the others to try to save Bakugo from the heroes because, it might hurt Bakugo’s feelings.

When she loses in the hero tournament, she apologizes to her parents crying not because she feels bad that she lost, but she feels like she failed them. Like it was her job to win and bring money home. However, when Deku comes to check on her in the room she’s already completely hidden her tears.

Going into her backstory we learn that Uraraka is walking on eggshells around everybody due to her own parents, that she’s spent her life trying to be as small of a burden on them as possible because she could see the tired looks on their faces. She’s a child who felt guilty that her parents had to take care of her.

So, for Uraraka her entire life is devoted to making herself seem as small and inconsequential as possible. Other people’s needs will always trump hers. Other people will always have more noble motivations for becoming a hero than she has. Other people’s emotions will always be louder and take priority over hers. Uraraka sees her own emotions and needs as mere trifles that get in the way, and so she always shuts them down. We see Uraraka as a version of Himiko, a high school girl who always appears to be cheerful and well-behaved but is merely repressed.

Uraraka repeats the same unhealthy behavior as Himiko once did. Which is why Uraraka’s first meeting with Himiko goes with Himiko getting such a cold read on her.

It’s helpful to view Himiko as the flipped version of Uraraka. Uraraka hides everything that’s pleasant about her on the inside, and on the outside appears like a perfectly selfless girl. Himiko is someone who hides her good qualities and instead wears the mask of a bloodthirsty psycho on the outside. While Uraraka lives by denying her selfish desires, Himiko always chases after them and is true to them.

Traits that are repressed in Uraraka, are expressed in Himiko. Especially traits that society sees as bad in girls, like selfishness, being emotional, etc..

The way Himiko acts is especially jarring because she seems convinced she’s a normal person. She’s in her own little world, making friends, getting along with other people, it’s just her friendship just happens to involve stabbing.

Himiko appears to be a girl psychotically obsessed with blood and nothing else. A girl who only cares about killing other people and chopping them up to bits. When she expresses the feelings deep inside of herself, literally no one can make heads or tails of what she’s saying, she doesn’t sound like a girl just a bloodthirsty monster.

While Uraraka seems like she has nothing in common with what is essentially a weird serial killer, we learn that the exact behavior that Uraraka’s creation is what led to Himiko’s current state of mind.

The difference between them is not that Uraraka is a person of higher moral character, or a better person, but rather of circumstances between the two of them. It’s not the choices they made but rather things they were born into and couldn’t control. Uraraka has parents that accept her even when she fails and encourage her.

Toga had parents that abused their daughter, and then abandoned her.

Uraraka chose to repress herself, while Toga was forced to become repressed by her parents. While we don’t know for sure if it was physical abuse it’s at least emotional abuse, and it had to be to an extreme extent to make Himiko snap that hard. The same unhealthy behavior but push to extremes gets extreme results.

3. Normal Girl - Himiko Toga

Himiko did not become the way she is because she was lacking empathy or born with uncontrollable urges for bloodlust, but because of the environment around her that always forced her to repress herself. From the knowledge that her parents would never love her for who she really was. Himiko wasn’t born that way she was a response of what was done to her.

People who don’t really know Himiko always judge her this way, that she’s incapable of understanding other people, that she has no empathy for others. She’s almost literally labelled and dismissed as a one dimmensional yandere trope by the people surrounding her.

However, Himiko is in fact always doing the opposite. She’s constantly trying to empathize with others. Her maddened way of talking to both Tsuyu and Uraraka in her character introduction is exactly that, her trying to feel that kind of connection.

Himiko’s fascination for Uraraka is a desire for empathy and understanding. One that you could say even surpasses some characters on the hero’s side, because she’s willing to try to understand the world’s of people who are nothing like her. Himiko’s next most significant action in the manga is to take Camie’s place and go after the kids. While she does fight against them she’s not overly violent, just curious. Deku even reaffirms some of Himiko’s primary traits.

Himiko is always talking a lot and trying to explain her way of thinking to other people, because she wants them to understand her. However, because she’s bad at communicating this tends to come off as babble and a lot of people completely dismiss what she says and don’t attempt to listen.

She expresses two things one a desire to know Deku on a deeper level, immediately asking him very personal, and sometimes very downright invasive question and two she also notices the closeness that Deku and Uraraka have for one another.

Once again this is a repeating theme for the league. Himiko repeats the same desire that Twice has, to become a person who is trusted in the same way.

Once again it’s important to remember that Himiko is just the flipped version of a normal girl. If most people hide their bloodlust and show their good sides, Himiko hides her desire to be trusted and to empathize with other people underneath her bloodthirsty urges she shows on the surface. She positions herself as a femme fatalle, but she’s actually just a girl who’s trying to understand why other people are different then her, and why Deku and Uraraka can have a relationship mutually founded on trust when she can’t.

Himiko’s past was so repressed she never formed real relationships with people. Not only that she assumes that nobody will want the real her, because the moment she flipped and the real her was exposed everybody in her life abandoned her and she had to run away.

After her brush with Deku and Uraraka we see Himiko start to be trusted by her comrades and a marked transformation takes place in her.

We see shades of the old Himiko. A selfish girl who only exists to fulfill her whims. However, we’re shown Himiko is capable of empathizing because not only do Shigaraki’s words get through to her.

Himiko is also for the first time able to reach the emotions of another person. Remember when Himiko tries to explain how she’s feeling, she babbles, and babbles and nobody listens. However that changes and for the first time, not only does Himiko pick up exactly on what’s troubling Twice, she also comforts him the way he needs to be comforted. She tells him that yes it might be his fault that Magne died, but she sees that he’s doing his best to make up for it and she gently encourages him.

Remember how important this is for Twice. The world has never forgiven Jin for his mistakes. He hit the wrong guy on accident, while obeying the law, and lost both his job and his home. He started stealing to make ends meet, and as a result he lost his mind. When he makes a mistake it always blows up in his face but this time, Himiko notices that she’s panicking and comforts him telling him it’s okay he’s made this mistake and he can still work hard to fix it.

Not only that but she notices what the problem was with Jin, she was able to notice the symptoms of his psychotic breakdown and rather than dismiss it as just Twice being crazy was able to help him in real tangible ways by wrapping her hanky around him and covering him up like he asked. Uraraka has a very surface level kindness, she’s kind but only by walking around on eggshells with everyone. Himiko is able to see through people, but uses that to comfort people on a deeper level.

The “Himiko just can’t control herself because of her quirk” narrative is something that Himiko rejects herself. Because that’s not what Himiko wants. Himiko doesn’t want to be special or different from other people.

Himiko sees herself as normal, and what she desires to be understand and be understood by other people. She doesn’t like Curious’ narrative for her because it made her out to be a freak or someone special when Himiko is trying her best to get others to understand her as a normal girl. Himiko can’t repress herself anymore, she can’t become normal the way her parents taught her too so not permanently broken, and forced to always express herself she’s trying some other way.

What she wants isn’t to hurt other people, not really though. Those thoughts just turn violence, because Himiko is herself a person who’s endured a lot of violence. Himiko is basically a child that’s been on her own living on the streets and surviving for years, with all the dangers that entails, and also people who can shoot lasers and punch things really hard chasing after her.

The more she’s isolated and on the run, the more violence she endures, the more violent and unhinged her thoughts become. The more she’s exposed to people who accept her for who she is, the more she’s trusted by those people, the more empathic and sensitive Himiko becomes instead. Himiko’s desire isn’t violence, when she’s pushed to her utter limit she says what she wants is to become a girl like Uraraka who is just loved and trusted by others for who she is.

And I genuinely believe at the core of Himiko’s character this empathic girl exists. Himiko becoming violent and unrepressed doesn’t mean her empathy disappears. The complexity from Himiko is that she’s both the knife wielding psycho and the normal girl who just wants to have friends at the same time. If behind every normal person there’s a monster lurking is true then the opposite is true as well, behind every monster there’s a normal person.

This is an idea expressed by Twice again. One of the villains that Hawks dismissed as a bad person, was capable of showing him compassion and gentleness even when he screwed up. Toga was capable of empathy for Twice besides the use he had for others. Toga herself is shown to be capable of more empathy than Hawks, who is one of the most selfless characters in the series, and who is convinced his actions are always done in order to save others.

However we see their treatment of Twice is so drastically different. Hawks treats Twice in a selfish way refusing to listen to what Twice wants, and only ever used Twice as a tool to exploit. Twice himself thinks that now that he’s no longer useful, Himiko won’t be kind to him anymore however we see the opposite.

Twice admits to Toga that he’s the reason that everyone is in danger right now and he completely failed, and he’s not going to come save them. He admits that he’s useless and Twice himself said Toga wouldn’t be kind to him anymore. However in that moment, Himiko ignores the fact that her life is literally in danger and everything is going to hell around her to comfort Twice one final time and tell him the words he needs to hear.

It’s literally the single most empathic moment of the manga, and it’s in direct contrast to Hawks’ behavior. A hero as devoted to saving other people as Hawks, who genuinely likes Twice as a friend doesn’t show him any empathy at all and even stabs him as the back. A psycho like Toga puts her own feelings aside and notices Twice’s feelings, and gives him comfort and thanks him in his final moment because to her Twice has value as a person beyond what his use is. That Himiko is capable of this kindness, but equally capable of her monstrous actions earlier in the series is what makes her human. Her kindness doesn’t make her any less mosntrous, and her monstrous qualities don’t make her kindness go away she’s both at once, rather than either or. That’s where the complexity comes in.

Toga is a very human character precisely because we see her at her most monstrous, and we see that girl slowly relearn how to express the kindness that’s always been inside of her in healthier non-stabby way. A normal girl who learned how to be a monster to protect herself. A monster who is slowly relearning to be a normal girl.

#himiko toga #jin bubaigawara #league of villains #league of villains meta #league of villains friendship #mha meta #my hero academia #my hero academia meta #my hero academia villains

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noonachronicles · 4 years ago

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The End of the F**king World Pt. 1

Byun Baekhyun X Reader

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Language. Violent imagery if you squint.

Genre: Apocalyptic/Alien Invasion AU. Slow Burn (ish?). One pining pup and one idiot in denial to eventual lovers.

A/N: I mean, idk, but do I ever? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Don’t forget to read the Prologue!

There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, which left the sun free to beat down on every inch of the city. Showering it completely in light. It was nice, the sun, especially when it had been mostly dark and rainy for weeks. Basking in the light of the sun this city looked like every other city in the world. Absolutely every other city.

Cement sidewalks and asphalt roads with their gaping holes from where bombs and missiles had landed. Skyrise buildings half destroyed by fires or from flooding. Windows covered in plywood, plywood riddled with bullet holes. Not a business in sight that hadn’t been ransacked. Nearly every inch of wall space and every abandoned or crashed vehicle was covered in spray paint. Messages of hope for survivors, warnings about certain spots in the city, brief apologies and goodbyes from those who just couldn’t do it anymore. Plants, weeds, grass, and flowers growing through cracks in cement. Overgrowth in certain places making the city look like a literal urban jungle.

Every major city in the world looked like this because every major city in the world got hit in exactly the same way. If not in the first wave then the second, and if not in the second then the third. And so on and so forth until they were all just empty shells of what they had once been.

The sound of your boots crunching against gravel and broken glass didn't even register to you any longer as you made your way down the empty street. Finally you found what you’d been looking for. A shop you’d noticed the other week but hadn’t had the chance to visit yet. The toy store was dark inside, left mostly untouched by looters except for the cash register. It had probably been busted open in the very beginning when people thought there would still be a use for money.

Old currency was rendered useless and the only survivors left now were the innovators, you thought to yourself as you peered through the window frame. It didn’t matter anymore what you had. Survival was about what you could do with what you found. The thought left you wondering how many people had walked past this shop without realizing its potential.

The storefront consisted of a three paneled window. Two of the panels had been smashed to nothing leaving an easy entrance into the store. The third window stood untouched, looking pristine. You rapped your knuckles against the completely intact glass and waited. It only took a couple of seconds. You could hear them before you saw them. A low hissing that sounded like getting the drool sucked out of your mouth at the dentists broke up with intermittent clicking. The sound either made your skin crawl in terror or it annoyed you. Today, luckily, it was just an annoyance more than anything else.

Grabbing the knife from the strap on your thigh, you focused in on the shadows of the aisles. There were two sets of four beady, silver eyes lurking in the dark. With a sigh you stepped through one of the broken windows and into the store. The hissing and clicking grew louder and more chaotic at your more obvious presence in the room. Resting the blade of your knife on your shoulder you made your aim. Then with a quick snap of your wrist the knife had shot through the air and projected into the shadows.

What happened next went fast, you knew it had to from your experience. As the first blade slipped from your fingers your hand had already dropped down to grab the second. The blade of the knife stuck between the four silver eyes and they went black. As the first grayish green, scaled beast fell forward into the light it’s counterpart opened its mouth wide to release a shrill shriek. The noise only pierced your ears briefly as you’d already thrown the second knife, the blade catching the beast in the throat. Those silver eyes drained to black as well and then it also fell forward into the light. Reaching into your pocket you pulled out your small flashlight and clicked it on. Quickly, you scanned the other aisles of the store for other Lurkers. You were pleased to find none.

First things first. You moved over to the cash register and searched the shelves of the rounded counter. As to be expected it was mostly tiny plastic trinkets at eye level that children would have instantly fallen in love with and would offer one last minute, desperate plea for. You did eventually find what you were looking for. There on the bottom self seated between a box of rock hard tootsie rolls and several bags of gummy worms that looked like they’d melted during the summer heat and then cooled into a blobby swirl of sugary color. A jar of, likely expired, blow pops. Tearing off the lid you shoved your hand in to grab one. You unwrapped it quickly and shoved the candy between your cheek and teeth with a satisfied sigh.

With your sweet tooth satiated for now you bagged the rest of the suckers as well as a jar of jolly ranchers. Then you went to pull your knives from the Lurkers you’d left bleeding out onto the linoleum floor. Placing one foot against the head of the first Lurker you tugged at the handle of the knife until the blade was released with a nasty squelch. You gagged at the sound, for some reason that was always the worst part for you, and moved to the second. With both blades freed from their victims you stood up and looked around your immediate area. Thick, black, gooey blood dripped from the blades onto the floor with little splats. On the shelf next to you there was a display of stuffed kittens with big, pitiful eyes covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Sorry, buddy.” you said snatching one of the kittens and swiping your blades clean against the soft fur before tucking them back into their holster.

You walked the front part of the store first, making a mental inventory of what was there that you would consider usable. On the other side of the room there was a spinning display rack that had been completely stripped of its contents except for one single package of batteries. That’s what you’d come in for.

“Fuck.” you muttered and snatched the lone package from the rack and tore it open.

At least you could replace the batteries in your flashlight, which had been functioning on borrowed time.

Once your flashlight was back at full power you started to make your way down the aisles. Continuing to take more notes of inventory, you searched for something that would be useful now. Dragging your finger through the dirt on the shelves you passed left a cleared line in its wake. You’d found baby dolls, Barbie dolls, and more stuffed animals. Princess dresses and plastic jewelry. There was plastic, silver tiara on one shelf, with little plastic jewels. You grabbed it and placed it on your head before continuing on.

Basketballs, tennis rackets, and skateboards lined the next aisle. The one after that had action figures and puzzles. You took a mental note to let Baekhyun know about the rack of lightsabers. Though considering how much trouble he’d gotten in the last time he had one you’d have to save both of you the trouble and tell him when Chanyeol wasn’t around. By then you’d nearly given up on finding anything when you reached the back corner and saw exactly the kind of thing you were hoping for. An entire display of toddler toys, each box with a red sticker and bold white letters that read, Batteries Included!

“Oh, jackpot.” you grinned, dropping your backpack on the ground and getting to work.

The first few months after the invasion were the hardest. The stress from uncertainty had aged everyone a hundred years. The four of you had stayed in the safe room for four days before venturing out. It took four days of Baekhyun and Chanyeol watching the security cameras endlessly and listening to the random frequencies the radio would pick up, trying to learn what they could, before they felt confident enough to open the door. It ended up being lucky because the night they decided it was time, was the night the electricity shut off for good. None of you slept that night. You just sat with the flashlight in the center of the room and waited for what you’d hoped would be enough time for there to be daylight outside.

It had to be daylight. If nothing else the guys had confirmed that the creatures never came out during the day. There were hoards of them during the night hours but there was something about the light that made them sensitive. Baekhyun had a theory that there was something wrong with their eyes. He didn’t think they could see or if they could they couldn’t see very well. He felt confident that their strongest sense was their hearing. He ended up being correct, you’d found out after watching them a little longer.

In fact they ended up being relatively ineffective threats once you’d figured them out. They were easy to maneuver around as long as there weren’t too many. They were blind as bats and pretty easy to kill if you got them in any of their softer areas which turned out to be anywhere on their necks and the diamond shaped patch between their eyes. The unfortunate part was that if you found one there were more than likely a dozen more and that’s when you’d find trouble. One or two were easy to kill. Even three was doable for a select few of you, if you were on your own. If you ran into a pack or you ran into them at night however, you were done for. They became chaotic attackers when they had the support of a hoard behind them. Like wild, rabid dogs they would tear their victim to shreds in a minute or less. Which was why they still terrified you even after three years.

What you’d found when you walked out of the jewelry store on that fourth day was the complete destruction of everything you’d ever known. At that point almost everything still seemed to be on fire. Looters had come and gone, and were likely dead if they hadn’t gone into hiding in time. Buildings were still crumbling, sending debri crashing to the ground. Electricity was out everywhere but you did find that water was still running in some areas. You cried when you washed yourself for the first time in days. It wasn’t even anything nice. It was you in the bathroom of a coffee shop in your underwear, standing in front of the sink and wiping your body down with paper towels and hand soap. Still you cried. You’d cried a lot those first months, that whole first year really. You cried less these days.

Anywhere you walked you could see the creatures lurking in the dark, watching every move you made. Hissing, clicking and waiting for the sun to set. It’s why you’d all agreed they would be referred to as Lurkers, because that’s what they did. You didn’t go back to the jewelry store that night. You didn’t go back for more than a year. Instead the four of you collected food and what weapons you could before finding somewhere new and safe to stay. You did that every night for a week. You didn’t know exactly what Chanyeol and Baekhyun were looking for but you knew when they found it you could finally settle.

Hopping around from place to place is how you found Irene. She was a mess when you found her. Holed up in the corner of a broken cooler at a convenience store behind a barrier made out of boxes of beer. Trembling, sobbing, and dehydrated. It took hours for you to get her to even speak her name clearly. Later you found out her boyfriend had barricaded her in the cooler for her safety after he promised her he’d be back once he found his little brother. Then she watched him get torn apart by Lurkers through the cooler door while having to remain completely silent or risk being attacked herself. After that she joined your family, and the four of you became five.

As the days and weeks passed and you had become more comfortable and confident you started to explore the city. It was less for entertainment and done more so out of necessity. You needed supplies like food and weapons. The more you wandered and scavenged the more survivors you found. Groups of people like yours who’d been together since the invasion. As more people came out from their hiding spots obvious leaders showed themselves within your families, as your groups had been defined.

There were eight families and together you were the Community. The heads of each family met constantly in the beginning, trying to work out how best to work with one another and what they could offer each other. They all wanted to make sure that their families had everything they needed to survive without taking from any other families. In the end the city was separated into nine boroughs, a space for each family, each equal in square mileage. The ninth borough was the city center. All of the major arenas and theatres were there, all of the city's largest buildings. Underground parking lots at every corner. It was a hotbed for Lurkers. Entering any building was more than useless, it was a deathwish. Though it was safe enough to pass through during the day, so long as you stuck to the streets, by night it was wall to wall Lurkers.

During the first year the Community met once a day after scavanges and doled out supplies. Each family took only what they needed and then the rest was stored by the original scavenger. After the first year half of the survivors were gone. Mostly loss came from accidents or illness. Things that happened that required a doctor, a doctor that you didn’t have. However on the rare occasion someone would walk outside in the middle of the night and scream at the top of their lungs.

Nobody thought them cowardly. It wasn’t an easy life, there was nothing desirable about it. You weren’t even sure where your own will to survive was coming from. It hadn’t been as if there was an expiration date on Lurkers. There was no timeframe for when this would be over. No ETA of your old life getting back to you. No visible end to the invasion. Still you woke up every day and you tried. When you went to bed you went to bed with every expectation of doing it again the next day.

After the first year the Community had become a well oiled machine. Everything had been so well organized. And there were so few people that supplies started to last longer and there was less of a need to meet up everyday. Now the whole Community only came together once a week for a check in. This week's meeting happened to be today.

Once you’d broken apart every toddler toy in the store and collected their batteries, you found a manager's office in the back. You sat down in the pleather chair and pulled your walkman out of your backpack, replacing the batteries that had been dead for a couple days. Having the sound of music flowing through you brought you a sense of joy and content that you couldn’t explain. It was the only thing you’d found since the invasion that could bring you any sort of content or calm. Without it your brain was constantly running a thousand miles a minute with worry and anxiety. You weren’t sure what you’d do when the city stopped providing you with AA batteries.

As the music played you twirled around in the desk chair a few times with a yawn, before deciding to check the room for supplies. There wasn’t too much, a couple things here and there, but in the bottom drawer of the desk you found five of the little airplane sized bottles of whiskey and a dusty, water warped copy of 50 Shades of Grey. After downing two of the little bottles you’d kicked your feet up on the desk and flipped open the book. Then, with a pretty good buzz brewing, you read aloud to an audience of two dolls, a stuffed monkey and three Batman figurines sitting on top of a file cabinet. The next thing you knew you’d amused yourself to tears and were late to the meeting.

Luckily you weren’t too far from the amphitheater where the meetings were held, just a handful of blocks away. You’d even tried to sprint it but were embarrassed to realize that the little amount of alcohol you’d had left you in less than peak condition. In all fairness it had been a while since you’d really had a drink. It had been a long while since anyone had indulged in a drink really. In the first few months a lot of people drank heavily as a way to cope and to avoid thinking about the reality of the situation. Reckless, unchecked drinking unfortunately led to a lot of accidents and those accidents led to the deaths of several people. There had been one night when a member of one of the bigger families drank half a bottle of tequila and didn’t close the door to their shelter well enough. That night twenty people were lost. After that it was rare for people to drink, it was even rarer for them to get drunk.

The meeting had already started when you’d arrived. You could hear Chanyeol’s voice from outside the amphitheater as you stopped to catch your breath. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a ticket booth window, you realized you were still wearing the toy tiara you’d found. Spitting the gum from your blow pop into some grass, you pulled the tiara from your head and shoved it in a trash can near the entrance.

Everyone was already there, which wasn’t a surprise but it was still embarrassing when they realized you’d just come in. Every head turned to look at you. Chanyeol, Hyunwoo, Jihyo, Taeyong, Solar, Hongjoon, Hanbin, and Seungcheol all sat in the center as the representatives of their families, silently watching as you made your way towards the group. You avoided eye contact with Chanyeol at all costs, ducking your head as you made your way to your usual spot next to Seulgi.

“You’re late.” she whispered as Taeyong continued with what it was he’d been saying in reply to Chanyeol.

“Obviously…” you whispered back, she pinched your side until you flinched, “Did I miss anything?”

She shook her head no and you both turned your attention to Chanyeol who had stood again to speak.

“General census has been that all families are low on food and the map doesn’t look great either, we’ve almost scavenged the entire limits of the city with the exception of the red zone. All food source locations are near depleted in zones with larger families, the others are getting close as well. Next week each family will send two members to the Farm for supplies and fresh food. Heads have been discussing that we need to put more focus on our own gardens around the city. We’ll be changing priorities from scavenging to gardening and livestock. The few of us who will continue to scavenge will need to...will need to start moving outside of the city.”

Unease ran through the group, and there was a steady hum of murmurs. Leaving the city limits was a nerve wracking suggestion because no one in the Community had left the city since the first wave. No one knew how things were out there. And of the very few people who had gone to scope it out, no one had ever returned. The only place the Community went that was outside of the city limits was the Farm.

The Farm was a huge compound on a stretch of farmland where an actual family had taken up residence. They had well stocked food storage, thriving gardens, and hoards of livestock. It was also protected under a massive security system. The family who lived on the Farm had come into the city not realizing it was occupied. When they found the Community and what you had to offer, they made a deal . They would exchange fresh fruits and vegetables, and eggs and meat from the livestock where they could spare it for fresh water which was the only thing they couldn’t seem to get steady access to. So twice a month the Community would send a group to collect the food supplies and drop off a water truck with a full tank.

Once the group had settled down after Chanyeol’s announcement there were still a few topics to discuss before the meeting was over. The end of the meeting really only meant that it was time for the group to break off into smaller cliques for further discussions and gossip.

“What if they don’t accept the water after the rain? That was a long stretch, they may not need it. What are we going to do without food?” You heard Sehun say as everyone talked over one another.

You’d actually been pretty interested in listening in on that conversation but Chanyeol had sat down beside you. “You were late.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Yeol.” you looked up at him with your most convincingly innocent smile which only made him laugh.

“You know I worry. And worse, you know I had to hear about it endlessly from Baek.” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Nodding you pulled one of the suckers from your jacket pocket and offered it to him. “I got caught up and lost track of time. I’m sorry I made you worry. Forgive me?”

He already had the sucker unwrapped and stuck in his cheek when he nodded, “Forgiven. Just don’t be late back home. I don’t need you getting locked out.”

He patted the top of your head as he stood and you watched him take off. Seulgi who was talking in a group a little ways away saw him leaving and ditched her friends to chase after him. You frowned as you watched. It had turned out that they hadn’t been dating before the invasion like you thought. They’d definitely shared some pretty deep feelings for each other, but neither one had the nerve to make any moves. The invasion and imminent threat of death had apparently been the kick in the ass they’d needed to confess their feelings to each other. Still, of everything that had happened over the last few years the one thing you couldn't wrap your head around was people getting attached to each other. You just couldn’t understand falling in love.

Over the last three years the Community had lost so many people from death and disappearance. You had lost so many people. All your friends and family from before the first wave were just gone. Any family and all of your other friends. They were all dead as far as you knew. You would never get to say goodbye, never get to tell them how much you loved them. The hardest out of all of them to get over was Siwon. Things weren’t always perfect between the two of you but you’d been together for five years. As far as you had been concerned he’d been it for you. You’d been ready to spend the rest of your life with him, if he’d ever gotten the chance to ask you to. You’d imagined a future with him, buying a house and starting a family. Then in one day you had it all ripped away from you and the pain of it had been unbearable. You didn’t have a future, you didn’t have love. You didn’t even want it anymore. All you had and all you needed was to survive.

You couldn’t see the appeal of falling in love with someone who could be torn from you at any moment. Or intentionally putting yourself through the eventual pain of loss. You didn’t even like that you had to worry about losing Seulgi. The chance of risk versus the low reward just didn’t seem worth it to you. However, Seulgi was happy and as much as you didn’t understand giving your love to anyone anymore, you were happy for her. She was happy. She had a reason to keep going, and that’s all you could really ask for her or anyone else for that matter.

Throwing your backpack over your shoulder you waved goodbye to the others that were left and took off back up the stairs alone. Outside of the amphitheater you saw Hyunwoo chatting with Hanbin and Baekho, while Taemin and Jongin waited nearby. When he saw you Hyunwoo smiled and said something to the others before hurrying over to where you had been walking.

“Hey,” he said, catching up to you.

“Hi.” you grinned.

“Hold up a second, I have something for you.” he said, grabbing your elbow.

You stopped walking and turned towards him, “For me? Why?”

“You know why.” he smirked. He moved closer to you so there was hardly any space between your bodies. One of his hands reached into his jacket and he pulled out a small, square, gold box with a red ribbon wrapped around it. “I know you didn’t want a big deal made out of your birthday, but I had to at least get you something.”

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” you assured him, turning the box over in your hands.

“Fine. I wanted to get you something.” he corrected, “Will you just open it?”

You tugged the ribbon from the box and lifted the lid. A tiny gasp escaped your mouth at the sight in front of you. “Hyunwoo…”

“It’s expired, but only by a few months.”

Your eyes had filled with tears so quickly you couldn’t stop the single tear from slipping down your cheek. “It’s so beautiful. I love it. Thank you so much.”

He grinned as you pulled the chocolate bar from the box. “Don’t share it with anyone, okay?”

“Oh don’t worry, I will not be sharing with anyone. Not even you so don’t ask.” you laughed and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. “Thank you so much. Seriously, it means the world that you would give this to me.”

“You mean the world to me.” he said quietly squeezing you back, and then he pulled away, “To us. You mean the world to all of us. You’re always doing so much for the whole Community, my two idiots especially.”

You were grateful for the excuse to look away from him, to look over at Taemin and Jongin as your cheeks burned with a blush. “It’s nothing. You know I love them.”

“Alright.” he cleared his throat and looked over at the still waiting Taemin, Jongin duo. “Get home safe tonight. I have to get the kids home for dinner.”

“You be safe too Hyunwoo, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tucking your gift into the pocket of your backpack you smiled to yourself. Maybe...maybe you could see yourself with someone like Hyunwoo. You’d seen him in action, you knew he could handle himself well in a fight. He didn’t need to be protected or taken care of. You wouldn’t need to feel responsible for him all the time or to worry about him too much. Plus he was a sweetheart and absolutely gorgeous, which never hurt.

“What was that about?”

Pulled from the thought you looked up to see Baekhyun. He was sitting on a short, brick wall. His feet dangled from side to side as he chewed anxiously on his thumbnail.

“What was what about?” you asked as he hopped off the wall and fell in line with you as you walked.

“Whatever just happened between you and Hyunwoo.” He was trying to be casual about the conversation but you could feel the energy vibrating off of him.

You sighed, “Nothing, Baek. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you guys like together? You never said anything. Are you going to leave us? Are you going to stay with his family now? It’s just guys over there, you know? What about Seulgi? Does she know? She’ll be really upset.” he rambled nervously.

“No, Baek,” you chuckled, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not dating anyone.”

“What did he say? It looked like he gave you something. What were you hugging him for?”

“Baekhyun!” You growled looking over at him with wide eyes, “Breathe. Calm down. Christ.”

He did as he was told and shut his mouth. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m chill. You still didn’t answer any of my questions.”

“Well you asked about twenty all at once…” you said sarcastically and looked over at him and his big sad eyes. “Fine.”

Pulling your backpack around to your chest you pulled the chocolate bar from your bag and handed it over to him. He grabbed the candy and flipped it over in his hands.

“Shit. This is like ...European chocolate.” he said in awe, “This is the good shit. I haven’t seen stuff this nice in…”

“Months.” you said quietly.

“At least.” He handed the bar back to you, “God, what did he do? Ask you to marry him with that thing?”

You laughed as you put it back in the bag and then swung the bag back over your shoulders. “No. It was just a gift.”

“A gift? What for?” he asked, kicking a chunk of cement off the sidewalk.

Baekhyun wasn’t going to let it go. You’d spent enough time with him to know that about him. Taking a quick look around the street to make sure there was no one nearby you said as quietly as you could manage without whispering. “It’s my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” he shouted, his voice echoing against the towering buildings that surrounded.

“Shhh.” you hissed.

“Why? It’s really your birthday?” He asked looking wounded, “You didn’t say anything.”

“It’s not a big deal, I don’t want anyone to know. So please...just shut up about it.”

“Hyunwoo knew. Did you tell him?”

You groaned, “Yes, but it had been by accident. He wasn’t supposed to find out.”

Still he looked upset, “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I would have gotten you something.”

You rolled your eyes subtly. “It’s fine, Baek. I swear it’s fine. I didn’t want anything, that’s why I didn’t tell anyone.”

“No, I should have known already. I should have remembered from before.”

“I’m honestly glad you didn’t.”

“I just wish there was time for me to find you a good gift. I feel like a real jerk.” He sighed, “And Hyunwoo got you chocolate? Damn.”

“I promise you, it’s okay.” You assured him once more as he trudged dramatically down the sidewalk beside you.

Suddenly he lit up with a smile, “What about a joke? Can I tell you a joke? Have you had a really good laugh today?”

You grinned. Secretly you’d become pretty fond of his daily jokes. “That sounds like the perfect gift.”

“Okay…” you watched as his face turned quite serious while he thought of the best joke. “Got it. What do you call bees that produce milk?”

“I don’t know. What do you call them?” You couldn’t help your half smile at the fact that he was already chuckling at his own joke.

“Boo-BEES.” He said with the biggest, cheesiest smile.

The laugh came even if the joke was terrible. A real shoulder shaking, teeth out laugh.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much.” You continued laughing and he just smiled back at you.

“Good. I love you too.” He said, the same way he always did when you told him you hated him. “Happy birthday, Y/n.”

You blushed, the tiniest of blushes. “Thanks, Baek.”

“You’re welcome.” He sighed happily. Pleased, you assumed, that his joke had gone over so well. After that the rest of the walk back was comfortably quiet.

Cordially was a club downtown, or it had been before the invasion. It had been made wildly popular by its exclusivity. It was the only by-invitation-only club you knew of. They would hand deliver invitations every week. White cardstock with red embossment that red simply, ‘You are cordially invited”. Then on the back it either said Friday or Saturday to indicate what day your invitation was for. For a monetary fee an invitee could bring up to ten plus ones. The add-ons were where they really made their money. That and of course the alcohol.

The building was on the corner of tenth and main, which was the most popular area for high end restaurants and bars. It was a two story building that had been built originally for use as a concert hall. It had housed operas, plays, and musicals. Then it had shut down for a couple of years and came back renovated into a burlesque club. After that it became a venue for punk shows. For awhile after that it was a gay bar that played venue to drag shows. And in its final form it was Cordially.

Immediately upon walking into the building occupants would find themselves in what appeared to be one big empty hall. On one side of the empty, dust covered hardwood floor there was a short hallway that led to two restrooms and an office. The big empty space had previously been the dance floor. Along the back wall was a bar and on the other side of the dance floor, opposite the restrooms, was a staircase. Upstairs was a horseshoe balcony. There were two more restrooms, a half bar, and private alcoves that had been reserved for vip invitees who’d paid major money for the privilege. None of that was why the Cordially was so important to you. It was important because, technically, its final form was home.

“Honey I’m home!” Baekhyun shouted as you walked in through the main entrance. “Oh, I forgot...I don’t have a Honey.”

“Is everyone else here?” you asked, ignoring his comment, as you looked outside one last time as the sun set on your birthday.

He looked over at the dusty bar top where five shot glasses had been placed. Three were upside down, two were still rightside up. “Yep. everyone is accounted for.”

With a sigh you let the door close while you grabbed the two by four leaning against the wall. You slide the wood through the door handles, and secured the locks at the top and the bottom of the door, and as a last step unhooked the blackout curtains Chanyeol had installed. The room was still lit with the orange glow of sun through windows that lined the second floor. Moving passed the bar as he whistled a tune, Baekhyun flipped over the remaining two shot glasses. He stopped at the door on the farside of the bar and held it open as he waited for you.

“Thanks.” you said quietly before moving passed him and making your way downstairs to the dark basement.

“Anything for the birthday girl…” he muttered to himself as he shut and secured the door.

“Uh...Baek.” you said stepping cautiously down into the unusually pitch black room. “I thought you said everyone was here?”

“The glasses were flipped. Is there no one down there?” he asked as you felt him step behind you.

“No, everything is off and I can‘t see shit.” you complained, searching your pockets for your flashlight.

“Huh...so weird.” Baekhyun said flicking on his flashlight and illuminating the wall switch. “Hit the lights.”

Flipping the switch up illuminated the bright, white christmas lights that had been strung all across the basement ceiling. The room had also been decorated with streamers and balloons. Chanyeol, Seulgi, and Irene all stood in the center of the room sporting paper party hats and cheerful smiles. They’d been popping poppers and shouting happy birthday, but you could barely register it through your haze of emotion.

Baekhyun had come around you and put a cheap, cheesy sash that said Birthday Princess over your head along with a tiara on top of it. Chanyeol lit candles that had been stuck into the top of a stack of just-add water pancakes that had rainbow sprinkles mixed in. After a moment of genuine shock you realized they’d been singing the birthday song to you and were now waiting for you to make your wish.

I wish I was this happy all the time. You thought to yourself before blowing out the candles.

“I-” you chuckled lightly, “I’m speechless.”

“Do you love it?” Irene asked hopefully, “I know you don’t like to make a big fuss about this kind of stuff. I worried it would be too much.”

“Oh, no! I love it! Thank you,” you said giving her a hug and then giving one to Seulgi too, “I don’t deserve all this.”

“That’s not true.” Chanyeol said wrapping you in a tight hug before guiding you over to the couch where a large pile of gifts were waiting. “You deserve more.”

“Do you like your cake?” Seulgi asked, sitting down on the cushion next to you. “Isn’t it cute?”

You smiled reassuringly, “I really love everything. I swear. It’s perfect.”

“I made it, the cake, but it was Baek’s idea.” When you looked over at him he was leaning against one of the surveillance desks. His cheeks were a little flush as he smiled over at you. “It was actually all his idea. He did most of the planning and the work, but we all helped out a little here and there.”

“You really thought I forgot, didn’t you?” he asked, looking so proud of himself. It was only then you realized he’d been the one that had remembered the last two years. Of course it had all been a show. Baekhyun didn’t forget anything. “Oh man, I really got you so good.”

“Open my present first! It’s the best one!” Irene said with a grin as she shoved a flat, wrapped box into your lap.

After you opened it you laughed immediately and then pulled the diamond chandelier necklace from the box. It had been a running joke between the two of you over the past few years. Whenever a gift giving holiday rolled around the two of you exchanged frivolous gifts. Grossly expensive things that were useless at the end of the world.

“I...It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to have some fantastic event to wear this to. Thank you, Irene.” you grinned.

“I got it at that jewelry store on third street if you want to return it. The receipts at the bottom of the box.” she smirked, “But you should know it was twenty thousand dollars, and I think it’s going to look fantastic on you. You should wear it every day because every day we’re alive is a fantastic event.”

Seulgi’s gift was next. She dragged over a tall box that was wrapped up to look like a gift bag, and that was clearly very heavy. When you pulled the tissue paper from the top of the box you revealed no less than thirty bottles of your favorite shampoo.

“So,” she started, “I have spent the last six months during scavenges looking for this shampoo. I took every bottle from every store in the city that had any. Cherish them, they are probably the last bottles we will ever lay eyes on.”

“I love you, Seul.” you said as you wiped your cheek of it’s tears.

“Love you too, bestie.” She said squeezing you tight, feeling quite pleased.

“Alright, that’s enough of the lame gifts.” Chanyeol said, reaching over Seulgi’s lap to hand you his gift. “I hope you’re ready for a real gift, Y/n. Something actually useful and still very fun.”

“Shampoo is useful!” Seulgi said, pinching his arm, “Dick.”

You laughed at the two of them as they bickered and unwrapped his gift. It really did take your breath away when you opened the package. “Yeol...oh my god.”

“You know I don’t know anything about knives.” he said as you pulled one of the shiny silver blades from its sheath. “Sehun helped me. He promised they were the best knives in the whole city. He said you’d really love them.”

“They’re so beautiful, Yeol. Really, I’m...I’m so happy.” you sniffled as you tucked the knives back in the box, “I can’t even tell you how much I’m looking forward to being able to use them.”

“And!” Irene said enthusiastically, “We’re all giving up our wash time tonight, so it’s all yours.”

Cordially was one of the buildings in the city that still offered running water. The problem was that it was such an old building that too much use throughout the day caused the ancient pipes to groan and when they did it was less than quiet. The five of you learned early on that there was a certain length of time that the water could be used after dark without attracting Lurkers with the noise. That time was divided and a bit of time was allotted to each of you for any night time activities like cleaning up after a long day or even using the toilet.

“No.” you argued, “That’s too much.”

“Yes!” Seulgi said, shooting you a terrifying glare, “Take extra care with the shampoo I worked so hard to get you. Rinse and repeat, for once.”

“It really is too much.” you groaned.

“Just let me know before you want to go, Y/n.” Baekhyun said, and you realized he’d been unusually quiet this whole time. “There’s just one more surprise.”

The group refused to listen to your complaints about wash time so you let it go. Instead you all indulged in your pancake cake and talked about your days. After a couple hours had passed you had to switch from the beautiful lights overhead to your regular LED lanterns so that Chanyeol could turn the computers and surveillance equipment back on for nightly security checks.

Together Chanyeol and you checked the reports from other cities and the surveillance outside of your building as well as the water storage. After your first yawn hit you mentioned wanting to clean up and get to bed soon at which point Baekhyun disappeared upstairs for sometime. You’d been ready to give up on him and crash for the night without even washing when he finally showed up. You grabbed one of your new shampoos, a towel and pajamas before following him quietly upstairs with your lantern in hand.

In the beginning you’d refused to leave the basement at night. The sight of the dark open dance hall creeped you out and you were always worried that there would be something hiding in the shadows. Ironically, it had been Baekhyun that had helped you out of your fear. You’d gotten into a pretty good system of making sure you’d done everything you needed to before the sun went down. It worked out really well for you at first.

That was until you, and everyone else, started to realize that things were changing. With every month that passed you realized that the invasion was having a lasting effect on weather patterns. Even now, after three years, they were unpredictable. Winter had come fast that first year. Sunlight was sparse, nights were seemingly endless. Some nights lasting literal days, as if the invaders were trying to force people out into the night to search for food and water, leaving them open and vulnerable for attack.

It was one of those long winter nights that Baekhyun realized how uncomfortable you looked. He’d laughed at first when you told him you had to pee, but when he noticed the genuine fear on your face when he suggested you just go upstairs he stopped. You’d been so embarrassed, it felt silly that of all the things left to be afraid of, that the dark was what paralzyed you. Then he offered to take you whenever you needed and promised he wouldn’t tell anyone about your fear. That winter night lasted eleven days and every time you had to go to the bathroom or wanted to wash up, Baekhyun was there to take you. He’d check all the shadows and stand outside the bathroom until you were ready to go back down. Even if you shook him out of a dead sleep you never heard a complaint.

It had been a long time since you’d needed someone to help you in the dark. On several occasions you’d even gone on scavenges at night. Like for the past four weeks when it rained all day everyday. There had been no sun but you also had no choice, your family needed food. So it seemed silly to you that he had offered to take you upstairs now. In front of the upstairs womens restroom Baekhyun stopped and held out his hand, “Lantern please.”

“I’m going to need it, Baek…” you whispered back knowing fully well the solar powered electricity that Chanyeol had set up didn’t run upstairs.

“Your lantern.” he requested once more, quietly, but sternly. With a deep sigh you handed him your lantern and he smiled brightly. “Thank you.”

He knelt down putting your lantern on the ground and picking up a container you hadn’t noticed before. Standing back up straight, he offered you the container.

“My gift to you.”

“You’ve already done enough.” you said taking the container, “Your stupid joke was more than enough for me.”

“Then this will just be the cherry on top.” he grinned, “Open it.”

You pulled open the lid of the container to find actual cherries. Cherries, strawberries, and blueberries to be exact. “How? I thought we were out of fresh food until the Farm trip?”

“I’ve been stockpiling my portions for you.”

“No, absolutely not. I can‘t accept this, Baekhyun.” you said shoving the container back towards him.

“You have to. I won’t eat it. I’ll let it all go to waste.” he shook his head defiantly, and you knew he was telling the truth. “It’s yours now.”

“Here,” Pulling open the lid once more you searched for the biggest piece of fruit you saw. You held the strawberry up to his lips. “Just eat one. I won’t be the reason your dumbass gets scurvy.”

He smiled happily, “Okay.”

You moved the fruit closer to his mouth and watched him wrap his lips gently around the fruit, you gulped at the sight but he didn’t seem to notice. “Do I get my lantern now?”

He shook his head as he chewed and swallowed down the berry, “Just go in, you won’t need it. I’ll wait out here on guard, You can have your lantern after.”

You looked at him suspiciously before turning to the door. With your fruit and your shampoo in hand you pushed the door open. You inhaled sharply at the sight. The entire makeshift shower room had been covered in candles and wildflowers. It was the most beautiful display you could ever remember seeing in your life.

“Baekhyun…” you whispered his name, not really knowing what else to say.

When you turned back to him he was smiling from ear to ear and he asked very hopefully, “Better than chocolate?”

You may have rolled your eyes but your smile and bright glow said everything he needed to hear, “I hate you.”

“Ah,” he blushed, “I love you too.”

#byun baekhyun scenario #baekhyun scenario #exo scenario #kpop scenario #TEOTFW #do we hate this? I feel like maybe we hate this.

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transrightsjimin · 4 years ago

Note

I'm asking as a confused trans and gay person regarding some of your recent posts saying aphobia doesn't exist, etc. Do you consider asexual people to be inherently LGBT even if they are cisgender and straight (heteroromantic)? I don't want to discriminate at all, I'm just confused because I see people fighting on here all the time about whether aces are part of the LGBT community or not. Do you have some insight for me as an ace nonbinary person? Thanks in advance!

no it’s fine lol dw!

i’m not sure how to explain this w/o being too extensive in what i say bc i’ve talked about this before but more in private conversations (and maybe some rants in tumblr posts) nd i tend to ramble abt it.

first of all i do not actually like the common conception that there is one way to define LGBT or the idea that everyone should fall within that category term or not, for example because the English language is colonial and rigid and does not reflect on experiences of all cultures, bc being gay or trans are not distinctly different experiences everywhere while they would be divided into different categories. so whereas i was more insistent on saying ‘you must be gay / bi / lesbian / trans to be LGBT / suffer from homophobia or transphobia’ i’ve come to realize now that this argument is rather exclusive of many gender diverse identities that do not correspond to all experiences or cultures. so i will stay away from using that argument.

however, i am speaking from my experience with online LGBT and asexual communities and have seen how the latter has tried to force itself into the other. i think a large issue with the asexual and aromantic communities is that they are partially based upon the creation of AVEN, an online forum founded by a homophobic and antisemitic man, and partially (though related to the former) by just blatantly made up statistics and history. not once have i seen a good argument or research or even personal accounts that illustrate very well why aphobia is a thing. i am asexual myself but do not want to take the lack of discrimination i faced for it as proof. there have been accounts of ‘aphobic’ discrimination that are either 1. much more a general concern with the OP facing misogyny and girls being sexualized, 2. someone making a remark based on a misconception of OP’s experiences or 3. misappropriation of terms and applying them to asexuality, e.g. ‘corrective rape’ was coined to refer to (African) lesbians who were assaulted under the presumption that it would turn them straight. asexuals have appropriated this term years ago to claim asexual people face rape on a large scale because perpetrators try to force them into liking sex. some people don’t even know the original meaning of the term because of this. i’m also not a big fan of this new interpretation of the term anyway, because legit sexual attraction is not the main reasons people commit rape; it is to seek power. this kind of mindset of asexual people being inherently vulnerable to sexual violence due to lack of feeling sexual attraction is seriously harmful; in the crime show Law and Order SVU, a suspect was let off because some main character said the suspect was asexual and this couldn’t have done it. people can be and sometimes are raped by an asexual person, because it is about taking advantage of someone and not attraction. the sole fact that so many authors of overly fetishistic fanfiction are asexual should prove this much, but instead the lack of attraction is used to distance oneself from the harm one can still cause.

and yes, asexual people can face discrimination, especially if you’re a girl you’re expected to be sexually submissive, which is pretty horrifying on its own. but this is not the same as targeted discrimination on a mass scale or institutional whatsoever. we are not thaught as we grow old that asexuals are disgusting, are a joke, or need to be violently murdered. my biggest issue with the asexual and aromantic community that we (as i have removed myself from it years ago) keep telling it that anecdontal accounts of being mildly discriminated is nowhere near the same as risking being kicked out of your house, being violently attacked due to the way you appear or having a partner of the same gender, being systematically discriminated by all sorts of institutions in society and being thaught that what you are is bad from an early age on. and then the counterargument is that LGBT is more recognized but asexual and aromantic isn’t, so ‘ace / aro’ people deserve to be included because they are underrepresented in media. but that is not the case at all. the speed at which asexuality has suddenly been incorporated and included into LGBT spaces, also offline, has been ridiculously fast. nowadays when you see a bunch of LGBT flags you see the asexual one being included a lot, sometimes in 3 different versions, while the lesbian flag is nowhere to be seen. lesbians are consistently excluded from their supposedly own community and they are not included in LGBT due to a need to change underrepresentation or lack of awareness, but because they face their own version of homophobia. the most mind-boggling thing about cis / cishet asexual and aromantic people being told that they are not oppressed, is that the response is not relief (’oh i’m glad i don’t face systematic oppression for this thing’) but anger (’how dare you not let us into your group!’). LGBT is seen as a fun party that is unnecessarily mean to anyone it gatekeeps, as if it is not actually necessary to keep out cishet people who benefit from their privilege and can use that against the rest in the group if they join.

my largest issue with the asexual community however, and i’ve touched upon this a bit before in the post, is that it victimizes itself, to such a degree where it puts itself oppositional to ‘allosexuals’. the whole idea that people who experience sexual attraction to another person are inherently privileged over abd hold power over asexual people is just not true (and the same goes for this rethoric for aromantic people). this idea is so wrong and the whole concept of the ‘allosexual’ as oppressor collapses once you consider that people who are attracted to the same gender are actually in danger and oppressed for their very attraction. not only are those who experience attraction (that isnt platonic) to other people portrayed as oppressors, but also as perverted freaks. once i decided to stop associating myself with acearo people and instead interact with LGBT people with other experiences, i realized just how much stigmatizing abd frankly, homophobic and transphobic bullshit i’ve adopted within the spaces i used to be in and that i still see gather a lot of traction (now their harmful points are also used on twitter and IRL in the public domain). the community has a huge issue where it teaches you to be puzzled and grossed out by people who want to date / kiss / have sex with other people, and this results in GSAs that now include asexuals to prohibit kissing your partner per request of asexual / aromantic members, asexual people showing up at pride with ‘can we just hug?’ signs, the common serophobic jokes (’at least we dont get hiv!!’ blergh), and for me it led to a great discomfort with kissing and sex imagery and it wasn’t until i left the community that this was in fact subtle homophobia because so much content on here is lgbt themed and to combine that with the increasing aversion to romance or sex without critically looking at that is... very toxic to say the least.

so where it’s standing right now, i don’t think including asexual or aromatic people in LGBT spaces on the basis of those identities is a good idea. one community advocates for the acceptance of sex, whereas the other is stigmatizing it and painting off those who are in fact oppressed for their transness or homosexuality, as the oppressors. it clashes and it doesn’t work. the ‘ace / aro’ community (quote unquote bc i see ‘ace’ being used a lot to imply superiority over ‘allosexuals’ like, theyre being the ace at something) has too many issues, which it is largely based on, to figure out. it can be a community on its own and i do not think you need to join LGBT to have a valid identity that has something to do with sexuality or gender and deals with a form of stigma.

it woukd be a rant, i warned you lol

#asks #anon #the asexual comm #homophobia //#transphobia //#lesbophobia //#rape mention //#serophobia //

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goodbysunball · 5 years ago

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Quarantine Rock, pt. II

In this continuation of the riveting Quarantine series: mostly new, 2020 releases.

Black Curse, Endless Wound LP (Sepulchral Voice)

There’s a lot of repetition in metal band name imagery, but Black Curse might be one of the laziest monikers in recent memory. No matter: the band’s debut LP Endless Wound is an absolute crusher, a swirling mass of death metal bile accented by riffs that violently snap your head back and forth for you. The guitar player handles bass duties for Primitive Man, and there are definitely some similarities between the two groups, not least of which being filthy tone and gargantuan riffs (see the plodding “Lifeless Sanctum”). But Black Curse can thrash around with the ferocity of Salvation-era Funeral Mist, and hit a mid-tempo groove like peak Beherit, as on closer “Finality I Behold.” Those are some pretty big names to drop, but Black Curse more than deliver - Endless Curse feels methodical without sacrificing manic intensity. Real deal shit right here. My favorite metal album of the year so far. Ajna Offensive had some copies of the LP in stock for a split second, and I imagine they’ll get more eventually; alternatively, one can reserve a copy from Dark Descent now.

Femme, Ruderal Exotique LP (Bruit Direct Disques)

Femme’s Chroma from the tail-end of 2017 took over my turntable for a good many months in early 2018. The French duo’s short vignettes of noise rubbing up against each other in confined spaces and somehow, despite all the jarring changes in volume, comes together for a rather cathartic listen. Ruderal Exotique follows the same formula, though this time around they’re coming at you at 45 rpm. I’m not sure if Femme’s changed things up or I’m just accustomed to power drills and blaring, bassy synths now, but all the sounds within Ruderal Exotique hit some pleasure center in my brain. Even though they’re still arriving in jagged shards, cutting into each other abruptly or dropping out into silence on a whim, when the album’s on it’s like it’s plastering drywall all over this miserable time and giving me permission to do, think or say nothing. It’d be fair to say that most of us need that regularly, but perhaps now more than ever. Gorgeous and abrasive, these 15 wordless tracks have been a balm recently, but Ruderal Exotique is also one of the most captivating listens of the year. Surrender yourself and cop yet another winner from Bruit Direct Disques, who have kindly opened up a USA e-shop run by The Business Anacortes.

Primo!, Sogni LP (Upset the Rhythm/Anti-Fade)

The Melbourne four-piece Primo! captured my heart in 2016 with the release of Primo Cassetto, a compact release bristling with tension and full of wry observations and wiry guitar lines. The follow-up LP, Amici, was as svelte and dry but twice as breezy; the playing was peppier and the vocals were softened and harmonious. I liked Amici fine, but little was imprinted on my memory after several listens, except the songs that had already appeared on Primo Cassetto. The band’s latest LP, Sogni, presses the best parts of the earlier two releases together into the grooves. Amici lacked the slower tempos of certain tracks on the debut, and Sogni brings them back with great success: “Comedy Show” is a particular standout, musically and lyrically reminiscent of latter-day Terminals, and closer “Reverie” is a drumless and haunting send-off. “Machine” and “Love Days” are the band at their most confident, the sound fuller than ever without dumbing down the lyrics or losing the scrappiness that makes this band so goddamn charming. Part of the fuller sound is thanks to the flourishes of Al Monty on various instruments throughout the album, but the band’s songwriting overall is stronger, looser - several tracks on the B-side even include extended outros (”1000 Words,” “The Present”), the band so stuffed to the gills with lean guitar lines that they had to make some room for more. Overall Sogni is the best Primo! album to date, placing the band firmly in the lineage of bands like Animals + Men and Look Blue Go Purple, responsibly self-aware post-punk sharp as nails and threatening to dance. Perfect for spring. Stateside people should look to Forced Exposure for the LP - they’ve even got some of the limited orange vinyl from Upset the Rhythm coming in.

DJ Screw, Bigtyme Volume II All Screwed Up 2xLP (Sinecure Press)

Yes: DJ Screw remains a larger-than-life presence that, along with Pimp C, has transformed how I, and many others, approach and listen to rap - but mostly I just wanted to highlight how sublime the versions of UGK’s “Tell Me Something Good,” and especially Point Blank’s “After I Die,” are on here. (The very pricey Houston Rap deluxe bundle including this 2xLP is still available.)

Anhedonist / Spectral Voice, split 7″ (Dark Descent/Parasitic)

Highly anticipated split between two death-doom titans: the dearly departed Anhedonist, and Spectral Voice, the modern scene’s torchbearer. Anhedonist’s “Abject Darkness” is an unreleased track recorded sometime during their tenure. It’s good, full of the killer “augh!” moments I prize, but it seems to tread water and repeat itself. You can kinda see why such a meticulous band left this one on the cutting room floor. On the flip, Spectral Voice turn in a devastating seven minutes on “Ineffable Winds,” eschewing any ornate arrangements and instead loading up on 10-ton riffs. I was disappointed with this record at first, mostly because the Anhedonist side left me a bit cold, but it’s encouraging to have the newer material by Spectral Voice be the better half. A few copies of this 7″ are still available from Parasitic Records.

G2G, s/t 7″ (self-released)

Snarling, sarcastic garage punk from this Sydney trio (plus drum machine), so stern and pockmarked that it’s off-putting at first blush. The opening track “Animated Satisfaction” is dripping with contempt, needling guitar lines combining in nauseating fashion, and it’s one of my favorite songs of the year. Can you deny a line like “I’m itchy and particular with my time”? You cannot. The band utilizes group vocals but they’re uneven, the guitars reek of grunge, and the lyrics are biting and delivered in a taunting manner. The shambling "You Don’t Say Shit Right” gives a lesson on how to say “Nietzsche” properly, the masked melancholy resulting in the best garage rock ballad I’ve heard since the Whines’ “It’s Raining.” “Wrong Way Corrigan” is the only track I’m not super keen on, but the chorus of “I rode it like a dump truck/all the way to your house” is pretty catchy. Overall, a fantastic debut. Limited to 166 hand-numbered copies: unleash the beast.

M. Quake, Fall In Love With Yourself 7″ (Purely Physical)

Martina Quake put this 7″ out on Valentine’s Day this year, and it’s a pretty dope sentiment to drop on that holiday. I blindly threw this in an order from Low Company on the strength of the title alone, and I haven’t been disappointed. The A-side features snippets from an interview with Eartha Kitt, while gauzy, swirling synths play underneath her arguments against self-compromise in relationships. It’s a fine appetizer for the B-side “Dub,” those same woozy synth samples brought to the fore and getting drunk on themselves, the track transformed from instructive to indulgent, decadent. The beat never locks, both sides remaining off-kilter but lush. A mysterious and powerful little record, one I keep returning to as a sort of palette cleanser, or night cap. The 7″ is readily available in Europe from Boomkat and various other retailers; not sure if ordering from Forced Exposure will net you a copy, though.

The Native Cats, Two Creation Myths 7″ (Rough Skies)

It’s true that the Native Cats are my favorite modern band, so my bias is going to be evident, but their last two 7″ records on Rough Skies, Spiro Scratch and now Two Creation Myths, have been nothing short of brilliant. “Run With the Roses” is the best Native Cats song to date, and will almost definitely stand as the best song of the year. Chloe Escott is in fighting form, sneering and powerful, then vulnerable, then resplendent. The track is startling in its starkness, buoyed by Julian Teakle’s bass and peppered with some of Escott’s electronics, staring you down and refusing to flinch. Oof, what a dominating, masterful track; gives me chills every time. The flip is “Sanremo,” a lush ballad that the Native Cats excel at creating, akin to “C of O” and “Cowboy Builder” but bolstered by Escott’s self-assured vocal performance, theatrical without a whiff of the maudlin. Lulu’s recently reviewed the record, and I think they said it best:

“Few bands releases feel quite as consistently considered as those of The Native Cats. Never a second wasted, nor element unslaved over, their voice is one of the most unique, engaging, and resolute of the contemporary Australian underground.”

You’re gonna need Two Creation Myths. It’s limited to 300 copies - buy it, along with everything else available, from Rough Skies.

#Black Curse #Femme #Primo!#DJ Screw #Anhedonist #Spectral Voice #G2G #M. Quake #The Native Cats

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armsdealing · 5 years ago

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/ NUEVA RELIGIÓN.

there is always something left to love. when people ask, that is what they say. there’s always something left to love, and it’s because of that love that they do the things they do. what makes them kill. what makes them punish and desecrate the holy alongside the mundane. it is not hatred, not revulsion, not fear, but something else, much purer than all those things combined, what turns the gears of this barbarity: a conviction that cuts through diamond. a deeper knowledge about the world and the beings that live in it, than could be found anywhere else. a willingness, stripped of all pride, to use this knowledge crucially against transgressors, against liars, against evil itself -- without any kind of differentiation between men and gods.

***

nueva religión is a verse subservient to elements already established in the otherworld verse and the nulliverse. it’s basically an au of an au with strong magical realism and urban fantasy influences, as well as a background in mythopoeia and crime. theology and mythology are central themes of the verse, so talks about religion are bound to show up frequently. naturally, there will be general, verse-wise trigger and content warnings regarding: blasphemy, sacrilege, and violence. there will be mentions of unsavory topics in this post like gang violence/crime, abuse and drugs, so it is best to stop reading from this point onward if mere mentions of these topics trigger you. mental health comes first, always. of course, all specific disturbances will be tagged in a post by post basis.

continue if you wish to read more about this verse, and the characters involved in it.

FUNDAMENTALS.

as prev. mentioned, this is an au of an au. it centers around the well-known (as far as my blog is concerned, at least) reyes family and their efforts running a gang that also happens to have unorthodox religious beliefs. in this verse, the reyes never went to new york between 1970 and 1990. instead, they decided to settle completely in florida in a neighborhood of miami-dade county called carrion. there, they would gain a foothold by waging war on neighborhood gangs until they achieved complete control of carrion. now the area is the base of operations for everything they do.

the characterizations in this verse are drastically different due to: 1. the different setting 2. the different background 3. the different tone -- and while characters like marcelo still retain several core characteristics, it’s best to assume the characters will not behave in the exact same way as they do in their canon verses, and they will not respond the same. it might be jarring. it’s meant to be jarring, as this verse intends to explore a ‘what if’ type of scenario for the reyes family if they still decided to be active in the criminal world.

as it’s been hinted, the reyes have an alternative religion, complete with a central deity and minor gods. this religion is completely fictional, as are their ritual practices, and they are not meant to be similar to any real life religion or belief system.

the neighborhood of carrion is fictional too, and while certain historical elements might be taken directly from real life, i don’t mean to make accurate depictions of them (this especially concerns the cocaine boom of the 80s and colombia’s la violencia between the 40s and 50s). i also don’t plan to use any real life gangs/criminals in this verse, and i won’t acknowledge their existence.

the verse sways between urban fantasy and magical realism. while the magic is very much real, the extent of it will be unfamiliar to most people, and a lot of things will be deliberately vague. things in carrion work a particular way, people work a certain way, and it’s not the same for other parts of miami.

LOS DISCÍPULOS.

known by a variety of names (los dorados, los reales, la justicia, la realeza, or the kings of miami) los discipulos de la nueva religión is the gang the reyes run. consisting primarily of werecats and humans of magical predisposition, they’re infamous in miami for their extremely violent ways and their vicious grip on carrion.

though during the first decade they were focused on drug distribution (and were, for several years, in full control of the colombia-caribbean islands-usa cocaine pipeline), over time they have downsized their drug operation.

nowadays, the kings manage protection rackets for businesses outside of carrion, simultaneously protecting their home neighborhood from the influence of other gangs -- completely for free. they also perform armed robbery and theft outside of miami and hijack trucks.

perhaps the thing they are most known for, however, is their vigilantism. notably anti-cop, the kings have taken it upon themselves to impart justice in their neighborhood and surrounding areas. this effort, unlike the protection rackets, is completely free of cost. essentially, they will go after those they consider to have evaded justice: murderers, abusers, p*dophiles, and rapists. they will also make a point to go after corrupted authority figures in particular: police officers, priests, and the occasional politician. as a result, they have been linked to various assassinations, but nothing has ever been proven as of right now.

the kings also pump a lot of money into carrion and surrounding areas. their businesses include, but are not limited to: a tattoo parlor, a hair salon, a barbershop, and a bar. they also run a private shelter and organize many activities for the benefit of carrion’s citizens. because of this, they’re pretty beloved within their community and outside of it. the popular consensus seems to be that if you need help and ask the kings for it, you’re guaranteed to receive it.

EL CULTO / THE BELIEFS.

though the gang came to be around the 80s officially, el culto has been going on for much longer, evolving steadily into what it is today. originally started in colombia, it centers around one main figure: la Justicia, a goddess thought to be responsible for keeping balance in the universe by killing what needs to be killed and subsequently consuming it -- something for which she was given the title of Divine Devorer (or Divina Devoradora).

la justicia is the guiding figure of their lives, and believers kill for her (human sacrifices and offering dead bodies being quite common). she’s considered the agent of retribution, above all other gods and above all other things.

the worship maintains that all other gods might as well exist, but they too have to follow the laws of the universe, and if they break them, then they too will be consumed by la Justicia. in that way, the goddess acts as a check/balance for other pantheons. and they don’t necessarily have to like that (many, in fact, hate her) but there’s nothing they can do about it.

the culto is notably anti-catholic/anti-christian god, and in a certain way started as a direct response to the forced christianization of south america that happened during colonial times. missionaries were often killed around this time, and many churches were destroyed. because of this tightly knit history with catholicism, it’s not rare to see worshippers of La Justicia “appropiating” catholic imagery in blatant and mocking ways.

el culto’s other deities are La Muerte and La Locura, representing respectively the two other laws of the universe. if la Justicia is the agent of order, La Locura is the agent of disorder, and La Muerte (death) is the only certainty in the whole universe. despite their massive power, the are considered minor in the cult -- they’re seen as two natural influences that prefer not to directly involve themselves in the world, unlike La Justicia, which must be constantly pursued and taken care of.

CARRION, MIAMI.

bordered with allapattah to the west, wynwood to the east, and liberty city to the north, carrion is a neighborhood in miami with a large latino population that represents about 70% of its makeup. predominated by dominicans, puerto ricans and cubans as well as colombians and venezuelans, it’s primarily a low to working class neighborhood with a big textiles market. it’s also well known for it’s food distribution centers and mercados, which a wide variety of tropical fruits.

apart from all this, it happens to be the homebase of the kings, and where much of the action takes place. carrion has a reputation for being a strange neighborhood, where weird things often take place and “nobody notices”. despite being somewhat quiet, it boasts an alarmingly high number of unsolved disappearance cases, only rivalled by the number of unsolved murder cases. it was pretty active during the cocaine boon of the 80s and it’s rumored there’s 20 tons of cocaine hidden somewhere from those times in the neighborhood. as far fetched as that sounds, in 2016 someone found 100k worth of jewelry hidden inside their kitchen wall during a house renovation, so -- let’s just say nothing is out of the question when it comes to carrion.

CHARACTERS INVOLVED WITH THE VERSE.

MARCELO REYES

ALBA REYES

SAUL BAUTISTA

ELIÁN VALENCIANO

CAMILA VALENCIANO

JOAQUÍN

LEON ROMERO

#worldbuilding.#( nueva religión. )#* nueva religion.#vb.#get ready for many posts like this :V jk they'll take a while #this took a while #but it was fun!#i can't stop thinking about this verse

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stedes-black-bonnet · 6 years ago

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My Baby Does Me: Chapter 34

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Sorry this one is late! I’m only a trash human person.

Warnings: Swearing?

Abstract: Brian May asks, “If you knew the outcome of an argument before you had it, would you still have it?”

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

“You’ve ruined me.” Roger Taylor yelled, throwing his arms up in the air. This was pure Taylorean melodrama at its finest. He was wearing an odd combination of borrowed clothes he’d never pick out on his own, which made it worse; clothes were confidence for Roger, and this get up made him feel like...well, like a jock in a porno flick. The yellow sweatshirt of Freddie’s made him look like a lemon cake with light frosting at the top. Jim had fitted him in a pair of his white pants; saying he had plenty, and no one would notice if one pair went missing. He had then called him a dessert, which Rog thought was generous considering his swollen eyes from crying, his burning throat from vomiting all afternoon and evening, and his lack of glasses meaning he couldn’t see anything. He was a mess. A lemon cake mess. An upside down cake. His life had turned upside down, and now he had to right it, shift it back into place, and fix what he had destroyed through his own hubris. Roger Taylor was, if anything, a tragic hero; and, yes, you could quote him on that.

This was perhaps fitting, since tragic heroes typically couldn’t see, and he had made himself blind to everything raging and building in his heart. Even sans glasses, now that he could see, however, he had to admit he did look like a lemon cake, and he didn’t like it; Roger hated every second of not being in control. And his attack of Stendhal had rendered him quite hopeless and aimless; colors were slowly returning, he felt less anxious, less insane. This was due to the fact he had decided to commit and not ignore his feelings, something is rarely did; love made people afraid, especially if they thought they didn’t deserve it. The second he realized what he wanted to be doing the rest of his life--who he wanted to be with--he didn’t want to spend one more second not doing that. Once he made a choice, he went with it to the hilt. More hero imagery to stroke his ego, just how he liked it. So, his easy option was to borrow clothes and rush over to the one person he needed to see above all others. This choice was the only choice. “You’ve ruined me,” he repeated, stomping a purple-shoed foot on the floor to punctuate his feelings. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

“I am.” Lydia glared back at him. “I bloody well am. Do you think it is some cosmic treat having you come into my life and turn it upside down? You’ve ruined me too. Completely.” She turned away from him, in her slinky tea-length black dress and over large cut-off denim vest. Her black lipstick was mesmerizing and dramatic; Roger fell in love with her even more, every second was a rehearsal for falling, a practice in devotion. They were in her art studio, which, until recently, had been filled with started canvases covered in black paint. They had all been rough sketches, waiting to take form in her violent slashing monochromatic art. Now, they all looked entirely different. Plans changed. She had. “Orange” and “Purple” had happened to her. Roger had happened to her.

There was color there, in her art, now. And her in heart, too.

Now, they would always be color.

“Most people would be honored if I did, you know that? Begging for it. Beggin’ for me, mate.” He shot back looking at painting after painting. He was having a hard time maintaining his scowl; he knew the sudden eruption of color in her life had been because of him just as much as the lack of it for him had been because of her. Everything was her, now. What a pair they made.

Lydia looked back over her shoulder at him, and said, “Oh, I’m sure some people would be.” A strap of her dress slid slowly down her shoulder as if she had planned it; maybe she had. Her skin was glittery with rage, which made her all the more beautiful. Everything she wore was a battle plan, every shoe a declaration of war. Roger couldn’t take his eyes off the slit in her dress, running all the way up; her skin-colored tights had small red sequins sewed into them at random, enticing spots. When the strap on her dress fell, he was compelled to put it right and kiss her shoulder, her neck, but he stopped himself from giving in that easily; he was equal to her vim after all. He had techniques to break her, too. It was unfortunate he looked like a literal dessert, however. His power wasn’t his own. Lemon cake did nothing for him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His cerulean eyes narrowed.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Check your ego; not everyone wants to fuck you.”

“Hard disagree, Lydia.” Roger said, smiling sweetly. “Everyone wants to fuck me. All the time. It is all people think when they look at me. It was all you saw. When we met. Don’t pretend it wasn’t.”

She froze, and slowly turned around to face him properly. She put her hands on her hips, tapping a gold-pointed heel at him with every word. “What did you just say to me?” Every word was slow, every word was weighted. She licked her lips. Waiting.

“When you approached me in the bar, were you thinking anything else but ‘there’s that famous bloke, I wonder what he’s like in bed?’” He was sinking his blade into her. One inch at a time. Enjoying every damn second.

“I was thinking other thoughts, Roger...that’s not fair.” She said demurred. “And you know it.”

“Oh? Precisely what other queries were you thinking when you licked my hand?” Roger asked cockily, hands on his hips, smirk on his lips. “What?” He lifted a hand up to his ear, leaning in towards her. “Don’t have a clever retort for that? Everyone wants to fuck me; but, you’re the only one I want to fuck, Lydia.”

“I feel like that’s what you’re doing right now.” Lydia sighed exasperatedly. “Is this supposed to be romantic or something? Am I supposed to swoon after being insulted? Go wow! How lucky I am: he just said he loves me! After calling me a whore.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth…”

“Which words?”

It was now or never.

“I didn’t call you a whore.”

She waited for him to take the other part back, but he didn’t.

“As for loving you, those are words I want to pull from my lips every day for the rest of my life. You’ll get used to it.”

“Roger! Now isn’t the time for romance like that! We’re fighting!” She was getting close to being defeated and they both knew it. She was crumbling all her defenses in front of him. She couldn’t help it. But she could put on a good show of it, at least. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t entirely want to believe your sweeping romantic declaration.”

“Listen,” Roger said, “I could have anyone.”

“Well, rub it in, asshole! That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Lydia: I could have anyone. What does it mean that I’m here with you? Really think about it. You know the answer; you’re just as brilliant as I am.” He placed a hand over his heart. “In here.” He couldn’t believe such romantic words were coming out of his mouth, he really couldn’t. And yet here he was, trying to profess his love, and royally cocking it up. But he was trying, and that’s what mattered. It was all that mattered in the end. If he had to choose one thing to do right for the rest of his life, it would be this.

“If you could have anyone, and you’re here with me,” Lydia said, “it means I’m the one you want.”

“Yes.” He answered. “Unequivocally.”

“You’re the worst person I know.”

“I don’t expect that will change.” Roger said, slowly closing the distance between them, testing the waters.

“I won’t let you win. Just like that.” Lydia said, grasping at straws.

“I don’t expect you to, nor do I want you to.”

Lydia sighed, still not entirely convinced.

“Listen,” Roger said, risking it all. “I love you.”

“You’re insane!” Lydia back away from him a step, but only one. “Are you crazy or something? I swear to God, Roger, if you answer with any form of ‘crazy for you’ I will punch you.”

Roger smiled, and licked his lips; he had already been punched once that night, why not risk it again?

“I take it back!” Lydia shirked. “I know what that face means; you’d like it too much.”

“I love you.” He took a step towards her.

“You can’t.” Lydia said softly. “It’s been--what? Two days?”

“I love you. Two days? Two hours?” He took another step towards her. “Does it matter, really? We can date for months or years, and it would all equal the same exact thing, it would all circle back to the same realization: we’d look back and say we knew then, and ‘then’ would be the day we met. So why wait?”

She stopped.

“Why wait? When we know?” Roger took another step towards her. “I love you. Love me.”

Lydia was running out of alternatives.

“Wait! Y/N! Stop.” Deacy said, running after you up the first flight of stairs towards your apartment. This assent was very different from the last art deco climb the two of you shared together. This was equally as personal, but entirely less intimate, less touchy-feely, less sexy. It was just as urgent, equally as passionate, and definitely oddly alluring.

“I already know what you’re going to say; so save it.” You said, resting at the crest of the first landing, catching your breath. You wanted to get away from him and collect your thoughts. So many mixed emotions were rushing through your head and you needed time to sort through them. You had punched Roger Taylor, and found out the man you were falling in love with had had a wife, that she had died terribly, and that he hadn’t told you personally. He should have said it before your first kiss. He should have said something; there’s always time for something like that. You make the time for it. You’d rather have the hard truths upfront than years later. You’d always rather know the truth.

“There wasn’t exactly time to tell you.” Deacy said, reaching for your hand. For the first time, he had become predictable. Predicable in action and words, and you didn’t particularly care for it.

You pulled away. “I didn’t exactly like being told by Jim. By Jim. You should have been the one to tell me. You. Not him.”

“I should have told you, I would like to have told you.”

“It shouldn’t have been someone I had just met yesterday.”

“You just met me yesterday.” Deacy’s voice was cold, hard, and factual in its cruelty.

“You had your tongue down my throat, and your hands inside me yesterday; I think that moves up our level of knowing each other regardless of time, don’t you?” You fired back, venom in your voice, dripping down your hands.

“Fair point” He said. His voice was tired. He was tired; there was so much drama here suddenly, and before it had been simple, elegant, and effortless. He sighed. He wished he could have told you differently, that this moment wasn’t happening on a staircase in the middle of the night; something about the setting made it rushed and terrible like an afterthought. This wasn’t how he wanted to be having this conversation, nor the moment he wanted to be stuck in, and yet he relentlessly rocked back to it time and again, like a glutton for punishment, kicked upon the rocky beach by ruthless waves; everything always came back to Veronica.

You breathed deliberately, with cause, and said, voice barely above a whisper. “You had a wife.”

“Yes.” He said. “And she died.”

You looked at each other, then. There was a shrug in his gaze. As if you were recounting the death of someone less personal, someone you both had never met, but read about it in a newspaper, or history textbook. It wasn’t a vise upon his heart at this moment. It was simply a fact of his life and her’s. Veronica had lived and then she had died. These things happened every single day. And it had happened to them.

“The fact of her death will never change. It is immovable. Her death is a fact. It always will be. She died. I didn’t.” He was angry, you noticed. Maybe even resentful. There was a dire acceptance in his voice you had never heard before. “She died, but I didn’t.” His voice was gruff and his eyes were shining. “I’m not required to die too just because she did. I don’t have to mourn forever. She died. I didn’t.”

“She was the most important person in your life.”

“Yes. She was.” And he spoke this next truth for the first time, and felt it coarse through his body like a tonic. “But she isn’t anymore.”

His grey eyes met yours. You were two hands holding again. Something had shifted.

“When should I have told you?” He stood close to you, a stance of apology in his body language. He wanted this knowledge for future reference, you realized.

“Before you touched me with love on your hands and in your eyes.”

“I should have stopped myself and told you in the moment?” He asked.

“Yes. It would have stopped the action, I might have been shocked, or even concerned. But I wouldn’t have been angry, and you wouldn’t have been a liar; those two things are true now, however. And whereas I can forgive them, and you, I will always wonder what you’re keeping from me.”

“I never want to keep anything from you.”

“Then don’t; it’s that simple.” You sighed. “We’ve just met; not everything needs to be this urgent or melodramatic. We don’t need to rush into anything.”

“I’m not rushing; when you’ve had a partner die, it tends to put things into perspective.” Deacy took your hand. “Here’s the thing: I haven’t felt this way about someone in ages, and I want to explore what that means. It isn’t a promise of forever, or even of love, but of seeing what this is between us and what it can be.”

“I could agree to that…” you said lightly.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you beyond liking you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t; if you don’t lie about something so important again, you won’t. I’m not made of glass, Deacy. I can take what you have to say about your past without shattering.”

Freddie was guarded, looking at his husband behind a mask. He had, perhaps, made a huge mistake, and it was about to come back to haunt him fully and forcefully.

“You don’t understand.” Jim said. He was pacing. Jim always paced when he had something on his mind, something important to say. He was whipping up and down the aqua-colored living room like an athlete doing laps. His white pants and red shirt made him look like an Italian race car driver. “You always understand, but this you bloody well don’t.”

“I’m trying, darling.” Freddie watched Jim’s frantic pacing, wondering if he should intercept him, hold him, embrace him. Maybe best to let him get it out first, he reasoned. He straightened his yellow tank top to occupy his hands and his mind.

“It comes down to who I am. It is who I am. Freddie, listen to me; you stopped me from being who I am.” Jim’s words were frantic and kinetic; Freddie knew his husband needed to get the words out to move past them.

Freddie’s brow pulled together sharply. “Who you are is someone who’d beat up my best friend?”

“Peripherally, yes; what he said was irredeemable.”

“And he needed to be what? Taught a lesson?”

“Yes.”

“And by you?” It was a fight now. Not an act, not entirely foreplay, but just then it had slipped into an actual fight.

“If not me--who?” Jim asked loudly? “I didn’t see any of you all, who’ve known him forever--his best friends--do anything! None of you jumped up to stop him. That poor girl shouldn’t have had to defend Deacy. You all should have jumped at the chance to defend him. Literally shot up out of your seats.”

“And punched him?”

“You should have stopped him. Because it was the right thing to do. It was the moral thing. That would have been being a good friend.”

“We would have been good friends to beat Roger up?”

“You’re held up on the delivery when its the message that matters. You could have used your words. Anything. I wanted to act. I wanted to stop him. And you stopped me. You stopped me from categorically doing the right thing, Freddie.”

There was a silence in the room, interrupted only by the soft mewing and skidding around of the litter of cats romping around the room.

“I need to do the right thing, Fred.”

“It’s who you are, darling.” Freddie said.

“Yes.”

“I know that. I hear that. You’re the best person I know. Always striving to do what’s right in every situation. You are admirable. Gracious. Handsome. Uniquely right. You are ethical when most people want to shy and runaway. I treasure that about you.”

“Then why stop me?”

“Listen,”

“Don’t say ‘listen’ like that. Nothing good ever comes after that word.”

“Listen, darling…” Freddie smiled; he couldn’t help himself.

“How can I fight that?”

“You can’t.”

Jim stopped pacing, and sat in an armchair, waiting for Freddie to continue.

“You cannot just go around beating people up, especially Roger. Even if Roger deserves it. And we all know sometimes he does. I refuse to believe beating someone up is the right thing to do categorically, to use your word.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Jim said, stubbornly.

“You could have used your words.”

“It wasn’t enough. You saw him. He was manic.”

“Okay. How about this then: Queen is a public figure. I cannot have my husband, whom I love more than anything, going around beating up our drummer.”

“You cannot have it? Like you’re forbidding me from beating up Roger Taylor?” It was almost funny. And under any other circumstances, Jim and Freddie would have been laughing about it. “It sounds like an order. A command.”

“Think of it as more of a very strong suggestion. Roger has a bit of the madness in him, darling. He’d put you in jail just to spite you, even if he knew he deserved whatever you did to him.”

“You of all people could afford to bail me out of jail.”

“Yes, that’s not the point, dear.”

“Isn’t the point: don’t beat up Roger for my own safety? Because, newsflash, darling, I don’t care about my own safety.”

“Well, I do.”

“I thought the point was you stopping me from being who I am, and doing the right thing.”

“I don’t agree it was the right thing. There were other options before punching him out.”

“Yeah, options none of you took; easy for you to say then, Fred.”

“Back to this again?”

“We will circle back to it until it is solved, my love.” Jim said, smiling and spreading his arms out in a gesture that should have been welcoming but really meant bring it, bitch.

“I have another option.” Freddie sat on the elaborate teal-colored leather sofa. He crossed his legs. Raised a perfect eyebrow at his husband.

“I’m listening.”

“We skip to the part where we’re having rage/makeup sex?”

“Tempting…” Jim said, trying to focus on the matter at hand and not his sudden overwhelming desire for his husband. “This doesn’t mean you’re right.”

“No, of course not; if anyone is right here, it’s you.”

“You’re not just saying that to expedite things…?”

“Darling, you know I hate admitting when others are right. Especially when it means I’m not.”

“Right.” Jim licked his lips.

“Right.” Freddie tilted his head, and bit his lip.

“I have no idea how to make this album.” Brian pulled nervously at his hair.

“You’ll find a way.” Miami bought them another round.

“I can’t.”

“You must. Contracts are a bitch.” He clicked his glass with Brian’s.

“Yes, so are you.”

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

Tag List:

@phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love@partydulce @richiethotzierz @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben@smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty@deakysdiscos @yourealegendroger @marvellouspengwing @molethemollie @deakysgirl@arrowswithwifi @tardisgrump @mikey-sway

#john deacon x reader #Joe Mazzello #roger taylor #ben hardy #freddie mercury #rami malek #brian may #miami beach #jim hutton #bohemian rhapsody #queen x reader

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undeadwicchan · 6 years ago

Note

I would say it's less EF's mourning a character that never existed and more like Adam just wasn't... A character. He just was. He existed for no other reason than to be a tool for development. The White Fang plot was entirely shelved and given to Ghira, Kali and Ilia to resolve it off-screen in the V5 finale. You have to at least agree there is a discrepancy with how Adam was written in V2 and how he ended up being like.1/2

And also I don’t see people shitting on Ilia for ALSO being an adult of age during the Adam Trailer. I see people calling Adam a pedophile grooming a young and impressionable Blake, which he may have been doing, but we don’t know because again he just… Is. He has no backstory, no true motivation, no… Essence. Ilia is better but let’s not excuse her just because she’s a girl and female characters seem to get preferential treatment in the FNDM. She, too, was doing the same to young Blake. (2/2)

(Okay, so it took awhile to answer this ask because not only this anon wrote me two paragraphs for this one so I wanted my response to be longer than usual. But, I accidentally refreshed the page while answering this ask, so I lost a bit of motivation, and now I’m writing all of my responses to any asks on Google Docs from this point on.)

I will agree that there is a bit of discrepancy in his writing. Let me start with Volume 3’s Adam.

Volume 3 Adam was a mostly calm and collected high ranking member of the White Fang with the Vale branch under his leadership. He didn’t want any part in human affairs at all, especially if it’s going to concern the wellbeing of his fellow faunus brethren. While on the other hand, he was violent and hostile towards humans, showing a complete lack of compassion towards them. He didn’t seemingly show any care regarding Blake leaving either until he rencounters her while he’s at Beacon and harming other innocent people.

Now I’m clearly not defending Adam’s actions here as I most definitely have been calling him out on his abusive shit. However, I would like to analyze his little “I will destroy everything you love” promise towards Blake is not just out of him being petty, but going by how the White Fang runs things when there’s a traitor or someone that tries to leave the White Fang. A example on one of them being Tukson. Tukson was a former member of the White Fang and tried to go into hiding after leaving, but then ends up getting hunted down and killed for doing so. Sienna threatens Adam with execution for bringing in a human in their base of operations and considers it a act of betrayal towards the White Fang. It’s terrifyingly considered the NORM around their organization to do something like that. However, Adam went even further with Blake’s punishment for leaving the White Fang. Instead of outright killing her as per apparent code of conduct within the White Fang, he promises to kill everything she loves. So she can know how it feels to be truly alone and perhaps beg for death or/and forgiveness from him. It’s a incredibly cruel and abusive promise towards Blake and just shows how merciless, cold, and sadistic Adam can be towards even someone who he used to consider ‘dear’ to him. He wanted to see Blake suffer for her betrayal plain and simple. What a “lovely” guy he is.

Now THIS is where they messed up. Adam’s combat prowess and how powerful he is. He easily tosses aside Blake like her combat prowess was nothing compare to his own which makes sense considering he was her mentor, but the power gap between them was insanely huge to the point it felt like he was more of a near-end game boss. And, then came the part where he easily slices Yang’s arm off. He even casually cuts down a Grimm that went towards him. And the fact that CINDER didn’t even want to use force with Adam until she got at least half of the Fall Maiden’s powers says a lot about how strong he really is. Adam is a incredibly competent fighter this is supported furthermore during his own character short on just how easily Adam tosses aside his enemies like they’re nothing compared to him. In Volume 4, it was reported that any huntsmen or police force that tried to apprehend him has been met with brutal force by his hand meaning he’s clearly stronger than the average huntsmen. With this imagery and knowledge they added for him, CRWBY had to keep him an incredible threat towards our heroes right? Well…. Then comes Volume 5’s Adam.

There were indeed some considerable changes to Adam (and not just his clothes), as a character and as a fighter. First off without hardly any proper context on explaining his new behavior that came about. Adam went from what I described him as in Volume 3 to a incredibly hot-headed, conceited, with a lack of compassion for anyone but himself, and was willing to harm other faunus for his own selfish goals. Like Sienna Khan for example, whom he was willing to kill off with no remorse merely in order to have Salem no longer worry about Sienna’s compliance and Adam would become the new High Leader of the White Fang. Another thing is that Adam is way more mentally unhinged and incredibly willing to go to war with humanity alongside Salem if it’ll mean that humanity will serve the faunus as the end results. And the reasons why? There’s nothing to explain this change because all we can do is assume on what changed him, like I’m assuming that Salem and Adam actually had a talk at one point in Volume 4 that was never shown. Not only that, but he’s incredibly obsessed with Blake like as many said he’s acting like the “crazy and obsessive ex-boyfriend’. Had Adam not tried to send assassins at Ghira and Kali, I doubt Blake’s plan would work and Adam would have been able to destroy Haven as he had planned with Salem and the other members in her circle. Hell, in his own words to Blake back in Volume 3.

“I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love.”It was HIS OWN personal mission yet, he didn’t bother to travel down to Menagerie to do the job himself once he learns of Blake’s location? Volume 5 did have some questionable writing every now and then but, this. Yeah…I don’t even know…

Now this is the part where I’ve heard fans say “Adam was nerfed!” and I agree very much at this portion of Volume 5 (I’d argue while in Volume 6 that Adam wasn’t nerfed and was just blinded by so much rage, he became reckless). While I do so much love how Blake told off Adam, her abuser, and it was a strong point for Blake’s character in the series. This also hurts how much of a threat Adam is, especially considering from what we were told and and seen about how powerful he is as a fighter in Volumes 3 and 4. Volume 5’s ending was rushed quite a lot with so much getting resolved fairly quickly, I was honestly expecting Adam’s time as the High Leader of the White Fang to go on for so much more longer. I would like to point out is that, wouldn’t have Adam noticed something is wrong by now when Corsac or Fennec didn’t attempt to contact him for a whole month? But, that’s just me. The whole White Fang plot line was done after five volumes and it honestly didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would have and feel it should have at least concluded during the Atlas arc considering that’s where the most discrimination against the faunus is at.

Now onto Ilia. I don’t think she did any part in grooming Blake at all compared to Adam who was heavily implied for it considering she might have been roughly the same age as Blake, and even then she never really had any intentions to do so. Let me explain about their ages, using Adam. In the first scene of his character short. Look at Adam’s coat, you don’t see ANY patterns on it, not even his own emblem was on there! Let’s go to the next scene which is where it appears the other White Fang members are already wearing masks that were probably Adam’s little heist buddies back in Mantle. Not only does Adam have his markings on his mask, but his emblem and that dash of white are on his coat. Ghira was still the High Leader here, and then when we move onwards to the scene with Adam and Blake. Where there still aren’t any new additions to Adam’s coat, meaning their conversation in Forever Fall took place a long time ago because this was way before Adam was promoted to lead the Vale branch. Yet, if we look at Blake she doesn’t look younger at all. I personally, wouldn’t determine their age based on their character model when Adam hasn’t really shown to not age a day, and we can only tell just by how many patterns to his coat he added. It would really help if we knew the exact age for both Adam and Ilia.

“But, Barbara and Arryn said–” Look, I take VA comments on characters with a grain of salt to be honest. I’d feel more comfortable if I heard it from Miles or Kerry on how old Adam actually is. Especially considering the RWBY Wiki actually removed Adam’s age because of this.

Honestly, I don’t understand why there’s been hate or backlash on Ilia for supposedly ‘stealing’ Adam’s role? Am I the only Adam fan here that likes Ilia? Adam wasn’t going to be redeemable or have a redemption arc, he may have had a extremely traumatic and abusive past, but again that doesn’t excuse his actions towards others.

While it would be nice to learn more about Adam’s backstory and motivation, this is Ruby’s, Weiss’s, Blake’s, and Yang’s story where they are the main characters after all.

#RWBY #Adam Taurus #Asks #Anon #rwby spoilers

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fireeaglespirit · 6 years ago

Text

beyond-far-horizons

This is awesome and because *hangs head in shame* I dont play the games (i'm a noob with no money and my parents never let me have video games so I just like the story okay?) I have never seen this bit.

I ADORE multiverse/underworld stuff as you know or perhaps you don't as I don't know how far I got explaining Aeq and Midnight Palace but it is FULL of that stuff. I love the symbolism and it is very Jungian (I am the Priest of Jung okay, welcome to the New Testament of Jess!) But I need to sleep rn so we can get to it later.

Thank you for showing me because then I can reference it if I have time but I have so many other things going on right now and dunno I love fanfic and these stories but then I get down because I get virtually no response and I need that interaction to continue. It is my luck to always like dead fandoms with minor prequel characters I guess...still I do feel the fanfic has improved my writing and vice versa

I was thinking alot about hell and demons and what 'heaven' would be as I had a very detailed review on FF.net asking me all this questions, like why Sparda would long for the light if he is a demon and dunno, it always comes back to my pet theories of light and dark and the union of opposites. Sparda is so interesting because I feel he came to 'justice' on his own but probably also cemented by this mysterious priestess who he had to sacrifice. At least that is the way

the way I would go if I was developing the lore or a prequel game. It seems the most juicy option. Anyways this 'light' ties into my feelings about the transcendent, this higher power/reality urging all to grow and develop. I guess I would see demons as base and vicious aspects of reality and sources of wild and violent energy - very much as both Jung and early cultures saw them or primal gods or 'titans'.

It's also why I have a headcanon Sparda a)is fascinated by humans - they have the same struggles as him and b)he has a huge library on religions of the world, history, philosophy and science because he is still trying to discover the nature of reality just like Eva and this is what really brings them together. I wrote this line last night when Eva looks at all the books 'So you devour our souls metaphorically instead of physically now?'

I debated on making Sparda saintly, like he has already has his struggle and is now secure in himself but that isn't interesting to me plus you know our shared love of fighting with the feral nature to ultimately make the person better. Plus I kinda like the romantic angst that way like with MadaMito hehe

Okay I need to go to bed now.

Ok, prepare for huge contrived reply incoming...

First of all. What??

I hate when parents do this. I’m so sorry, I never knew about it... I really hate this.

Video games are just another media, I never understood why people would pick on that and forbid their child from having some fun. FFS.

If you want to play something some day I’ll always be there to help you installing, finding them, etc.. whatever you might need. Or even just finding anything related to games, etc.. I don’t play much these days as you know the multiple reasons but it was such an important part of my life I can barely imagine being cut out from this, even thought we always had old consoles this was very important.

About Sparda and the fic. I need to be sincere and say I’m taking so long to reply for two reasons. First because I LOVE the way you wrote Sparda but I was afraid of being too simplistic with my reply so I delved a lot on things...

But... tah-dah : I lost the huge reply I had wrote before. My note has 0 battery so its glued to the wall and it just turns off sometimes suddenly and I’m dumb and don’t save things so yeah. I kinda lost myself and got angry about that.

Anyway, I understand what you said here, especially your feelings about the fic, in many ways I can see how my fandom views reflect in the original world I’m making, and the inverse is contrary. There are many parallels. It really helps and fandom work is as worthy as original, imo, I’ve been thinking about this. Our obsession with prequels and obscure characters has a reason and that is exactly because we want to explore what is hidden behind the veil... exploring the possibilities.

Sometimes it comes to shipping speculation, and this too has a reason.

Thinking about your views on Sparda and Eva, I thought a lot on what it truly means to write or develop an obscure ship and why we are so interested in that (think about that, many of our common favorite characters from prequels, etc..)

I came to the conclusion that in Eva/Sparda just like in many of our other ships, has the common theme of the heroin facing her ‘dark reflection’, her ‘animus’ as Jung would say (OH BOY I’m entering that with you), and she, at first rejects it like she reflects her own darker aspects, her unconscious… its abhorrent for her so she seeks to destroy it as rapidly as possible as seen by Eva’s renewed determination after learning Sparda’s true nature in chapter 1. The animus represents her doubts and unconscious... However what we see in your story is much more interesting.

Most stories of this kind focus solely in the female aspect changing from her interactions with the male, who is already developed, but here we have Eva being able to re-awaken some viciousness in Sparda when it seems he has been quite restrained from quite some time (centuries) but also, something that is much more interesting.. it calls to his own determination and his own personal story and sacrifice, for some reason his ‘lust’ and brush with the dark side makes it all more important and more powerful than if he simply had been saintly at that point, like you said. It makes he revisit it all and ponder.

I love how you added lines of��‘temptation’ from Mundus, part of Sparda seeks to surrender to his ‘nature’ as its just so easy, like slip in a pair of old shoes... while the priestess memory, albeit silently, fights it and reminds him of his struggle and his ideals and ultimately her sacrifice which was also his own sacrifice (of his old ways). I think his darker side has been neglected and I think you will use this to develop Sparda into greater heights. Its great we get to see this in the actual story and he is not perfect, but he certainly is incredible.

Also, just as a side-note I loved how you described his hunger as mostly non-carnal as he glimpses her spirit and its light... when we see Sparda’s POV we get reminded every time of his non-human nature and his non-human perception of things which is clearly different. A demon’s prey is not flesh but spirit and this makes a lot of sense and a lot of potential.

To sum it up, you snatched the best of both worlds and is about to develop both characters under a relationship, as they have a lot to learn and gain from each other. I think this is the way your narrative is going, more or less.

These developments are unique aspects which I find extremely interesting and you are doing this in such a genial way and I can see already by the end of the latest chapter the strings of the themes I mentioned are pulled and ready to be followed.

So yeah, they’re in for a journey of development together. Neither of them starts the story as a ‘perfect’ entity either way... This was shown in a very nice way as you pointed out misconceptions regarding both sides involving the duo of protagonists.

“I was thinking alot about hell and demons and what 'heaven' would be as I had a very detailed review on FF.net asking me all this questions, like why Sparda would long for the light if he is a demon and dunno, it always comes back to my pet theories of light and dark and the union of opposites. Sparda is so interesting because I feel he came to 'justice' on his own but probably also cemented by this mysterious priestess who he had to sacrifice. At least that is the way I would go if I was developing the lore or a prequel game. It seems the most juicy option. Anyways this 'light' ties into my feelings about the transcendent, this higher power/reality urging all to grow and develop. I guess I would see demons as base and vicious aspects of reality and sources of wild and violent energy - very much as both Jung and early cultures saw them or primal gods or 'titans'.”

I abstained a bit from the conversation earlier as I feared my careless/godless (lmao) perception was too disturbing for you or anyone but I also pondered on concepts such as heaven and hell, salvation, damnation, etc.. when considering Sparda’s tale. I know DMC isn't Christianity but its imagery is somewhat based on Abrahamic religion/mythos so I’m bound to take in consideration some of my ideas regarding biblical mythology, as in...

When I started reading the bible so long ago it always puzzled me to imagine what exactly were angels/demons. I mean, are they even able to think in the same way as us?? Or are them more like ‘robots’, AI following orders (especially angels sometimes strikes me as that) and perhaps demons are those ‘robots’ that rebelled against their determined function, idk.

Something I wondered more than a decade ago was if demons in the bible are truly lost in every way so I started thinking within the dmc setting. I’m interested in that all and those things I mentioned. The interesting part is that I once asked that to my catechist if demons could be redeemed (lmao I was crazy, I know, but bored above all). She was at first very mad with me (she was always) but she reluctantly told me that demons had known god up close and felt his power so their sin in not following him is much bigger than a human’s, something of the sorts. So it sounded like they are also able to choose their way and I sort of apply this to dmc, lol. I’m weird, I know...

Are they capable or ‘worthy’ of forgiveness, because demons in dmc clearly have free will and thought like us, or at least similar to us. Some of them, like Sparda have clearly a lot of intellect, but like you said... others are very ‘primal’. Perhaps this is the key. The ‘evolved’ demon develops intellect and power... perhaps you are in the right track and it goes hand in hand? Does this make any sense?? The more powerful and developed they are, the more they develop ‘higher brain functions’ and star resembling a human more, idk because the lower demons in dmc are clearly more animal-like and primal while Sparda has a human-like shape and intellect.

I think I know where we are going and this looks like both angels and demons are actually a ‘reflection’ of human psyche. So, demons are the primal ancient aspects of the brain are somehow walking around hell just like that, while heaven and its inhabitants are mysterious. I really like the way you described hell and its inhabitants, it makes a lot of sense to imagine it as a part of human psyche embodied, in a way. I imagine Heaven as the exact inverse of Hell so it has its own creatures and they’re born from ‘order’ instead of chaos as stated above.

We have Bayonetta as a source of inspiration and I think its very valid to use that in order to understand Sparda. Heaven isn’t exactly good there, is it? In fact it appears like a very controlling environment.

Hell: Primal, violent, survival of the fittest anyone? Hell inhabitants embodied the most basic aspects of the brain, as you said.

Heaven: It might stem from higher planes of thinking and represent the more ‘sublime’ or ‘newer’ aspects of the evolving mammal brain.

It might make an easy choice for heaven but also such tight atmosphere is bound to become stagnant, it is no longer permitting flaws and strong emotions (thus angels look apathetic af in Bayonetta).

It might seem at first glance that heaven is good, hell is bad, however I think, if you delve into heaven you might realize the beings born there might be too ‘disembodied’ as they represent exactly those parts of human psyche which are the most sublime. Let me explain, I always felt like too much spirituality tends to make people leave behind the reality of things, it might make them lack empathy for living beings who have to commit difficult decisions on a living basis, basic survival, starvation, the struggle for life, etc..

Think about enlightenment and Bodhisattva, also the rituals of mortification which are legit scary and reminds me of this concept as only those who leave behind all that is ‘mortal’ and are detached to an extreme, can reach Nirvana. I know this has not much to do with Christianity but even in this religion we find analogous associations regarding detachment as divine and saintly. Its also harmful in a way, or am I reaching? While too much focus on the primal/carnal leads to obvious horrible things: vice and chaos; too much detachment leads to apathy.

I do think some level of detachment is necessary to reach happiness but too much of it makes people forget the reality of life and makes them not able to relate anymore to the ones around them, as the focus becomes solely spiritual it kind of deafens them to the ‘real world’ and ignore it.

This is all about reaching a balance as its is our favorite theme, too much light is bad, too much darkness is bad, etc.. or else the story would fall into itself as the reality of the three settings (heaven, hell, earth) would be rigid.

So here we have a darker aspect of heaven, imo, to balance things out.

Heaven is clearly ‘order’ and hell is ‘chaos’ so we might as well find a balance... our favorite theme as always. The fact that one being like Sparda, born amidst ultimate chaos would gaze upward in delight and desire something else doesn't surprise me. The fact is he could be bitter about it, you even gave away the line on your fic where Sparda mentions he has been denied ‘light’. I wonder what exactly that means and this is one of my favorite aspects of your Sparda is that he is aware of his condition and even thought he worked against it its still lingering to him.. like his own flickering appearance.

But he hasn’t made his way up to heaven, huh?

So its not a far reach to believe in it (that he desired ‘light’, whatever it is) but my personal belief is that too much ‘light’ is not good either and Sparda realized the beauty in flawed humanity, which sits right in the middle of light and darkness, order and chaos... that’s why he became enamored by the concept of humanity and all the struggle our own condition imposes upon us.

For me this is an archetypal theme.

Just food for thought.

The matter is... how? What exactly awakened him to justice?

This makes stuff much more interesting. This was a huge ramble, I know but I needed to develop this and see if it works,

So yeah, about a) I’m totally with you and I can see why Sparda would empathize with humans, as I talked earlier and I think my explanation on why Sparda would be fascinated by humans instead of ‘angels’ is made up above and I hope this doesn't sound too weird, just my line of thought.

As a demon, he’s born from a very ‘imperfect’ reality. He knows how shitty things can be... Now I really wonder how his life was before he ‘awakened to justice’ he must have witnessed some remarkably horrible things in his life..

Under the setting I mentioned, it would be I think its kinda easier for a demon to do this since angels would be too stuck up in their haven, idk so this is how Sparda, the unlikely hero is the first of these beings to take arms and defend humanity. Sparda is so special as he was the one to side with humans by his own decision and free will. What a guy!

I’m glad you didn't! This is probably a gradual process even thought they say he ‘awakened to justice’ which makes it seem like he suddenly just did so I believe he had brewing feelings from his life as a demon in hell...

He must have been such an unique individual to perceive truths his peers where not ready to learn and truly, an act of rebellion against the system itself coming from someone who is ‘supposed’ to do only harm is really something we want to see on screen and I’m so glad you didn't simplify it as being a single event in his life.

I’m really in love with this theme because it shows these beings are able to change their own destinies, even someone with such dark origins.

#beyond-far-horizons #dmc #sparda #eva

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sparda3g · 6 years ago

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Attack on Titan Chapter 109 Review

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There’s a reason why we have role models in our time. They can be inspiring and encouraging. They can help a person or people to gain a future. The only downside is it doesn’t always mean good. One can inspire them to do great things; however, it’s their decision to choose a path. This series has done stories about inspiration in the past; this time, we see the effect from the characters we followed since the beginning. This may be a chapter with more developments in story and conflicts, but it’s one that is necessary to understand the deep foundation of its long-term effect. Leader is a fitting title.

Gabi and Falco are brought to the girl’s orphan home. I believe it’s not the same home where we last saw Historia, but regardless, she doesn’t appear here at all. Instead, it’s a story of two Marley kids; one tries to fit in and the other can’t stand to live on a soil of the devil. This is quite the challenging chapter for those who can’t stand Gabi’s attitude, but it is necessary if the ending truly has its merits.

For the most part, she is still under influence of Paradis Island citizens as demons while Falco is more open to others. Once they got inside the girl’s home, he does the talking for both. If Gabi were to talk, it’s an early game over for them. Falco may not be strong, but he is wise to think carefully. He thought of a fake name for both and a fake backstory on the spot. The way he speaks appears like a bad actor. If so, I would love to see it animated.

The Braus Family welcomes them to the farm. As you can guess, they are nice people, helping others like they are family. It was all nice and charming with the mother patting Gabi’s head like a nice kid, until Gabi knocks her hand violently. It really got awkward at the dining table; almost like they are about to scream, “Evil!” Falco reacts quickly to ease the mood and eats his breakfast with glee. Seriously, I believe he’s pulling a bad acting skill. I really want to see it animated. So everything seems back to normal. For now.

We have a greedy lady, Kiyomi, and a strange fellow, Darius, having a chat. Basically, he greets her to the Paradis Island, the most dangerous island in the world. He actually said that, which is funny. She congratulate them for their victory at Marley. But the real important note is the invention of an aircraft run by iceburst stone. It’s designed for the flattening the world plan. The next battle is shaping up to be more devastating than I thought.

Speaking of devastating, there’s an uproar by the Headquarter. All the introduced characters from the Uprising Arc are presence here. This is like a tribute to the anime since it’s the current arc. While we’re at it, let’s also put Hange into the mix, because there’s nothing like a good old reunion. Sadly, it’s a reunion of trust slowly being tarnished.

Once again, I feel bad for her to appear disloyal to her people. With the anime recalling the moment, it’s actually sad to see this. That’s a good timing on Isayama’s part. Everyone feels like Hange has changed her way when they are told about Eren as captive and such. She can only tell them that her method is to save Eldians. It’s not the best answer but she is clearly stressed out. The one who leaked out the info is the new recruits. That includes Floch.

Usually, the new batch of characters tend to be the next runner-up to die. It could still be the case, but they are adding something else to the table, starting with Floch. He’s making it difficult for Hange since he’s more on the freedom fighter side that believes domination is the key. He wants to cause a protest to free Eren. This ensue a heated debate between him and Hange and it’s interesting.

It’s mainly because no one is really right, even if one path is already decided. One way or another, Paradis Island is in a tough position. Either die by starvation or die by fighting. I like how the one panel has them sitting in their chair silently, indicating either no one wins the debate or Floch has the lead because of the path they’re already in. He pleads once more to release Eren, which is his closing argument. Although Hange was again1st his idea, she thought he might be right. It was technically her fault to follow this plot, but she won’t let the damage go any further. Therefore, she sends them to solitary confinement.

This means she won the confrontation, right? She has, in a sense of disagreeing his proposal. However, Floch got the last laugh by not only be glad to go to jail, but doing so for the humans of the walls. That makes him look like the hero and at the same time, mocks her. The sad part is the reminder of a moment from Uprising Arc, where that guy in misery warned her that the role is played in turns. In other words, she’s playing the role now. She is slowly losing her cool, but she can’t let it go nor get some sleep. Damn, I missed her eccentric personality.

If you recall a new female recruit, she is Luise and yes, she is the one who Mikasa saved in the past. Good eyes, fans. Those two have a chat at the cell and this is where the chapter’s title becomes clear. Luise is a big fan of hers ever since that day. I can’t confirm if she loves her in a romantic sense, especially how she hoped she was in the same cell as hers, but regardless, she is obviously influenced. That all said there’s something not right.

While Luise is all about fighting to survive, her ways of handling it is questionable. She thinks if she breaks out the cell, she will be excused because she fights for honor. I know other manga excuse it like nothing, but let’s be real. It doesn’t matter because she still stand by her choice, no regret. It gets a bit personal when she mentions Mikasa’s reasoning to join Survey Corps and it annoys her. The sad part is it feels like Mikasa is responsible for Luise’s upbringing; for better or worse. It tops it off with Luise saluting; a familiar imagery from the past. That right there says it all about inspiration.

The one part that I’m still wondering the purpose is when Mikasa has a sudden flashback to when her life was changed forever. It strongly emphasized the brutality of the moment when Eren killed that invader, including the close-up shot of his expression covered in blood. It’s rather eerie with Eren casually saying not to worry in a disturbing view. I don’t know the meaning behind it or rather, what’s going to follow up this scene. It’d probably be addressed when she and Armin confront Eren.

The segment with Pixis and Yelena is more of segue to something interesting that is saved for next time. That said I did enjoy the build towards it with Yelena just chilling and Pixis jotting down all the evidences that interested him. It’s no secret that she would love to speak with the Great Eren. That is actually noteworthy because it plays a part in here.

Apparently, she was caught in an act where she requested to be placed under supervision and the one who was placed in that position was Floch. That already tells you everything. Because of him, he took her to a residential area that was pretty close to Eren’s residential area. That’s where they believe she and Eren made contact. That’s not hard to argue against. With Pixis got her attention, they’re going to have a long talk and it could be interesting. It could answer a lot; at least that’s what I’m hoping for.

I got to say, Isayama does have strange yet funny sense of humor, considering the dark nature. Case in point, the cleaning up the barn scene. Gabi and Falco are normally cleaning when suddenly the horse was channeling the fans and take a bite of her head. She then slips and falls hard; it must be fans’ pleasing moment. I laughed at that horse. Hell I think it’s laughing as well. Don’t forget the classic bucket on the head. I like how Falco keeps screaming her name for every blunder. It’s pretty funny really.

It’s also funny how they take her devil calling as a joke. She’s like, “This is the work of the devil!” Falco is like, “Uh no…It’s just the horse.” Thankfully, he’s thinking straight to keep it calm, making the best out of the situation. He convinces her to stay by noting that Marley and the world will eventually arrive to attack, though she thought he hated Zeke for the betrayal. The one worrisome to keep in mind is Falco did screw up for Marley by sending Eren’s letter. If she learns about it, God knows what will happen next.

We then have an unusual children drama segment involving with Gabi, of course, and the girl. Surprisingly, I was pretty intrigued. I must have missed it, but the girl’s name is Kaya. Anyway, it was all calming during the break, nice and easy, until Kaya mentions the tragic event four years ago. That was the trigger for Gabi. Because of the lessons that was shoved into Marley’s children’s mind, she acts like Paradis Island is filled with murderers that asked for sympathy. It is like, “Yeah, well, you did sin first, so why you’re acting like the victim.” The funny part is Kaya knew those two are from Marley and it took them a couple of words to realize what she just said. Isayama and his comedy.

What’s also hilarious is how this was an earth-shattering news to them, wondering how she knows, only the explanation boils down to, “Falco said it out loud.” Oops. So it was his fault. Who knew? Falco laughs it off but Gabi tries to attack with a pitchfork in front of others. This would have been the best time to expose them, but Kaya lies and say she only got upset due to their friendship. Amazing how Kaya comes off more mature out of this feud, though that’s not a surprise. The only question is why.

She takes them on a tour to a village where she used to live four years ago. She explains her grim experience with a titan, when she was with her mother with legs problem. If you haven’t guessed it by now, she’s in fact the same girl who Sasha saved back in anime season 2. The long-term payoff strikes again; bless this series. Also, good call once again, fans. The way she tells her story is disturbing, especially the part about her mother’s slow, painful death. I know we have seen it before, but it doesn’t make it any less scary. She then proceed to ask them a tough question that makes this segment necessary: what did her mom do to deserve it?

I believe, and hopefully I’m right, this moment is where Gabi put everything on the table and lash out from the bottom of her heart of her feelings. I said this because her attitude and mindset must change right here, right now. Instead of having her endlessly complain about the devil crap, she must put in her place and this is the time. Right from the very start, she already lost the argument when she mentioned something that happened a thousand years ago. So what?

Okay, it’s not the best choice of words, but the thing is a person should only look what’s now and later on. If there’s anything to recite a past, it’s your own, that’s it. Don’t let another’s journey carry you. Everything she spouts has nothing to do with Laya’s mother, let alone her. This is why Gabi’s mental state is so corrupted. The most effective part is when Laya begins to respond back and every time she does, Gabi slowly loses her stand. Her argument is nothing but a reach for the sake being the righteous one.

Laya has the same expression throughout the chapter until she loses it here because of Gabi’s unconvincing answer. Her stand is far more reasonable than Gabi because not only she lost her mother, but it happened not so long ago. She saw it herself and Gabi could only reference a history that who knows is even true. She’s clearly defeated; couldn’t even say anything more. Falco gives her the answer and it’s all because of the military. Simple as that. He apologizes because he has a heart. It’s not his fault but I can understand why.

After all that breakdown, Laya continues to cover them. That’s nice and mature of her, but why. It’s because of Sasha. It’s rather awkward that she mentioned about her in front of Gabi because well, you know. She explains the story of how she was saved and ultimately, changed her life. Gabi actually calmly ask why she’s helping them, which I think it’s a good sign for her character to calm down for once. Her reply hits the theme perfectly; she want to become a good person, like that girl. In other words, Sasha was her role model; her leader.

This seems to be a defining moment for them, so they can learn and grow up outside of Marley. It’s definitely challenging to withstand Gabi, but she’s a kid and manipulated to the core, so I won’t fault her that much. Now, if she remain very similar after this, I don’t know how much we have to endure. Still, if this is changing point, I’ll be glad that it happened here.

This was a pretty intriguing chapter. It continued to build up each aspects at Paradis Island, including the new weapon that I’ll bet it will happen when Marley attacks. The whole conflict within Survey Corps continued to be interesting, not knowing where this is going, including Eren. There were noteworthy tidbits such as Mikasa’s memory that could lead to interesting developments. The whole segment with Gabi and Falco can be rough for many, but if its payoff begins to surface in the next chapter, then it’s well worth the endurance. The theme was well addressed with how one generation can effect another, for better or worse. It’s why “Leader” is the chapter’s title. Life goes on.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #chapter 109 #review #spoilers

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genderanarchism-blog · 7 years ago

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Learning to love your dick: Overcoming genital dysphoria as a transgender woman

Living life as a queer trans woman, nothing is politicized and sensationalized more than my dick. I hear how having a dick makes you a man in every debate or joke; I see reveals of a penis on women framed as “horrific and disgusting” in dramas and horror films. I am assigned male at birth by the sole factor of having a dick. It should be no surprise that I deal with a vast amount of internalized transmisogyny and dysphoria surrounding my genitals as a product from all these violent ideas and depictions. I should not feel the shame society programs into me about my dick, and I should find pride in my transness. Not only as a survival technique but as radical self love and acceptance of who I am and my struggle as a trans woman.

I am going to dispel this masculine connotation associated with my dick and describe my experiences with dysphoria and how I imagine we can reframe our genitals as feminine.

How cissexism in media fills me with shame and dysphoria

In order to deconstruct the negative male connotations of my penis, it is important to explore how we are depicted in media. One of the worst depictions I have ever seen, was the ending of the 1983 slasher, Sleepaway Camp. If you have not seen this movie, the ending involves the protagonists seeing the killer, a boy who they previously thought was a girl, standing naked dropping a severed head. After panning across a dick between the killers legs, one of the protagonists says, “How can it be? God, she’s a boy.” A perceived woman with a penis is obviously more disturbing than watching your fellow campers severed head roll upon the ground!

After seeing this scene, I admit to having a flashback to it, the imagery, quote, and the inhuman groaning the transgender killer is making, when I was taking off my pants to shower. I had internalized the shock and horror of the main character in regards to my own body. I saw my dick as something horrific, something that made me a boy. This is how damaging this portrayal in media can be. It can be so strong that it leads trans women like myself to view their own bodies as terror inducing, something that is used to unsettle “normal” people. This trope involving the revealing of the penis, affects how I feel when revealing my own transness when dating. Due to such a strong colloquial connection between penis reveals and trans women, I feel like I am whipping a dick out everytime I tell a potential date I am transgender. Using the chick with a dick reveal is not the only way the media harms transwomen, the lack of any representation can be harmful as well.

Cisgender romances dominate the media to the point where the only trans representation is used for shock value, tragedy, or at the least a plot device. How am I supposed to feel about the sex I am able to have, with my own genitals, when all the sexuality and romance I see in movies and tv is based around women who have vaginas? Typical sex scenes in movies involve a man lifting a woman onto a counter or against a wall or tossing upon a bed and fucking them at angles only achievable with a vagina. As a woman with a boyfriend, how should I feel when he cannot just fuck me on a countertop, or slide between my legs when we fuck? If this is the only model I see, I am going to feel inadequate and unable to fulfill my role as a sexual woman. Seeing and hearing about vaginal sex as natural and normal way to have sex in media, leaves me feeling as an outsider or not a true woman for being unable to participate in these acts. Everytime I have to douche before bottoming in sex, I get to deal with this imagery internalized. The fact that I have a penis and therefore cannot have sex with my boyfriend the way I see cis people constantly have it.

Due to the dick reveal trope and lack of trans representation in media, it is assumed I would want to emulate women and hide my own transness. If I were to chop off my dick I could be a “real” woman, or atleast could avoid being “found out.” I could have sex like a “real” woman. These are the cissexist ideas pounded into my head and dominate the discourse surrounding my penis.

So are you cutting it off?

“Are you keeping it?” This was the question I receive by nearly everyone in my life, and in every variation, when I had first come out as a woman. If I were to reject my male identity, surely I would have to reject all aspects of it. Including, the most masculine and phallic of them all, my penis. Back when I used to dignify this absurd invasion of privacy, they were shocked when I would tell them I was keeping it.

First, I would frame this in a joking manner of, “Of course I wouldn’t cut my dick off dude.” But slowly as the hormones took hold of my body, I began to get genital dysphoria. I was unable to continue to have something exist on my body that was masculine. I had two choices left to me: Cut the damn thing off, or reframe it in my mind as feminine.

Reframing our dicks as feminine rather than masculine

The penis does not have to be the pivotal symbol of masculinity. As a woman; my hands are a woman’s, my legs are a woman’s, my breasts are a woman’s. So why can’t my penis follow this same line of thought? I am a woman, so all my parts are that of a woman. Its very appearance and functionality has been altered by hormones just as much as the rest of me. Although hormones are not necessary for the penis to be feminine, mine was still medically transitioning along with me.

Now thinking of this conceptually is all well and good, but does not tame the raging demon that is dysphoria. I could be told all parts of me were a woman's, but I would still see the man in various features, especially the one feature that was considered most male. So this simple thought change was not enough.

To break the language connection, when I still associated just the word dick with my maleness, I could rename her. Girldick, enlarged clit, or even jokingly, my prolapsed vagina. These were all terms I would use half jokingly, half seriously, to start to break that toxic language connection, so I could create a space where I could break the other connections. Just from this label change, I was able to start to see my dick as something other than just a man's. I began to be able to explore multiple ways of using it, functionally and sexually.

Sex and Pissing

My girldick was always used sitting when I had to piss. This was out of what I thought would respect women’s spaces at the time, and for my own dysphoria. I found once I was able to start re-framing one aspect of my dick, its labeling, I could re-examine how I see other actions. In my own home, or even drunk outside, I began being able to piss standing out of convenience and without dysphoria. This became not a man’s actions, but just a fancy way I could pee as a girl. I began to joke about this being an advantage over cis women; as a way of punching up at TERFs (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists.) Now, my dick was not just a negative aspect, but also had some advantages. The hardest thing to overcome, pun intended, was my dysphoria over using it sexually.

This genital dysphoria was something I wasn’t able to overcome completely alone. However, one part I was able to conquer alone was using it in other ways than conventional. I would use vibrating toys or hold it against my body to rub as a clit. These two methods were able to let me ignore the fact that I was using a penis, and instead focus on the pleasure I should feel as a woman. They also led to me using the term, “I’m wet,” rather than “I’m hard,” because hardness was irrelevant in these methods and hormones had made my penis secrete like a vagina does.

My partner was the changing force for my dysphoria with penetration. I was able to penetrate previously, but would always have to ignore portions of the act and/or disassociate slightly to get the job done. It took my partner having sex with me in way that validated my womanhood, celebrated my transness, and was able to work with my penis in ways dysphoria wouldn’t let me fully enjoy. They would be able to top me in modified positions that made me feel like I was taking rather then giving. I was the pentrater, but I was still in the positions I saw women in in cissexist media. Something I had always thought was unachievable for myself. This complete acceptance of my femininity, despite my penis, afforded me a safe place to explore my sexuality.

I began being able to take more dominant or conventionally masculine positions without receiving dysphoria. By my partner seeing me as fully myself, I could re-frame these sex acts, I previously perceived as male, in a feminine light. This was the final step in my full acceptance of my dick as feminine and loving that part of myself.

I could be seen as a woman, call my dick a clit, and fuck in ways that cissexists would consider male. I could take off my pants without the shame or disgust I was programmed to feel by the genital reveal trope. I could piss standing up, and penetrate a partner. Though, I still struggle with physical dysphoria and internalized transphobia, I am finally learning to love my dick.

by: Erith Margolis

#transgender #transfem #transfeminism #feminist #feminism #essay #rant #prose #girldick #transwoman #transgirl #transmisogyny #selflove #reflection #trans rights #lgbtq #lgbt #tranny

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transboygenius · 6 years ago

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SE4SON: Chapter 1

Can...

Our story begins with Retroville's monarch of all things cool, Nick Dean, shutting himself in his bedroom, with the door locked. He sat at his desk, writing on a piece of paper with light hovering over. Every word he wrote down was in cursive. He was trying to complete a romantic letter to an unknown kid he wants to confess his true feelings for, but that kid should never know who their secret admirer is. That kid already has a partner of their own, or at least he thinks so. Not only has Nick disguised his handwriting for an identity seal, but also the note never included any pronouns or references to the writer's gender. Why go through all that trouble? Because, young reader, that kid he's writing to is a boy. Not a girl, a boy. A boy that left the young man's heart throbbing. The boy, probably straight, would freak out if Nick introduced himself as another boy in the letter. It's best if Nick didn't give the boy any hints of the writer being male, but he doesn't have to give any hints that he's female either.

This boy; He was short, arrogant, serious, nerdy, somewhat of a prick, he's the fault of all the calamity he saves us from, but Nick couldn't help but still adore him. Said boy has gotten on his nerves occasionally, but he always forgave him in the end. He can't stay mad at someone he's deeply fond with. He was talented, brave, and spirited, something that aroused Nick. While others find him annoying, Nick finds him cute. Of course, nobody should know that, so he plays along with the crowd. They wouldn't mind Nick being attracted to a nerd, but they would since this nerd is a boy like him. Nick would treat him like any other kid would, but inside, he apologizes afterwards. In all truth, he sympathized with the boy, but he's not allowed to be opened about it. Everything this boy did impressed him, as well as inspired him too. Luckily, nobody has ever caught Nick with any signs of him having a crush on said boy, because they are unaware of the young man's talent. He's a pretty good damn actor, one of the best you might say. He hasn't gotten all those main leads in school plays just by sitting around. However, what they don't know is that Nick also acts offstage, in real life. He's afraid people are not ready to know the real him, especially who he's in love with. Not even his own mom could see through his acting performances.

Boy and boy don't belong together, everyone says. They can be brothers, or friends, but not lovers. The same implies for girl and girl. In fairytales, the prince will only get a happy ending with a princess. In television and movies, two boys and two girls aren't allowed to show affection towards each other, so either will only end up with their intended opposite-gender love interest. Nick has seen it all, and it makes him sick to the core. These hetero romances in fiction are always so boring, forced, and unrealistic. Who falls in love in the middle of a battlefield? Why are love-hate (or abusive) relationships considered cute? That character could've had a much more healthier relationship with their same-sex bud. When queer characters are featured in media, which can only be aimed towards older audiences, they are portrayed as villains, then killed off in the end. And when not playing the villains' role, they are still killed off. All Nick asks for is positive representation of people like him, so he can actually love himself for once. Male and female romances are what people describe as "normal love." Meaning, you're only normal if you're heterosexual.

...anybody...

As for his feelings for said boy, he hasn't felt this way for another boy since preschool. During those early years, he had a crush on a boy, who loved to play dress-up and make macaroni art. Nick even drew a picture of them holding hands together. He didn't know anything about sexual orientation at that time, or what was considered right/wrong, he just believed in love. That afternoon, before Nick's mom came to pick him up, he walked up to that boy with a flower in hand. The boy freaked out and backed away in the corner, throwing building blocks towards him while saying Go away! Nick was just confused. Maybe he picked the wrong flower, he thought. When the children's parents finally arrived, the boy ran to his dad for comfort, and told him everything that happened today with a "scary boy."

This stirred up conflict between the boy's father, and his father, each one of them trying to put the blame on whose fault is it for Nick being into boys. When his emotional abusive father returned, he set Nick down on a chair, and yelled at him for two whole hours, cursing while hitting him with degrading words that stung his brain like needles. His father then showed him some old newspaper articles on the ugly truth, with graphic imagery, about how society treats minorities like him. He even threatened to boil him alive if he ever catches him being lovey-dovey to another boy again. Not really, but he knew how to scare his son straight. Daniel Dean didn't have any concern for Nick, he just didn't want to live under the same roof with a f*gget. After their man-to-man talk, Daniel restricted Nick of TV and his toys for two months. His mother was never angry, but she solely took his attraction in boys as a phase. He's currently 12 now, and he still hasn't grown out of this so-called phase.

Although Daniel walked out on his family a year later, part of him still remained with Nick. He's not here to hurt him, but that doesn't mean anyone else won't. He scared he might get shot in the head just for winking at a boy. Two male friends can't hug each other without being called sissies. If a boy takes interest in feminine things, such as glitter or Bonnie dolls, he is deemed a circus freak. No doubt, being openly gay in this society is dangerous. His kind is subjected to crude jokes and violence. Gay people are often visualized as explicit beings, and grown-ups fear children will start engaging into sexual activities if they're ever exposed to a same-sex pair kissing or holding hands. Most folks just find their way of love repulsive. Worse, Nick's a gay minor. Parents think they have the right to presume sexuality for their kids, looking upon homosexuality as for adults. He could grow up into a professional athlete, he could have muscles bigger than on any man alive, he could even take down a whole war by himself, but none of that will matter if he's gay. No amount of macho will save him from being dehumanized. Ever since he moved to first grade, he changed his image, took on a new personality, and lived as Retroville's new bad boy. He flirted with multiple girls, and kissed them on the cheeks. This was not who he really was, but people liked him that way. He has been living his entire life behind a mask. It can be tiresome pretending to be someone you're not, but it's what he does to protect his identity, even from who he loved. Nick Dean is the most popular kid in school, and if his true self ever came out, his social life would plummet.

As he reached fourth grade, he stopped all the kissing and flirting, for his own relief. Successfully convincing everybody he's straight, there's no need to try no more. However, he still lets his groupies get all over him. He doesn't have to persuade girls anymore, because now he can ignore them if he wants. Those poor empty headed broads; always fawning over him and trying to touch him. The other day, one of them stole his shorts from his gym bag. Sometimes, they will even fight each other for his love. Friendships were even ruined over sheer jealousy, just for talking to Nick. They'll take anything from the most gorgeous boy in town, whether he wears it or it came out of his mouth. While Nick respects them, and appreciates the fandom they built around him, he'd love them more if they all just leave him alone. He doesn't want any of those girls, nor do those girls have any chance of winning his heart. The only girl in his life is Betty, and she's his best friend.

...find me...

His eyes only set on one person, and that's the said boy. However, like the girls on him, Nick isn't likely to win the love of this boy, cuz he's probably straight. The boy used to hate girls, but it was only a phase most little boys go through: The cootie-phase. Nick never had a cootie phase, he had been gay all his life. This boy hit on multiple girls. Some were older than him. Said boy was head over heels for Betty Quinlan, tried to sweep this rodeo chick off her feet, and is possibly romantically involved with that Cindy Vortex. How? They hated each other. All the boys hate Cindy. Yet, Nick watched them as they slowly grow closer to each other. Things are changing, and so are they. The way those two suddenly turn nervous for one another, speak sweetly, and almost kiss. He once caught them playing footsie under the table, when he dropped to pick up his pencil. Their relationship is a hot and cold mess, yet they still don't part. One day, they're at one another's throats. The next, they're back to sweethearts. Day one, she strangles him to a near death, but then day two, they are going out to lunch hand in hand as if nothing happened.

The pairing was distastefully dysfunctioned, but why doesn't the boy see it? One thing for sure. Him and Cindy are both smart. Nick gets C's and B's. She always participated with him during missions. Nick's the one to only watch the events happen before him, maybe because said boy never asked him to tag along. The boy had more potential with Cindy than any other girl. She's always there for him, not Nick, despite her bratty and violent behavior. Nick does absolutely nothing about this, however. How could he even compete with that? Cindy used to be infatuated with Nick, but she was probably using him to make said boy jealous. Good thing Nick sought no interest in her. He hated seeing Cindy and the boy together. The way they hold hands and flirt twisted his stomach in knots. He could be a better lover to that boy than Cindy, and give him whatever he wants, but Nick knows he had no right to interfere.

This was the life of said boy, and he should do whatever makes him happy. Those two are together because they love each other. Nick's love is merely unrequited. What's the use of trying to win over a boy who doesn't love him back, especially if he's possibly straight? It's better if Nick just stayed out of the way, as usual. People think Nick is strong as he is, but they don't know he's mentally weak. Everyday, he's walking down that sidewalk, with an expression all relaxed and a sly grin upon his face. He may look like he's fine, and he's done a great job fooling the others too, but as he reaches home, he locks himself in his room, then lets out the tears he's been holding back. This boy is always on his mind, and Nick can't help but think about him, even while skateboarding through town. That could explain his numerous leg breaking accidents. If he truly loves this said boy, then he should respect who this boy really loves, even if it leaves him unhappy and lonely.

Every night, he puts all his energy into writing a full page letter, under an anonymous name. He wants that boy to know how much he means to him. He can't tell that boy up front and in person. If he is straight, then there's a good chance he might be homophobic, too. No way he could afford to live another preschool trauma. Just because they can't be together, doesn't mean Nick can't share how he feels. The boy can love whoever he wants, and whoever he chooses to be with is up to him, but Nick fears he will never get this angst off his chest unless this boy hears out his treasured secret. Every word is written by heart, and taken out of his head. Writing these letters always left his face glowing crimson red. His heart raced a beat. Cindy may have won the battle, but that boy deserves to know there is somebody else out there who loves him more than any other girl alive.

"Hi. We've interacted plenty of times before. Not sure if we're friends, and not sure if we're acquaintances either. You probably have no idea who's writing this. Well, it's best for the both of us. You may be unaware of this, but you don't know how loved you are. All those disasters that happen from your little cyber toys, I know they weren't your fault. From what I see, you were only trying to prove something. Hey, little man, it's okay. You still have a long way to go. Try being positive about yourself, because you being positive brings a smile on my face. You are creative, talented, and much more stronger than I am. Not physically strong, but strong in the real way. You make me proud. People say you are arrogant and show-offy, but that doesn't bother me. I've met guys far worse than that. I have been within those crowds of your peers, laughing at you, taunting you, but to be honest, I did that only as a cover up. Nobody would ever let me live it down if they knew how I really felt. I don't think they'd let me sympathize with you either. It can hurt me, just as it hurts you. These boundaries are the reason why we're separate.

Listen, and listen good: I love you. There, I said it. I really needed to say something. No human being has ever made me feel this way in a long time. To me, you are worth more than anything valuable in the world, and no way I'd sell you. You play a much important part in my life than you think. I see you already have a significant other of your own. Cindy is her name, isn't it? Look, it says so on fate that we were never meant to be. I'm clearly not worthy enough for you, since I've mostly been absent in your presence. You're allowed to be with anyone you wish, and I have no intention of convincing you out of it. I'm only writing this to you because I feel I won't get any satisfaction unless you hear me out. If you were my sweetheart, I'd give you anything you want, just to make you happy. I wouldn't lay a single finger on you without your consent first. If you're ever in need for comfort, or a shoulder to cry on, I'll be there when you need me. Want me to get lost forever? I can do that! Please, you don't have to consider my love. I hope you understand."

Nick looked down on the letter. He seems to put more effort into creativity than his actual schoolwork/homework. The letter isn't quite finished yet. All he needs to do now is seal it into an envelope, ask for a hall pass during class, and slip it into the boy's locker without getting caught. It's time to set the record straight. He loves that boy, and damn right, he's gonna tell him he loves him before Vortex does.

“GOD DAMMIT!”

Rage broke out for no reason. He took the letter and tore it to shreds. He never tears the envelope though, with said boy's name written on it. It happens every night after completing a note. Based on his opinion, none of them come out right the way he wants them to sound. He's been doing this for a year and two months already. He might as well give up. Laying his chin down on his desk, he picked up a small picture frame besides his lamp, looking eye to eye contact with it. It was a picture of the boy he loved. Why does he bother to continue looking at it when all it brings him is pain? He can't keep wasting his time and energy on a boy he knows he can never have. He can live with being gay. It's the perception of falling in love he never asked for.

...somebody to love!

#Jimmy Neutron #Boy Genius #Nick Dean #Cindy Vortex #Libby Folfax #Carl Wheezer #Sheen Estevez #romance #fanfic #Season 4 #Nickelodeon #TVverse #TVEE

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ncfan-1 · 6 years ago

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ncfan listens to The Magnus Archives: S1 EP011 (’Dreamer) & EP012 (‘First Aid’)

In which I have a lot of questions, and I feel like I’m not the only one.

No spoilers, please!

EP 011: ‘Dreamer’

- The imagery of this organism like a strangling vine choking the city is nice and visceral and creepy.

- So we’ve established that there’s a limit to what sort of cases the Institute will take on. It’s nice to establish this. I do wonder about stuff like that in series like this, because if the Institute treated seriously every fever dream they were told about, they’d never get any work done.

- “I know how that sounds.” Yeah, if someone said that to me, the first thing I’d assume is, uh, very different from what you’re telling us, Antonio Blake.

- Wait, Antonio’s ex is named Graham? I… I compared the statement dates of this one and ‘Across the Street’, and I think this is in the right timeframe to be right around the time Graham from that episode was replaced by not-Graham. Obviously, if this is referring to a different Graham (and yeah, I know I said not to rely on coincidences, but I think the same given name isn’t as much of a link as the same surname would be, unless the surname was, like Smith or Jones or Patel) I’m following the wrong thread, but if it is the same Graham, then wow, there’s some nasty subtext to that breakup.

Of course, I’m not sure this is the same Graham we’re talking about. Graham Folger had such a pervasive air of isolation around him that it stretches my suspension of disbelief a little to believe he had a boyfriend. But I suppose it would explain why he was often out of his flat, and it’s not like having a boyfriend would have helped him much when he was at home. Alone.

- I winced when Antonio detailed how he didn’t wake up from the dream when he fell from the roof of Canary Wharf, and didn’t wake up when he experienced the phantom pain of the landing. I’m terrified of heights, and the mere act of dream-falling would have been enough to wake me—and indeed, I think it would have been for most people, if they’re having normal dreams. But this isn’t a normal dream.

- I wonder if Antonio’s fear of taking the elevator up to the twenty-third floor is supposed to be indicative of a premonition involving an elevator malfunction.

- So the death of the head archivist at the Magnus Institute triggers some catastrophic change in supernatural activity in London? Or was there some drastic change, and the Institute—and Gertrude—was at the epicenter of it?

- “And the bridge was knotted high with the flashing vines.” I checked, and a cursory search with a few different search phrases didn’t show me any statistics that indicate that a statistically large amount of people jump from London Bridge in suicide attempts each year. If this was taking place in San Francisco and we were talking about the Golden Gate Bridge, I’d have no doubt that that’s what the vines are about there, but here, I’m not as certain. It might be a combination of suicides and car crashes, or, if the vines have been accumulating for centuries, it could just be the accumulated deaths of centuries upon the structure.

- The Magnus Institute, as described… is not entirely dissimilar from my own workplace in appearance. My workplace being a combination of administrative offices and archive for a local heritage center. Where I work as an assistant archivist. …You might see why this disturbs me a bit.

- And now Jonathan suddenly has so many questions. As he should. I can understand his gut response being to assume that it was a prank, and can equally understand his being freaked out upon discovering that no, this was probably not a prank.

- So Jonathan doesn’t know exactly what happened to Gertrude, and didn’t even know she was dead when he got the job? His comment about asking if she was available to give him some job training, I think, confirms something I was wondering about—whether or not he had a great deal of experience as an archivist before this. He sounds fairly young when he’s reading the statements (and when he gives his assessment of them it almost sounds like he’s trying to make himself sound older than he really is) and his seeming inability to understand that it would be better to get the hard copies of the files in chronological order before trying to digitize or record them were making me wonder. Jonathan, buddy? I hate to say this, but unless you pull some archiving info out of your head to wow me, your assistants may be better at this than you are. Yes, even Martin. Possibly especially Martin, given that he seems to have been working with the Archive in some capacity since 2010.

- Yeah, Elias sounds sketchy.

- So Tim’s the only one of the assistants you trust not to pull a prank on you? I guess I’ll have to file Tim away as the serious one.

- “But if anyone comes in ranting about dreaming my death, then I very much want to hear about it.” I’m just trying to imagine Jonathan’s possible conversation with Elias after this. Especially considering how high-strung he seems to be.

Jonathan: Hey, I just read a statement about some guy predicting Gertrude Robinson’s death in a dream. Elias: Don’t worry about it. Jonathan: But the statement is dated to just before she died. Elias: Dude, it’s not your business. Jonathan: It’s not my— You didn’t even tell me how she died! She could have overdosed on heroin at my desk for all I know! What else aren’t you telling me? Elias: Don’t worry about it. You know it’s all head-in-the-sand management around here—or did you not figure that out when I dumped you in a disorganized Archive filled with thousands of incomplete case files that hadn’t been organized according to any system, with only three assistants and no other help, and without giving you the slightest warning about the way Gertrude was running the place? I mean, if that didn’t tip you off that I’ve got no interest in giving you guidance of any kind, then I really don’t think there’s any hope for you. Jonathan: *not-so-internal screaming*

Friendly reminder that this is the kind of assignment that can make people start fantasizing about killing their boss.

EP 012: ‘First Aid’

- Yeah, so I have a new favorite episode. Already. I know; I’m fickle.

- I can speak to emergency rooms never really being empty, no matter the time of night. I had to go into the emergency room at three in the morning, once, and it was in a small hospital in a rural area, and me and my parents still weren’t the only ones in the emergency room. It wasn’t full by any stretch of the imagination—again, small hospital in a rural area—but there were other people there. There was also an asshole doctor who didn’t want to take seriously the idea that I was in any real pain or medical danger, despite the fact that my lower lip had swollen to about five size its normal size and was starting to split open and leak pus.

- So we see the weirdness start to infect the hospital early with the too-quiet waiting room.

- It occurred to me that for the two men to have been burned everywhere on their body (the older truly everywhere, and the younger everywhere below his neck where there wasn’t a tattoo), they also had second-degree burns on their genitals. I flinch in sympathy, no matter what these two were getting up to that led to the burns.

- Oh, look, Jared Key’s back! I’m sure that won’t be important at all.

- I do wonder what happened that the burns stopped at his neck.

- And Jared has been tied to eye imagery again. My Tolkien roots are showing, but I am reminded a bit of the Lidless Eye, always watching.

- The bit about everyone in the hospital apart from the patients too ill to be moved disappearing (and later shown to all get up at the same time and file outside to parts and for reasons unknown) is pretty creepy. I do wonder how the patients who could get up and go outside fared, considering it was December in Britain, where it tends to snow at that time of year.

- “It sounded like… the growl of an animal, a rolling, angry sound, and I realized that the floor was shaking ever so slightly.” What was going on with the vending machine could potentially account for this, but I also like the idea of the slowly creeping horror, invisibly stalking the halls of the hospital.

- “And then I saw it. […] But I now saw that the one on the left, a clear-fronted machine that stocked bottled soft drinks, was shaking violently. As I got nearer, I saw why. In every bottle, in every row of the machine, the drinks appeared to be violently boiling. Cokes and lemonades and fruit juices shook and bubble, before one by one, the bottles exploded, coating the inside of the clear plastic front with liquid that still kept steaming and hissing. It couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds for all of them to pop.”

One: great description. Two: I wonder what the people who restock the vending machines made of this.

- Jared is just as ambiguous a figure in this episode as he was in ‘Page Turner.’ His actions in the events of the episode itself are beneficial to the narrator—it’s possible that he saved both of their lives—but he’s clearly caught up in the affairs of things moving just beyond our ability to see them. Things that are not benevolent. He doesn’t come off as being malicious in personality, but he’s still caught up in a lot of shady shit. And we’ve seen him kill at least once, possibly at least twice if he killed his mother and didn’t just skin her after she voluntarily committed suicide.

- “Something told me if there was a coherent explanation for everything that had happened since the ambulance arrived, then I would be no better off for knowing it.” What, no, listen, Lesere, this is absolutely the time to be asking questions.

- “Better beholding than the lightless flame.” Something to file away, I guess.

- I hope we get more information about Jared later.

- Jared was released into the care of his mother? Wasn’t Mary already dead by this point? Let me check ‘Page Turner.’ *checks ‘Page Turner’* Okay, the events of the episode take place in December 2011, and Mary turned up dead in 2008. So what, is she not really dead? Is the ghost Jared summoned with ‘Key of Solomon’ able to move around outside of their old bookstore/house? Was that someone pretending to be Jared’s mother? Well, at least now I know what Jared meant when he said he’d had worse burns than the ones you get picking up a super-heated metal trashcan.

- And now Lesere feels like she’s being watched. Lady, if I was you, I’d be more concerned by that.

- Yeah, where did they all go? Because the patients who could walk went outside, too, and I feel like standing in your bare feet in the snow for fifteen minutes would be injurious.

- “The feed cuts out for less than a second, and is replaced for a single frame, by a close-up of a human eye staring back through the video feed.” Yeah, that’s… that’s not good. You don’t want these sorts of things to take notice of you.

#ncfan listens to The Magnus Archives

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maddermyth · 4 years ago

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RCIJ 2020

Prompt: Not looking for love.

A/N: Hi @joylee56, thank you for your prompt, it has been fun writing to you each week. I’m sorry for the delay, I grossly underestimated the extent of the story and overestimated my time management skills. I must admit this is my first time writing fanfiction and there was no beta (so right now I’m crossing my fingers to even get this posted correctly), but regardless of this I hope you like and enjoy it. Thanks for your patience and for the inspiration amidst these weird times.

Rating: T there’s some imagery some would consider violent but nothing really significant.

------

Unholy Requests

Night

There was a dead body on the floor.

A man, his body in an obviously uncomfortable position, laid on a carpet that had seen better days. By all accounts tall and big, in a bodybuilding kind of way. Belle would bet that to most he must have looked attractive: blue eyes, dark hair, expensive if questionable taste in clothes.

And she had killed him.

If asked how a woman of 5”5 (including heels, and they were quite high) had killed such a man, she wouldn’t know how to answer. To be honest, Belle couldn't remember how it had happened, she just knew it had been her. Guilt more than shock had frozen her at the sight the first time, but after a month of seeing variations of the same tableau everytime she closed her eyes, she was frustrated at the lack imagination of her dreams, or was it her brain’s stubbornness? Luckily it appears there’s no blood in the scene this time. She didn’t recognise the cabin where this always took place, and had never the opportunity to explore it since that first dream, but she was grateful this particular dream didn’t involved cleaning it as well. It had happen once.

“What now, dearie?”

Since the dreams started there were three people in them: herself, the dead body and for a reason she hadn’t figured out, the town’s landlord. Admittedly she had recently moved to Storybrooke and apart from the introductory batch of gossip that welcomed her, and taught her who was who in the small town, there were an alarming number of warnings against the infamous man. That he was a loan shark (not unfeasible since apparently many owed him money), soulless (had a no extension policy on rent, and was to anyone’s opinion a yerk for following it, the rumour about trying to evict the convent was always the main piece of evidence), possibly in the mob (inspired by his choice of clothes and frankly that sounded ridiculous, she quite admired his sense of fashion). However, the man himself seem to feed the rumour mill. From the way he dressed, to turning his pawnshop into his lair, dark and full of treasures people exchanged when desperately needing money. Owning more than half of the town, residential and commercial units, he still make rounds on foot, and on complicated situations he even had a man for muscle Mr Dove.

Belle thought it was some kind of apprehension born out of so many whispers that had made the man feature in the murder scene that repeatedly appeared in her dreams. But it didn’t fit, for all the town talked she couldn’t summon fear or nervousness the times she had cross words with the man. Admittedly, most of them were at the library with in either with family or doing some favour or other for them, it was hard to see the soulless aspect of his being then. As if her brain wanted to challenged her statement on dullness, as the dreams continued the same, the man himself started to transform. The only trace of imagination in her dreams had turned the man into a reptilian humanoid, even his clothes had changed, dressed now in leather and high boots. His eyes darker and larger than any human, scales in his skin sometimes reflection in greenish or golden hues depending on the light, and talons. It could be a shocking image and certainly she could imagine his renters running from him in that look, but the changes had happen so gradually that Belle could only wonder were the inspiration for it had come from.

With a weary sigh, because it was always the same: he would ask a mere formality and to encourage her to move, she wouldn’t wake up until the body was disposed, and the cabin would supply whatever they needed to get the job done, in some manner or other, it didn’t have to be neat and the golden skinned landlord always helped, but all the same, it wasn’t restful. She would wake up the following day tired, with aching arms and back… eyeing the pair of shovels laid behind the door she said, “We could try bury him in the garden this time.”

Morning

It was a mistake. He had been making many of those recently, but this one was a simple one to avoid and yet here he was. For weeks now Neal and Emma had had a rough time balancing work and a small child, so he had offered to take his grandson for a weekend and given them the keys to the cabin in the woods. The boy had a sweet tooth and it was Sunday, a trip to Granny’s had seemed like the perfect idea.

Since his son and now wife moved to town, the image of the impassive Mr.Gold, owner of most property in town, nemesis of the town mayor, loan shark and heartless landlord had taken a mortal wound, especially since four months after that his grandson Henry had been born. But years of people fearing him were working in his favour, even when he had his grandson by his side people still gave him a wide breadth. Today though, Miss Lucas had greeted him with a smirk on her face and a knowing look that had hunted him since he crossed the door. “Unusually early for a Sunday, Gold.”

“If you don’t want customers this early you should reconsider opening hours.” He said with as much indifference as he could, strangely it took him some effort. “And miss my favourite customer? No.” There was that look again. “She is one of the few that rises with the sun regardless of the day, but of course you know that.” Oh. That's what this is about. Since Regina had the magnificent idea that the library was to reopen, he had opposed her. It took no more than the right thing said here and there before any council meeting. She knew of the intricate maze of mines that ran under the town, and knew that it was the safest place to keep his, and even some of hers, more unusual experiments. It’s secrecy and its contents one way or another benefited someone in town. That’s why they had agree to sealed the mines in the first place, with only one access point located in the town clock building, inside the library. However, a Belle French had arrived four months ago in the ship of Mrs. Finn. He didn’t pay attention to her, apparently she was a tourist, as rare the sight was in Storybrooke. But Regina had. And at some point Miss French decided to stay and become the librarian. He had try to put a stop on that but it was to late. He had made the mistake of making everyone aware of how much he loaded the idea. And then, he had meet the young woman, chatted with her whenever his found a solid excuse to into the library. The fight to close the building had since then remained restricted to paperwork. And that was unusual for him. And apparently, someone like the wolf-girl had decided to mock him for it. He must have let his face react because her smile only grew. “The usual? And extra blueberry pancakes for little Henry, after all he’s such an excellent wingman.”

Either it was the implication that he was using his grandson somehow or that even though he enjoyed his time with Henry like nothing else, his reason to be there in the heart of town instead of his home spoiling his grandson was so easy to see, the comment rattled him more than he was ready to admit. And even though he was at the edge of leaving, he reminded himself everytime the over entitled waitress looked at him with the same smirk in her face, that he couldn’t let her win. It was still too early, they could avoid her (yes, it was now a team effort with Henry) and the wolf-girl would be set to right, or she still could come into the dinner and make the mortifying comment worthy.

Five minutes after their order arrived, and with his attention on trying to keep Henry from turning his breakfast into a Pollock piece, his cell phone rang. “Gold.”

“Hi pops!” a little too cheerful voice greeted. “Neal? Is everything alright?”

“Well... a couple of your friends had no idea of our ‘weekend far from the world’ plan and broke into the cabin.” Neal answered with a patient tone. “Something about needing a place to do an experiment?” In the background the distinct noises of Jefferson moving around the kitchenette could be heard. “Emma is trying to keep Jeff from settling in as he now thinks we need breakfast.”

“Just send them to the store. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Meddling fools. After hearing a door close in the other side of the call, his son said “They wanted me to call you, you know?” A sight left him, after noticing the call had distracted him from paying attention to Henry’s anctics.“Their great talent is to pretend to be idiots, I bet they wanted to get through to me in the most effective way. Sorry son.”

“It’s ok, dad. Just keep them busy and happy until tomorrow? Probably give them their own lab, one of those storage units at the edge of the docks, huh? Where they can play and have fun.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Too close to the surface and to drunk sailors, that particular idea was discarded some time ago. “I’ll keep them away. You just send them out and enjoy your day”.

After hanging up and turning his full attention back to the toddler, Gold was glad of his foresight of having a change of clothes for both himself and the boy in the back of the store. “You’re going to help me with those two, right?”

---

“Bluebell!”

Hurrying down main street Belle stopped at the unusual nickname, there was only one person that called her that. Looking at her watch, still not too late Ruby was still on her shift, she headed to the two figures currently shadowing the front of the pawnshop.

“Jefferson, Dr. Whale.” Bear hug from one, and hand shake from the other. “Glad to see you again. How was the trip?”

“Successful if hours exploring are counted.” Answered the young man with a smirk and a wide movement of his hands. “Alas, not so much if the treasure had to be found.”

“It was a waste of time.” While Jefferson had a flare for the dramatics, Whale drifted towards a general disposition of antiphaty. The later did a great job at not rolling his eyes constantly at whatever the first said. It was in itself an entertaining performance.

“That only means we’ll have to go away again and we took plenty of photos.” Said Jefferson with a boyish smile and already taking his phone out. “Want to see?”

“I would love to, but I’ve got to get to the dinner.” She had taken to drop on early Sundays at Granny’s to have breakfast with Ruby. She’ll get worried soon.

“Has my favourite librarian replaced me already?”

“Madder, she is the only one in about a decade.” Belle still could not believe the library had been left abandoned for so long, not that it had been in as good as state considering once she started preparing it for opening.

Jeff did roll his eyes at that, “Still my favourite.”

“Bet you already made friends in town.” the unusual small talk comment from Whale came with a look she couldn’t quite place.

“Since Ariel and you guys abandoned me as soon as we touched shore, I’ve had to look for alternatives.” Deep in her pocket her cell phone beeped. “Speaking of, if I don’t get to the dinner soon Ruby is going to think I’ve dropped dead or something. See you later. I’ll hold you on to it Jeff, to tell me all about this trip of yours.” “You have my word.” He swore with a hand over his heart and a seriousness to his expression, as she started to walk away. “Come for tea soon and I’ll tell you all about the places we visited.” He shouted after her.

Looking back with a smile at the comment, she fail to notice someone was exiting the dinner in time to stop, until a gentle hand held her at the upper arm. Startled, she turned her head back to come face to face with… well, literally the man in her dreams, and until the day before she hadn’t confide in anyone about that. His eyes though beautiful, were not the same, and was it weird that she missed in that moment those he sported at night?

“Oh, I'm so sorry Mr.gold.” Belle had to take a step back, noticing she had been staring. Avoiding the man’s eyes she noticed that he was carrying a very content and covered in food toddler. “Hello Henry, seems like you enjoyed breakfast today. Was Ruby in a good mood?”

“It seemed so.” The gruff tone of the answer had her looking back at the man’s face. No matter that the question was meant for the little boy, it seemed Ruby had been up to something. He seemed to realise then that it wasn’t a real question. “I- I mean like everyone else she looks tired but definitely entertained.” Was he blushing?

“It’s been nice to see you. I really have to leave you I’m already quite late but.. see you around.” She hadn’t meant for that to sound like a question. He nods, though. “Have a nice day Mr.Gold, Henry.”

“Good day, Miss French.”

The tiny bell on the door, signaled her arrival. Quickly catching Ruby’s eye, she came to sit at one of the booths at the back. The dinner had quickly become a welcome sight in her short time in town. By now she could identified all those early visitors, a town routine that was more comforting than dull, perfect for people watching, until Ruby took her break.

At the bar, Leroy seem to still be drunk and happy telling a story animatedly to his brothers, who in turn seem more worried than anything else. A glass unceremoniously put on the table got her attention back to her friend. “Where have you been?” And she looked a little anxious, but it had been right, she look dead on her feet. “I was getting worried something had happened?”

“Good morning to you to Rubes. Got distracted.” Ignoring her friend’s look she explain. “After yesterday’s fiasco I went back to the library, do a little work, clean the back... and guess what?”

“Come on, just spill.” Ruby sat forward in the table, crossing her arms. A determined glint in her eye. “What happened? Did Pongo came to apologise to you in place of its owner?”

Her appointment with Dr. Hopper the day before had been a disaster. She had come to town, both as a break from her home but also because of the reputation of the man. He was known to be an expert at unlocking the human mind. She had been unfair with him, he had been doing his best and she too for months now but nothing had changed. She had decided to stay longer in town, and took on the job of temporarily put the library up and running. Yet,frustration had reached a high point the previous day. After a car accident with her mother, that left her motherless and with no memory of the entire week before, she had gone to more doctors and try even more therapies to remember that tragic day, that was recommended. And though the week had come, that day and the accident had yet to. Dr. Hopper was her last option, and he was failing.

“That’s not- It was my fault too. Archie was just doing his job, but it definitely wasn’t a good day for either of us.” If she was being honest, the man had also been at edge for whatever reason. It had motivated her to confrontation, a desire to fight still burning inside even now. “There was no need for apology delivering dogs. However, I was restless so I got to tamper with the old elevator in the library, and it works! I mean, I only got it to open last night so I went this morning and found a control panel.”

“Isn’t it like too old and dangerous? The library has been abandoned for years now, you remember all the work it took to make it presentable” Oh, she remembered and felt it for days afterwards.

“I know. But that’s why I went back today, inside there are just basic controls to go up and down, everything else is on the outside. And the panel seems functional but it needs a key to work.”

“A job for more than one.” she said nodding, a small frown forming. “And the mayor didn’t gave it to you along the ones for the library?”

“No, it wasn’t either with the ones for the apartment or the library clock. You should come with me when your shift is over, you are great at finding stuff.” Noting the way Ruby was sitting she added, “After you’ve taken a nap. You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks. Yes, as much as I’d like to wake up Monday morning after trespassing into dangerous basements-”

“It isn’t that dangerous…”

“..I’d think you’ll have other plans for tonight. And in the meantime I get a proper rest.”

“What do you mean?

“There is an older gentleman waiting for you at the lounge, arrived late last night and lucky for him it was me and not granny’s turn on the B&B reception.” Slamming her hands to the table she started to get up. “Alright, take your iced tea and I’ll bring you your breakfast when it’s ready.” Since she was already waving her on, Belle got up from the booth and allowed herself to be guided to the hall between the dinner and the B&B. “Just move along, the man has been waiting long enough.”

The lounge was a small room with two sofas against the wall, facing towards an old looking TV on a small table. There was fruits and biscuits on the centre table. It was mostly empty but for a tall, large man sitting down in the corner of a sofa. He look small, hunched over his knees, but Belle would recognise him anywhere.

“Papa, what- how are you here?”

“Hello princess, not so happy to see your old man?” Looking up to her, she could see he had been having a hard time. He seemed paler, and older. His smile was honest but it didn’t reach far.

“Of course I’m happy, papa.” She said, coming into the lounge and hugging him, hard. After so long, and the nature of her parting, she hadn’t been aware of how much she missed him. Especially after the last couple of days, this was the best of visits. “Just surprised. I wasn’t expecting you here, least of all without notice. I almost imagined you coming back with Ariel in her sailing trip.”

“Oh, that would be dreadful.” Maurice French lost any trace of colour on his face at that. “I’m not a man for the sea.” Guiding him to sit down, he took one of her hands in his. “I should have told you before but the flight messed with my notion of time and then it seemed better to just see you.”

“Are you ok? You look beyond jet-lagged, tell me you had a break before driving up here.”

With a sigh he let go of her hand, taking a sip of his coffee. “I did, petal.” Her father was acting weird, she knew he was stalling whatever he wanted to say. His hands kept turning the cup. “Things have changed.”

“I know…” Losing her mother had affected both, to a scale none of them were prepared to deal with. He retired from the company handing it to Gaston, and went to live in the countryside. That had felt as he had abandoned her, but she admitted she did the same, even before accepting Ariel’s invitation to come to Maine. She had spend weeks, chasing doctors, therapist, new methods, whatever clue to settle her amnesia. She could wait for it to happen naturally, even though many a person told her to have patience. Dr. Hopper was the last name in that list of options, and while her father had changed county, she had changed continent. And she knew there were no bad feelings, both agreed they were trying hard, in their own way to cope.

“Not just that. I was called into the office a couple weeks ago.” Softly he continued. “And I was just so ready to retire.”

“I thought you left Gaston in charge”.

“I did. But my girl, the fate is against us!” The booming voice of her father, startled her. A voice that was either happy in family occasions, or annoyed at work now had the taste of defeat. He looked so tired. “I missed you so much but by now I’m just happy you left. Not that I helped to make the decision a nice one.” It hadn't in any case an easy conversation.

“Don’t worry, papa. I understand why you said what you said. It wasn’t nice but I knew where they were coming from.” I wanted to tell you the same when you moved again, first.

“I hurt you. I forced you into marriage twice and one of those was just to keep you by my side. The thought of you going away, to America nonetheless so soon after your mother left us… As always, you made the right choice.”

“What happened?”

“Another bloody accident. Gaston crashed, apparently fell asleep while driving. Went into a coma but right before I came here he died. As soon as the crash happened I got called into the office again, there’s no one else prepared enough to handle the company at the moment, it was meant for him.” He looked up into her eyes at that. “You first, and since you refused it, him. It took me a while to get a break and come to tell you about it in person. I know you didn’t have the best relationship especially at the end but…”

“No, we didn’t. Still, that’s awful. And it doesn’t make sense, he was a freak with rules. He wouldn’t drive in that condition. Is someone with him?”

“His personal assistant, the man was half in love with him. And of course the company is going to cover the ceremony and burial. I’ll be in charge of that.”

“Good.” That’s all she could say, she knew she had to ask but she really didn’t want to listen to the answer. It had become easier to say no to her father, but not only had she missed him a lot, but she knew how much like a son he had loved Gaston. “Do you want me to go?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, princess. It’s your choice.”

---

“Our new librarian almost crashes into the dark lord of Storybrooke. Are you alright Gold?” At least he waited until he nearer the store to speak. Jefferson was his most talented hunter, he could find almost anything that he requested and bring objects he hadn’t considered. It was his talent what kept him in the job, but there were times Gold wondered if he was too patient with him.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Gold answered, moving his cane to the hand holding Henry. And unlocking the store’s door with the other. “But since you seem to be in a good mood I take it you found what I requested.”

“No such luck.” Answered Viktor. For the last past year it was the same answer. It was annoying but he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly bothered by now. Gold had resign himself to look for alternatives, yet they will require some time. If they could just locate this text, it all could be over by next month. “There was a trace, someone else that’s been looking for it but we hit a dead end soon enough.”

“Almost literally.” Jefferson said, the little bell at the door marking the comment.

“So you failed and then claimed my attention by using my son, instead of just notifying me.” There was a small cot in the back room where he put Henry while going to find a change of clothes for the boy. “Don’t make me waste my time.”

“Actually, we want to try something different?” offered Viktor.

“We?” He knew what was coming, Dr. Whale and himself disagreed in method most of the time, moments like this led to a bet of sorts in which he currently hold the lead. Magic after all failed less than science.

“I want to try something different.” Oh, did he enjoyed the challenged in the eyes of the blond man.

“Do enlighten me.”

“It’s possible we’ve been looking not in the wrong place but for the wrong thing.”

“Our deal is very specific.” He said with enough ice in his voice to remind the doctor that that wasn’t an option, his back to the man and back to the task of changing his grandson. In the background he could hear Jefferson looking for the scotch. He had the good manner of host, that one.

“Yes, I’ll help Jefferson locate this method Morpheus’ child used to become mortal. And in compensation I can run some tests on you.” Another mistake for the list, thought Gold. “And so far we have assumed is in a text, you said it had to be read aloud to be enacted.” He paused, giving him time to interfere. He has been learning Jefferson’s dramatics, that could be useful sometime. Turning his attention from Henry to the man Gold raised an eyebrow in questioning. “What if it is coded in another way?” the man continued. “Information hidden somewhere not in a physical object. After all, for everything we have learned we still have no clue of what Morpheus’ child was capable of.”

“You have an idea of where to look.” His grandson had grown since he bought the clothes, giving up on the jacket, he tried the sweater.

“More like a first place to tackle. The brain.” Done with Henry he turned his attention to the men, in time for Jefferson to handle him a glass, giving the doctor another. Gold nodded his thanks. “Your type is notoriously antagonistic of science, if the child wanted to hid the formula to turn divinity into humans it probably is where you don’t want to look or only reached by something you’d never use.”

“Dr. Whale are you telling me our next option is to go around opening skulls in search of some brains that do the trick.” Catching Jefferson’s eye he continued. “I never thought I’d lived to meet a zombie.”

“Brain activity while sleeping, not an outlandish idea let me assure you. However, since in the 24 hours I’ve been back, I’ve had people lining up in the street coming at me to help them deal with their insomnia...”

“Welcome to my existence.”

“...I gather my best option, despite the atypical ancestry, are you.”

“As you have pointed out, I don’t particularly follow the same rules as you mortals. If there’s any information hidden in you, it most likely won’t be in me.”

“Do you dream?”

Usually, no. If he was honest with himself, he required less rest than most and when he decided to sleep it was a game of chance to dream something. However, the question gave him pause, because as of the last month he had been sleeping everyday and dreaming every time. It became an appointment, it felt now as its own small ritual. “Yes.”

“Then, what’s the harm in trying? It will be only one night. Although if you know of someone else that unlike the rest of the town can sleep for at least six hours undisturbed, we could try with them.” That’s not something he wanted the doctor to know.

“It’s hardly a request you can make out of thin air to anyone without having to explain something or other though, and those who would understand are affected by magic which by the same logic would affect the result.”

“Why do you think this would work?” Asked Jefferson, taking a seat on the main desk.

“The guy who was chasing after it, he got close and for unfortunate circumstances this type of monitoring took place. I just got lucky to take a peek at the results, unusual definitely not supporting of the diagnosis he was given.”

Give it to the man to be sneaky, any test was payment for his service, but he had promised it to Baelfire. Everything in order to fulfil his son’s only request. He had refused once upon a time, and resulted in decades of no contact. It was Emma and Henry existence that made his son sought him out. It was for them that Neal, as now he insisted to be called, had come back to ask for his help in ridding himself of his longevity, and subsequently the reason he was trying to give him another chance at being involved in his life as his father. And Gold could be honest, he didn’t want to do it, anymore than all those years ago. But Bae’s reasons made more sense now, and he had missed his son terribly. He promised, and if it meant giving into this man’s small victories he would play dumb. “When?”

“As soon as we get access to my lab.” There we go again. Their main lab, or at least the one where common projects was inaccessible at the moment. Since Regina had an unsuspected guard at the door. That left few options, either they involved the mayor and had access to the crypt, or they risked her knowing by going to the hospital, then there was Whale’s… “Your garage?”

“Oh, that place is dreadful.” complained Jefferson. He had to agree.

“Not that one!”

Whatever the doctor had going on in his home lab was a sore topic, everytime the man spoke about it there was emotion on his voice. Gold had made the point of finding out what it was, if only to know if any precautions were needed, or if he had to hide his link to Whale in case whatever he was doing attracted too much attention to all of them. The look Jefferson gave him, told him he wasn’t the only one wary of Whale’s displays of emotion. “The access through the mines hasn’t been possible, Dove estimates at least a month more of work.” Before he could be interrupted he added, “If we don't want to call attention of anything being done there.”

“We can’t wait that long.”

At that Jefferson jumped from the desk, turning his head to look at each in turned he did his best attempt at controlling the mischief when he said, “So… are we sneaking into the library?”

“If I may” said a voice from the courting that divided the back room from the customer area. Archie Hooper, only psychiatrist in to, seem to startle at the intensity with which the three men were looking at him. Clearing his throat he offered, “Your best chance of that, would be tonight.”

“Dr.Hopper.” greeted Whale.

“Jiminy!” said the other man with a little hop.

“Please, Jefferson. Don’t call me that.”

“What happens tonight?”

“Nothing special, I just heard in the dinner that a visitor has arrived and Miss French will be occupied as tourist guide. A better moment than most for you to get to the basement.” At one point Hopper was the man in charge of finding the objects he needed for his collection, a future deal, so satisfy Gold’s need of been the one to have them. He had been good even when his methods tended to be old school. After saving enough, he got into university and came to the town to set his own practice. Since then, cordial and ever offering his new abilities he rejected at every opportunity the possibility of coming back to this particular job. Like no one else in town he was aware of Jefferson’s real job, and Gold’s true nature. For whatever reason he never interfered.

“Huh? I didn't know you still worked with us.” said the young man.

“You worked for Gold?” there was mild surprise in Whale’s voice. If Jefferson was thrifty and technologically and magically savvy, what Archie had going for him was the readiness with which people underestimated him. He felt himself smile at that.

“I did and I’m not.” and unusually cold tone in the psychiatrist voice. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Mr Gold. If you have the time.”

“I guess I owe it to you in exchange of the dinner gossip.” The man was obviously taken with Miss Lucas. Had he been there this morning? “You two, meet me here again at eight tonight.”

Understanding the dismissal both men said their goodbyes, Jefferson’s accompanied by a wide arc of his arm and a bow, “Lock the door on your way out.”

Gold offered Hopper a seat and sat down on the cot, keeping a hand close to Henry. The boy seemed sleepy but it was better to be close. At least with the psychiatrist he could lower his stance a bit more than with his employees.“Be brief.”

“Do you realise he won’t work for you for much longer?” said the man with a nod to the door were the others had gone out. “His daughter will be born soon enough.”

“I know.” They had already talked about it, it wasn’t retirement, not completely but Jefferson had made it clear he wouldn’t accept any job that required he'd be away for long. One of the reasons he kept sending them, so they could find this spell either as a ‘text’ sooner rather than later. It had already taking a lot of effort and money to convince him to take the last two trips. “ Are you asking for the job? Is therapy not as profitable as you hoped?”

“No, just curious. Dr. Whale is not the type for the job.”

“Agreed. He is useful though. And a sore loser, and that’s always fun. Not of your concern, but Jones is willing enough. I know you have tried to talk to him about his many issues, but I warn you, don’t talk him out of the job.”

“On the contrary, opposite to Jefferson, he’ll be a better father for his daughter if he finally has a stable job. Which is the reason I’m here.”

“The Jones?” Well, that would be unusual.

“No, the issue of becoming a better father.” Ah, that. “Wait, hear me out.” The man seemed to collect himself, sitting straighter he continued, “Is this library heist and overall insomnia pandemic in town something to do with what we talked about Baelfire? Did you do something? Did you finally make a choice?”

“Do I have one?” There was no use in hiding the bite in the question. “I thought the whole point of what you said last time was that I didn’t have one but give him what he wants.”

“That’s not quite it. Is not about giving him what he wants, is about respecting his choices. And listening to him.”

“Even thought that means condemning him to mortality?” Rising his voice was a bad idea, specially with Henry this close. So he took a deep breath pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I thought he was mortal.”

“Shortening his lifespan then, if you want specifics.”

“You understand why he asked.”

“Yes, and that doesn’t make it easier.” He had just fed and changed the main reason. “As much as he doesn’t want to see the love of his life or his child die, he is asking me to do just that. I am immortal, I don’t have a choice.”

“He does.” said the doctor, not unkindly.

“Did you come here to repeat this conversation?”

“I wanted to know if all this mess is related to that conversation, and if the fact that it has lasted this long is because it is a hard task or you are purposely delaying it.” The man kept his posture rigid, drawing any bravery from it as he effectively berated him. It was … well, new. “If it is the second, I’m in the mind of arguing for the common well-being with you and ask you please to either stop it or finish it. And I know how suicidal it may seem to come and ask you this.”

At that, in any other company he would be right. “I’ll give it to you, therapy has given you the backbone that you so much lacked.” It was that comment that had the man hunching down over his legs “Why would you risk it?”

“I met someone more intimidating than you.”

There was a story behind that statement but the day had already proven itself to be a busy one; on any other day, one of the many in his boring existence he would have give it chase. If only to know this ‘someone’. “And if I told you is neither?”

“Strange phenomenon that affects a whole town? If it is not your doing, you must know what is causing it and how to fix it.”

“It’s not me.” It was the truth, but he could bet his entire fortune that nobody would believe him. The sceptical look that Hopper gave him told him not even the psychiatrist could, but that at least he would try to play along.

“Do you know how to fix it?”

“No idea. It doesn’t seem the work of a curse but it escapes my understanding why would this happen. All of it, including your newest patient.”

“I was hoping it was your fault, specially because of her. If you were messing with her to free the library and give you access again to the famous lab, I could do something. I could help her talking to you.They are not normal dreams, are they?”

“No.”

“And you are actually in them?”

“Yes.”

“Does she know you are real in there?”

“What does she tell you?” Without the fight in him, Hopper had gone back to be a therapist and the look on his face made him feel younger than the centuries on his back could permit. “No, she doesn’t. She says it out loud repeatedly.” “It bothers you.” “She also spends a lot of time complaining about you.”

“You have to tell her, please.” The man was concerned about her. Gold knew from her and her ramblings about Hopper and his methods on her dreams, that she was getting increasingly frustrated. Yet, she still hadn’t shared what she wanted Hopper to help her with. And the psychiatrist wasn’t going to share that, too lawful and professional. He was willing, though, to come all the way to him, berate him, question him, demand of him and now plead to him. It must be draining him too, beyond the sleeplessness. “Make her believe. That way whatever is happening can be fixed. Either the source of the problem it’s she or you, if she has anything to do with it, she won’t be able to do anything about it, if she things it isn’t real.”

“I remind you that I was your employer not the other way around. You can’t come in here and make demands.”

“I can. This is unbearable! Not only I have a permanent headache, every single one of my patients complain of the same over and over again. And it hurts them in different ways. I’ve tried but nothing I do helps. Do you know how frustrating that is? Full moon is coming and… The only ones who sleep are you and Belle, if this dreams are real-”

“They are. It’s another realm, in fact.”

“Another realm then, if you can get there. Please just finish this.” He didn’t care about the town at large, or humans in general. He found himself more often than not, in a situation similar to this, blamed for whatever weird event happened in town. Only on some occasion it was actually his doing. However, Whale had said Neal and Emma looked tired, he had thought it was for the little tyke they had to deal with in a new town, with new jobs, but if this affected them too, it at least had to be checked. He needed to know what was happening if nothing else. And perhaps, the painful direct route of asking the god itself for what he had been looking could end this search he found himself for months now. His son could leave when he got what he came for, but it was Gold who acted like that. His son was better and he deserved a normal life. Hopper was right, he just needed to finish it.

“ Are you certain the library will be empty tonight?”

“You will be able to get to the basement without interruptions, the three of you. I can make sure someone distracts the French for long enough.”

“Go home Hopper, it’ll help.”

Night

This time around had been faster, the soil in the garden was soft and there was no need to remove the grass, the shovels were comfortable in weight and Belle had secretly changed her shoes to trekking boots that made it easier to help her companion. He was unusually quiet tonight, not to say he was always chatty. Only once had he talked until she started to get annoyed, mostly because he profusely disagree with anything she said, just for the fun of arguing. But even though he tended to be mercurial, he could also be funny in a darker acid way, that had her laughing freely at jokes she know would draw looks in the real world. So far the theory was that he reflected her deeper feelings, and today just seemed to prove it. With the news her father had brought and the pending decision to go back to Australia, if just temporary, had put a weight on her shoulders. Sadly, what she needed was a distraction from all that, and her imp was in no mood to help.

“That’s becoming easier” she said, trying to get his attention. “Practice makes perfect.”

“I don’t think it is meant for murder, or body disposal. Gardening though...” The rectangle on the garden was obvious, but it wasn’t meant to be perfect just functional. At least the dream required only practicality to end.

Flattening the raising soil, she realised it was the first time she ever did that. “This is unusual.”

“What is?” Everything in this dream. Today. The way you are behaving!

“Everytime the body is out of sight the dream ends.”

“That’s when it ends for you?” His voice sounded deeper, more his real version than hers.

“Isn’t it the end for both of us? After all I’m dreaming you.”

“Right.” He said leaning heavily into his shovel, and he kept reminding her of the real man. It was a pose familiar to her, she was sure he only allowed himself to look that tired when he thought nobody was looking. Softly he added, “Wonder why me.”

It didn’t sound like a question, he didn’t ask for an answer to that. But she had the same question and hadn’t come to a satisfactory answer while pondering it awake, perhaps here she could answer it through him.“No idea.”

“Really? No theories of why it’s me here every night. Nothing to do with the tales of the beast of Storybrooke.”

“My job are tales among others, it would be impossible to believe wholeheartedly in all of them.”

“Ah, so why do you keep casting me as a murderer?”

“I do not.” If it was about casting, she had cast herself in the lead role. “You are here to help.”

“Oh, so I’m a henchman.” He said with a light in his eyes. “Right… that’s new. Have you met Dove?” The smile in his face was teasing. “He is my henchman and looks like it to.” He turned to look to the freshly made burial, and with a self deprecating tone he continued, “Don’t know how an old, crippled man can be much muscle power”.

“Your limp is not always present here. And, you do realise that for this pit you did most of the work? “

“After a month of this merciless fitness program something had to give. My grandson certainly thanks you.”

“As if, it’d be great if Henry benefited from this, regardless how dubious that makes his grandfather. But, nothing here changes what happens out there?” She knew if was not common to be as conscious as she was within her dreams, and she had taken proper advantage of it. Being able to summon objects and change clothes, and wishing quite adamantly that no animal she was afraid of appeared while in the nightly task, she had thought she could bring her mother here, talk to her one last time. But it never happened. She knew this was its own bubble, never to influence reality not even by giving her hope.

“What if he could?”

“I don’t think writing these dreams for or telling them to a toddler is appropriate. Murder and all included.” she joked only to see the intent look in the eyes of her accomplice. “Ok, let’s go along with it. Let’s say somehow you are Mr Gold, regardless of scaly shining skin, flickering limp, and reptilian eyes.” at that said eyes widen a bit, as if he hadn’t been aware of their appearance. “Oh yes, I’ve noticed. If whatever happens here affects day life. How did you get here?”

“I could always fall asleep in the sofa at my house but unless I want my ankle to kill me the following morning, I just go to bed.”

“Smartass.” He laughed at that. “It’s good to know you didn’t decided to infiltrate my dreams, I’d have to inquire after method and intention in that case.” The mere idea seemed like an invasion of privacy, but then, if this wasn’t her dream. Where were they? She hadn’t recognise the cabin they always appeared at, not the forest that surrounded it, or the lake half a mile out to the north. Looking around her she notice for the first time the beauty of it. Even in the dark of a crescent moon, the vibrant green colour of the leaves and bushes could be seen. “ When does your dream end?”

“At dawn, right at the point you expect the sun to appear in the horizon but not after. When the sky is changing colours some cold some warm all at war.”

“That’s… good.” Why did that sounded good? “It’s always night when I’m here. No light.” A chill ran up her back, noticing that the wind was picking up and they had stood long enough to lose the warm gained while digging. “Should we go back to the cabin? I don’t like to be so close it.” She said glancing towards the fresh grave. “I’ve never had to look at it for too long.”

He nodded, walking just a couple steps ahead enough to get the door first. “Do you believe in dreams?” he said, his hand still on the nob.

“What do you mean by believe?”

She could tell it took him a moment to decide what to say, but the moment he did it was clear, with a faint show of irritation he answered, “Anything other than explaining them as a chemical reaction produced by your brain.”

“Is Mr Gold not a pragmatic man?

“One more than the other.” He opened the door, moving to the side and with a tiny bow of his head. “Ladies first.”

“Before this month I used not to dream. Always wondered after what I read and heard about them, people tend to give them high significance. So, can't say I believe or not yet”

Belle stepped inside the cabin frowning at the darkness and heading to turn the lights on, even though she was certain neither of them turn them off when they headed out earlier. Since this was the first time she had the opportunity to explore she headed towards the farthest door opposite to the entrance. Her companion seemed unsure of what to do pacing slowly around the small living area. Letting him to his exploration she cross the door.

“Belle?" His voice sounded far away. "Miss French!" It was screamed and coming closer. Why was he so far away? There had been a scream, a loud one. Turning around taking in her surroundings Belle can only see forest, and it didn't make sense. nothing did. Feeling tears falling across her face, the image comes back to her. The room had been empty, no more than a couple of meters squared. In it laid another man, injured, dead and pretty familiar to her. And then she was here.

How?

There had been a sense of trepidation since he found himself in that room with Miss French. A simple potion was needed to help him relax enough to sleep once they got in the lab with both Viktor, Jefferson and Henry. The lab and the dungeons well fitted to contain most kinds of experiments, from magic, to science and the mix of both. Due to the nature of it, there were compartments fitted to rest in between trials or in the occasional long process. And even though he could had left Henry with the Nolans, he felt wrong being to far away from the boy. He asked Jefferson to come and the man was as always over enthusiastic, perhaps seeing as a trial run of what it will be his life in a couple of months.

Despite knowing that for once there was a whole crowd keeping an eye on his well being (or at least the state of his body), or perhaps because of it, a restlessness had settled inside of him. Once the woman had claimed today’s dream was not going to plan, he knew to keep his guard up, however he hadn’t expected what happened after. He had noticed earlier the few changes in wardrobe that she sported while digging but this realm had different rules, and she was adamant that this was her dream, she could shape it to her will and he had been too distracted to call it for what it was. After she open that door, her scream send shivers down his back looking in her direction he only caught her silhouette disappearing. He recognised, after all he used it once upon a time before coming to the world ‘without magic’. Looking into the room he found the same man they’ve been dealing with for a month, admittedly in worst shape than most days but nothing that could motivate that reaction. Not now.

If she had the ability to jump between place in this realm, it was likely that she didn’t know to control it. After all, he had been here all this time by her side and she had never done such a thing. Morpheus would be able to easily locate them after her move, e needed to find her. Regardless if the confrontation with the king of dreams was something he’d likely avoid until he held the spell in his hands. Going to their tools, the last object she had been in contact for a considerable amount of time, he cast a spell to figure the general direction she headed. After all, she couldn't have gone too far.

It took him a while trekking in the forest surrounding the cabin to find a small earth path in between the trees, where the roots of the same were easier to see. It lead to a small clearing where she was. “Belle?” He called her name softly to not startled her. Walking to stand next to her he tentatively put a hand over her arm, he felt the strange impulse to comfort her but there wasn’t much he could do at the moment. He could use a little bit of magic now, after all they wouldn’t be alone for long now, so he magicked a jacket and gave it to her. She nodded her thanks. “What happened?”

“Didn’t you see?”

He did, it still didn’t explain her need to get away from it. A need so big she had done something she’d never done before. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” he knew the tone was wrong, and not entirely the one he wanted to use but apart from accepting his presence she kept going inside herself. It was better now that she kept aware of where they were. “At least twice the man has been in a similar state to that before.” He was being honest, at least.

Slowly she raised her eyes to him with confusion, “That’s completely different.”

“How so?”

“Is a different person!”

There it is, she was seeing someone else. “Who was he?”

“Stop this please, you know him because I know him.” She said heading towards the place he came from.

“I don’t, in all honesty. All I saw was the same man we buried all these days. It seems this is not true for you.” Her attention was in exploring the edge of the clearing. “So, help me understand, who is the man back there?” he asked trying to get her attention, it would be difficult to find her again if she transported herself.

“Gaston.”

“Boyfriend?” he ventured, the man didn’t look like a brother or other close family plus she had moved recently. It could be him Hopper had been talking about.

“Ex-fiancé.”

“Right.” She looked back at him, and he noticed he spoke aloud. “That’s- That’d be a shock, to see him like that.” It wasn’t only that, whether she believe it or no, the man was real. Had been for as long as both of them kept on coming here. Why were the three of them in this? “I’m sorry.” he added as an afterthought. If their visit to this realm had no end in sight, and there was already a visitor dead, whatever had kill him was likely to come to them eventually, after a month of playing the game was coming to an end. They needed to move to a better place, it wouldn’t do to be hunted and be standing in a small clearing in an unknown forest. “Miss French, we have to move.”

“Is it wrong that I don't want to go back there?” she said.“I don’t want to see him like that.” she added softly, looking into the forest were he had come from. She had found the slight earth path leading into the trees.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to.”

“We can’t leave him like that. I don’t want to but we should.”

“I’m not digging another hole tonight, and he is dangerous.”

“He is dead.” she said flatly.

“Exactly, he is dead and he is here.” And he was still too close for his liking. “That simply does not happen. Many a thing with appetite for human flesh hides in the corners of this place, within minutes we could be surrounded, specially since death reeks in this realm.” Nothing died here, everything just changed shape.

“Realm? It is my dream, no monster will come out that I don’t wish for it.” She moved into the path carefully avoiding the roots jutting out.

“And if t is a nightmare.” Going back was possibly the worst thing they could do, but he needed her to see it. Stopping right inside the line of trees the sound of the wind lowered and other sounds made the forest seem full of live, like never before.

“We are doing right by him, again”. It was said more to encourage herself to move further into the path, but a loud growl froze her.

“No, we won’t. Listen to that, they have smell him.” and they were many, for the first growl kept being answered by smaller ones of different tone, and if the sound could be trusted, from multiple directions. “Humans don’t walk in this land, is dangerous for them.” He grabbed her hand and started to go back to the clearing.

“Then what am I if not human?”

Circling the clearing much like she had done just moments before he looked for a new path. “You are special. Unusual.” Keeping his use of magic low, in case they could follow them like that, was really frustrating.

“If humans can’t be here how do people dream?”

Before he could find any way out, Belle walked ahead of him, pulling him on still holding his hand, leading him towards one of the biggest trees in sight.

“They are… when they are here you could call them ghost-like.” she kept walking straight to the tree with a determination that stilled his tongue on the possible crashing, instead he focussed on explaining further on, “if attacked they can wake up and nothing has changed, they are neither harmed nor do they benefit from the dream.” At the last moment she sidestepped the tree, continuing sideways as if in a narrow passage. He does the same, turning just so to keep in touch with her, if this was a passage it was best to make sure they both went out of it together. “You’ve been digging with me, deny that you woke up tired. Not just tired from restless sleep, tired as in all you’ve been doing here your body is going through it too.”

The uneven ground that so far had characterised the forest was gone. Just after noticing the change, they emerged from the trees still walking sideways into a field walled in rocks. In the horizon started a series of hills. “Whatever these creatures are… when I wake up I’ll see what they’ve done?”

“If you survive them and that’s hard even with my powers, then yes.”

Keeping with the direction they had being walking, they entered the field. “What are you?

“What am I?” he said, making his voice higher giving her a clue of that which wasn’t human about him. “That’s unexpectedly rude from you.”

“Are you human?”

“Partly.”

“Is the other part why you shine?” she asked, it could have been in jest but her eyes held true curiosity, still...“Shine?”

“Your skin…” she said vaguely gesturing with her hand towards his general direction.

“That… is part of a rather old curse.” A story only his son knew, for everyone else he had blamed the imagination on mortals and their inability to report objectively, specially about non-human creatures. Who said fairies looked like in those animated pictures? The doing of a young girl back in the turn of the century had cemented that image in modern imagination. At least before they had been more creative! “True enough the colour has to do with that part, usually scales are darker, and sometimes duller in a cursed human.”

“Can your powers help Gaston?”

“There’s nothing to be done. Nothing you or I can change, the dead do not rise.” The latest attempt he had witness was by Viktor, the man was as obsessed with it as all those that attempted it before him. None had a good ending, and Gold had been there to see each spectacular failure. It was better for everyone if such a feat remain unachievable. “Did you love him?”

“No. I think my father did, the idea of him as his son, and somewhere along the line but before it was too late I realised that that wasn’t reason enough for marrying him.” there was sadness in her voice, she was mourning but what? It didn’t seem she was fond of the engagement, “What other things can you do?” she asked obviously changing the topic.

“I only have to follow three rules, everything else is free land. Depending of course, on the land I find myself in. In this place I can only influence my own being, like getting rid of the limp to dig better, instead of magicking a pit.”

She smiled at that, “That would have saved a lot of time.” It seemed she was ready to drop the conversation, her mind probably going back to the cabin. The growls had muted once they got out of the forest, but Gold couldn’t help the need to turn back and check nothing had found them. After a moment though, her face light up with interest “Ok, listen to this. If all of this is real, how come you limp in the real world?”

Apparently this was turning into an extended inquiry, if he had the heart to shut her out he would have done it. As it was, he clamped down the voice in his head warning him of anyone so curios, and managed a smile that only to the keen eye seemed strained, “I don't like to draw attention, especially of other magical beings. I only use enough magic for the glamour.” sending her way a pointed look he waved over himself, “The skin, the eyes.”

“Is that how you looked before the curse? Did you have magic?”

She was sharp, not that it surprised him. It was one of the aspects he could admire about her, and that he had noticed while she dealt with the townsfolk. It could become a problem if they ever found themselves at odds. Knowing himself, he thought that would eventually happen. “Close enough. Of course I have to keep in mind what is appropriate clothing now. As for the second one, if I did I wasn’t aware of it.” He hadn’t been aware of a great many things back then. The weight of war, man’s capacity for cruelty and for standing pain. He got to know all of that eventually before his own magic and ancestry, but even in the dark he had had a good life, he and his son, a flimsy roof and less than enough food considered.

“Were you already near Maine, back then?”

The ludicrous though surprised a laugh out of him, which he quickly tried to keep quiet. “As far as one possibly can be.” He knew for a fact, it was likely that back then the area was nothing but forest. At edge by the questioning into his past, he took the opportunity to turn the tables, after all, it was evident by now that she was the cause for all this upheaval. Did she know it? “Storybrooke is a good town for new beginnings, and renewing identities. Don’t you agree?”

“It’s welcoming.” the way her hands clench by her side told him his intention had been too clear, but she had avoided an answer to his real question. Belle liked subtlety in her worlds of fiction and frankness in words, another difference between her and the town she had come to live in.

“Why did you come to Storybrooke? Surely, you could have enjoyed and thrived in the city, a small town can become dull after a short time.”

“A relentless friend who lives in town? A break from the city and its problems? All of the above… It was always meant to be temporal.”

“What’s changed?”

“I’m not sure. There’s another reason I moved here and it’s been a failure, and yet today I was… confronted with the idea of going back home.” they had finally reached the hill at the edge of the field and the sounds that filled the forest had yet to appear here. Belle headed towards the top, to look what was beyond. He hoped they still had time before something bad happened. “It felt wrong, the whole idea of going away.”

“It’s not time yet, then.” the pain in his ankle was coming back, as a numbness that made stepping a weird experience. It didn't bode well, to lose his magic so soon. Was it soon? It seemed as if they were being hunted before, now he thought, they might still be, but the hunter was waiting for them to tire.

“Look!” Belle said from the summit looking forward. It sounded like good news. “We should go inside. They might not find us there.” stepping beside her, he noticed she was pointing at a small cottage around fifty meters downhill, there was light coming from its windows. He nodded, and both descended. It was clear it was small but apart from two tiny windows visible from the side they were approaching, nothing more could be said about it, the night still in full bloom made it hard to see much detail.

“Oh, It’s very pretty.” there was a feeling in the back of his head that kept distracting him. Something was familiar about this place and while he took his time going around it, he could here Belle inside talking to him. “It is larger than it looks from outside. There’s two cots, do you think it is possible to sleep within a dream?” for a moment while he stood under the door frame looking at her exploring inside the land left his feet. There was enough light coming from the hearth and a candle in the only table. It was exactly as it had been all those years ago, except for the company. But the warmth that grew inside of him at the sight of the place only grew as the woman carefully and enthusiastically got to the only surviving object of that past. “And there’s even a spinning wheel.” she was looking at him with a small but real smile and his feet seemed to follow it on their own accord, until he was inside the building. “We could wait here, while those things roam outside.” something in his expression or his silence had called her attention, she probably assumed he didn’t agree with her. “There’s plenty of space. Are you alright?”

“This place… How is it here?” So far everything that they had seen was either new or familiar to her. Never to him, suddenly he felt threatened and an uneasy feeling started to crawl up his back, the same that had bother him in the field. They were being hunted.

“Where are we?”

“My home.” He looked her in the eyes, not wanting to put anything in words but he knew he failed at making her understand his fear at the situation.

“I know people love to exaggerate, but I’ve been told you life in a castle-like mansion…” she had been trying to hard to put a positive spin to almost everything they had experienced during this night, but he could hear the strain in her tone.

“I do. A three-storey building can inspire that description. This was before all that.” He allowed himself to come further into the small cottage. “Before the scales. Be careful of gossip though, a small town can become the underworld itse-” loud footfalls could be heard from outside and a young man ran in, closing the door quickly behind him. “Neal?”

---

With his hands still on the closed door and trying to catch his breath, Neal look up to them with a hint of surprise in them, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“How are you here?” asked Gold, who was now in between both of them. Belle tried to listen for whatever it was that had Neal running like that, but there was only silence around them.

“A potion, like the one you used on her.” said the young man looking at her. “After a couple of days of neither of you waking up, I had to come and find out what happened.”

“Excuse me, what potion?” she asked. Did he said days?

“It was for him, but Emma collected it and apparently she shared it with you in one of Miss Lucas outings.” Gold answered walking nearer with a contrite look in his face. “It was a mistake, she’s still not very familiar with that side of my business.”

Apparently there were more than just curses and magical powers in this world of him. “So, you brought me here.”

“Technically yes, but it should have worked only once and never meant to completely bring you here.” A dreaming potion, then.

“It didn’t work out like that.” The first time in her life she dreamed and it was because of an accident with a potion, and she had gotten trapped in it for days on end.

“No.” He echoed softly. He never seemed to enjoy the dreams, admittedly he spend them doing hard work. Which at the beginning had been amusing if only for the contrast with the real man. But if he had been that man, it wouldn’t make sense for him to do any of that on purpose. It had been a mistake, that affected both and he was as sorry for herself as for himself.

“Were you intending on being there in Emma dreams?” The implication annoyed her, it didn’t seem right to accuse the man of that.

“No. Believe me son, I had no intention of visiting this place.” She had wanted to answer to Neal, he was crossing a line and this was his father. He could imagine the relationship was complicated but still. She was expecting something different, the sorrow and pleading tone of the reply shut her up. This man, that in both of his versions looked unreachable most of the time, looked tired, the sadness in his expression difficult to pass as something else.

“You have been lying to me then.” there was no surprise in Neal’s voice when he continued. “You were never going to help me”

“That’s not what I meant. The potion effects shouldn’t have involved me in any way.”

“You always do this, don’t you? You trick people into thinking you are working for them and then you are only working for you. All that business with Morpheus’ child and the spell you promised me, it is all a lie. You never intended to do it. Why are you really here?” Belle knew this wasn’t a conversation in which she should be present. The circumstances though, forced her to remain there and she couldn’t help pay attention to both men, the more loud and angry one became the other one became more pleading and defensive.

“I never planned to come here, this is the last place where the spell would be. There’s no reason for me to be here.”

“And yet you are here with her, thanks to the potion you made. I bet the spell doesn’t do what you said, knowing you it will grant you power in this land, one of the few that is problematic for you.” The intensity in Neal’s eyes was off, a speck of cruelty. He looked young.

“You don’t believe that, please son. You know I’ve listen to you. I’ve been trying to do the right thing, even when it pains me.” If his skin was normal, she’d bet his knuckles would be white from the strength he was closing his fist, as if holding himself long enough to argue a defence. “And that includes giving you a normal lifetime with your family.”

“You want me to be there for you, regardless of the pain it would cause me to see my family die.” That’s when she noticed it, the anger and cruelty mixed at once. Neal was happy with his family, she saw them at the dinner, the way he looked at Emma and little Henry. That Neal had no reasons for this emotion, and he definitely looked older than this man. “You want me to become you and what? By then when I’m all darkness inside, you’ll give me your grand kingdom?”

“Son…” She was sure the man didn’t want to look weak in front of her, it was obvious he was that proud. But it was just as obvious the words had hurt him considerably, perhaps he had thought about it at some point. He closed his eyes, as if seeking focus. It was enough, she didn’t want to be there for more of that.

“Who are you?”

“What do you mean?” It could have been meant for either of them, and it was the young man’s reply that told her she had been right. He wasn’t Neal even though he looked like him.

“You are not Neal.” Gold’s head spun towards her at that, but thankfully he remained silent.

“Why would you say that? Do you believe him?” he said gesturing widely with his arm towards Gold. “He’s not trustworthy, he will stab you in the back before you know it.” His eyes locked on her, and perhaps their cruel light was sharper at that. “After all, legends have been told for generations about him, deals with the devil and prices too high to pay.” Adapting a mocking and higher voice, much alike the first days of her dream version of Gold, he continued. “Let me introduce you to Rumplestiltskin.” A smirk appeared on his face. A face that was starting to look like another’s, similar but by now evidently not Neal’s. “If I were you I’d go far away from him.” Remembering the part he should have been playing he composed himself before adding, “My mistake was coming back.”

“I’ve made mistakes, it’s been a long life. I’d love to life it with you by my side, but not at the price of your soul.” He still couldn’t see it. It seemed a feature of this place, it had taken her according to him a whole month to see Gaston.

“Unbelievable!” The laugh of the young man was too loud for the small space.

“Neal wouldn’t say any of that. You look younger than him too. Who are you?”

“Oh, you are stubborn.” He seemed to consider something and asked, “If I’d ask you to leave, would you do it?” Belle just shook her head. “No? If you insist then the name is Morpheus.” Within a blink the young man, Morpheus, changed clothes, going for a long night dark coat. “And you are both trespassing. I’ll admit it, I’m impressed. For a human like you to summon a whole building from someone else’s memories is quite an achievement.” He was smiling towards her, sharp and friendless. “You even recognised me. But you’ve proved what I wanted to know. As amusing as you two have been. Imp, take it from me, you’ll regret keeping that deal with Baelfire.” With the simple sentence he dismissed the man he had been insulting, and his focus was on her. While he was having fun with Gold, Rumplestiltskin, or whatever his name was, he wasn’t planning on that for her. She raised her head and promised to herself not be intimidated by him. “And you, child. I’ve given you enough time.” The threat startled her companion into action, it took Morpheus a wave of his hand to freeze him in place. “Don’t even think it, spiky ears. Your magic is already too strained.” He looked back at her, “Answer me one thing, child. Was it all you ever hoped?”

“I don’t understand… What was-”

“You don’t understand… right. She said you were clever, brilliant even. I meant your inheritance, your claim for my kingdom.”

“I gave up my inheritance, my father gave it to Gaston.”

“Not that one. Listen! My kingdom’s share. The fool though he was looking for immortality, I admit you did a good job with him. You convinced him to do the dirty work and think it was his idea, it took me a considerable amount of persuasion to finally be convinced he was telling the truth in that regard.” Pointing at the still frozen man he added. “Once he proved useless you got him.”

Apparently Gaston had come face to face with this being’s anger, she couldn’t explain how such a simple man had drawn the attention of a god. But it was definitely the wrong kind of attention to attract. “Gaston was not a good man but whatever you did to him, he didn’t deserve it.”

“Of course you’d say that, that’s why I had you help me. He was awake, didn’t you know? Everytime you buried him or set him in the lake, he became a little more willing to talk.” She felt her face becoming red, of shame or anger she wasn’t sure. This being had her torture a man day after day. The pressure in her ears made it hard for her to listen to the rest. “He was here just like you two. But I think you humans called that a coma, there in your world. It was never a coma, never quite a pause but a long dragging ending.”

She was trying hard not to give into the impulse to lower her head with everything that was running in her head. In the chaos of her thoughts she noticed something and that kept her going. “He never felt asleep driving.”

“It shines through, that cleverness of yours. No. Not by himself anyway.”

“Why did you do it? Why are you doing this?” It was all too much, too much time and effort. Why had them doing that to the man? Why make him suffer so?

“Why? Because even though she left me, she was my child. My only child! And you killed her. The worst thing is that she gave her immortality away for you. You took her away from me twice. That first time, she said she loved you too much to see you die. She could never see that you were too much like them not to be driven by ambition. Did you get curious why she didn’t let you come here? What was she hiding? Did you then find out about this world and decided you wanted it? The ability to shape realities?”

“I’ve never killed anyone. Who are you talking about?”

“Colette was the name she chose. You don’t deserve to know her true name. She wanted you to have a choice, be human and mortal or be part of this realm as my grandchild, and third in line to the throne. But there’s a hunger in your kind, insidious and ravenous. Even though my daughter was a mortal, it was a long wait, wasn’t it? So you thought you could sneak here, and make yourself ruler?”

“How dare you?” Her voice was breaking and she could feel tears falling. Somehow her body had understood the situation before her mind; there was a slowness to the words he just said as she repeat them in her head trying to make sense of them. He was there looking at her, all the anger and cruelty she had seen, directed at her with great sadness mixed in between. He was breathing hard, just like her. It was the sharp emptiness in her chest that awoke her. “How can you suggest, even think, that I had anything to do with my mother’s death. I loved her and I’ve missed her every second since then. I’ve wondered why she couldn’t make it, I was in the car too, she could have survived too. Every moment I’ve asked why her!”

“Liar! You’ll die today. No more humans in my kingdom, they all can thank you for that. You are all wretched creatures. You’ll be the last meal of my pets for a long time.”

“Wait!” Rumplestiltskin said, trying to move in between but whatever glitch in Morpheus’s spell that allowed him to talk hadn’t been enough to allow him to move. “We can prove she’s innocent.”

“I won’t allow you to trick me.”

“That won’t be a problem. You are actually the only one that can acquire this proof, you can’t doubt its validity since it’s your job’s result. If you are convinced by it as I believe you’ll be, let us go back. I know you don’t trust humans, and I understand but as bland, idiotic or cruel they can be not all are the same. Belle is your grandchild and your daughter loved her, if just for that give her a chance to prove her innocence.”

“No tricks Rumplestiltskin, or I make this longer than either your sanity or darkness can stand.”

He turned as much as he could his head towards her a question in his eyes he didn’t make. “You were able to access my memory to bring this place.” With a cold tone he address the god. “I take it then you can do that too.”

“Undoubtedly.”

That’s it! “Can you access memories the owner can not? Like amnesia.” She asked.

“That’s different. This is a copy of Rumplestiltskin's first home and it is based on his memories not on the reality that inspired it. Most of it is similar enough, but the hearth there is from later on in his life, around the time Baelfire was born. You need the other person to remember to access their memories. If they can’t you can’t.”

“And if it wasn’t natural amnesia?” Rumplestiltskin asked, pointedly not looking at her direction. “Can you lock someone else’s memories?”

“It’s unusual but possible. I haven’t done such with her. What does this questioning have to do with anything?” Morpheus replied impatient.

“It was a car crash. It was natural.” She added.

Still not looking at her he explain “Your mother came to talk with him after she gave up her mortality. Never in your life you had access to this realm, not even in the capacity common to humans. It is possible she could do this too.”

“Why?” It made no sense.

“You are her child. If she did this, could you get to the memories of the crash?”

“I would see them but not unlock them.” The young man looked at her, all the feelings still visible in his look, but locked away brewing and not longer in the surface. “If what I see is convincing enough and you live, you still won’t remember until you learn how to undo her work, if she did it. What it’d be? Remember that if you did kill her I could see that too.”

“Are you sure about this?” Belle asked her companion.

“It is our best option. You can do this.”

It didn’t make sense, she wasn’t the one doing anything. And yet turning to face Morpheus, she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Do it.”

The headache started at the back and advanced to the ears feeling akin to high pressure, every sound muted at the same time the pain increased and expanded inside her skull. She wanted to not react, she didn’t want this being to see her flinch. So she focussed in his eyes, which obviously looking in her direction were nevertheless lost, not entirely seeing her. The eerie feeling of such a look help her to stand the pain as it finally hit her forehead and lowered to the back of her eyes. She knew she wouldn’t keep awake for much longer, the corners of her sight going dark. And she couldn’t be sure if he had indeed given her a chance to proof her innocence or if this was him killing her. But she was sure she wouldn’t forget the moment he saw her again, and the sadness in those eyes didn’t belong in a face so young.

---

“Gold!”

“Finally!”

The place he awoke in was entirely too familiar, dark and with a faint smell of chemicals, the lab in the dungeons was just the same as the moment we went to sleep. His company was apparently just the same, and he had to admit even just to himself that it was nice to see the pair of eccentrics again.

“Why does it feel like I’m made of stone? What did your machines do Viktor?”

“What did they do? What were you doing?” asked Jefferson with a mix of worry and indignation so balanced in his voice that made Gold certain he had been practicing for the future child of his.

“It’s been… almost 60 hours since you went to sleep.” answered the doctor going back to the machines now that he was awake.

“Henry?”

“He enjoyed the tea party I prepared.” said proudly the jumper. “But his father came the following morning to collect him.”

“Neal has been worried. Specially since you passed the two days mark.” the sound of typing accompanied the comment.

“If it weren’t because Mr French was starting to lose it at the dinner…” said Jefferson with a role of his eyes. “Emma and Neal had been taking turns checking on him, you and Henry.”

“Is she alright?” there was no use in giving details, if he had been asleep for so long so had she, and probably with her father staying in the dinner everyone in town would now who he meant.

“She probably woke up at the same time as you, I’ll call.” offered Viktor.

“Or you can go and wake the town’s own sleepy beauty.” he had to roll his eyes at that, which only made the young man laugh.

---

After almost three days spent sleeping, three days in which her father had drove the Lucasses into a frenzy and almost given himself a heart attack, it had taken weeks for them to find some sense of normalcy. The women had been lovely, taking care of and distracting her father but the three of them had taken to be too protective of her and that had started to drain her. Neal and Emma had been great with her father as well and they had taken to drive him around showing him all the nooks and crannies of town, a knowing look from Emma that told her to take that time for herself.

And she needed it, all that had happened had shattered her vision of what was normal, she had spend more time that was probably good revisiting her childhood and her memories of her mother, to see if anything unusual was there. It took her awhile too, to understand the part of Gaston in all of it, if Morpheus had been right the man had known about her mother and had killed her. Thankfully it didn’t took much effort to convince her father to stay longer, of only for him to miss the burial. He didn’t need to know the man he loved as a son had killed his wife, but she wouldn’t let him go to the ceremony as petty as it made her. Maurice had taken the extension as an opportunity to convince her to come back, even if he claimed he had understood her decision in the past he argued he couldn’t do much from afar if something happened again. The question about leaving was small but had ingrained itself in her mind, she needed something to kill that small doubt. After all she had said to her father to not hope much in that regard.

And yet, amidst all of that she hadn’t seen her friend since the incident. The store had been closed for a week and then she hadn’t had the time to go in. Neal said he was fine when she asked but that was all she knew. The experience hadn’t been good for him either, even if it wasn’t Neal who confronted him, she had seen how much the accusations had hurt him, and how much he believed them.

That day her father was chatting animatedly with Mrs Lucas and with both completely distracted she took the chance to go to the pawnshop.

The bell at the door announced her entrance. The man appeared a couple of minutes later from the backroom. “Hey, Good morning.”

He smiled as soon as he recognised her, “Good morning, Miss French.”

“Are we going back to that?” she raised an eyebrow for emphasis, in her mind the dream had erased the need for that kind of formality. “You can call me Belle if you like.”

“Alright Belle.” he said stepping in front of the counter hands over the head of his cane. “What brings you here today?”

“You haven’t visited the dinner or library in a while, and considering that the dreams are over… I though we might have a chat pending.” she hadn’t been sure what she wanted to talk about but seeing him standing in front of her looking down at his hands, she knew.

“I though it better to give you some time, to process everything that happened. And there was your father…”

“I understand. I needed that time. But I wanted to make a deal with you, Rumplestiltskin, if interested of course.” Better to make sure they were in the same page to treat everything that happen as real, the use of his true name would do it.

“You wanted to talk business.” His smile became smaller, but he looked up to her again. It was easier for him to do so when he close off a little. Did he expect her to agree with Morpheus on his opinion of him? “What deal do you have in mind?”

“I still don’t remember and you are still looking for my mother’s spell.”

“But, you see, a deal is possible when one party has something the other one wants, and we know I can’t give you your memories nor do you know where is the spell.”

“True. Yet, we are each other's best chance at finding what we look for, you can teach me how to control my powers, and I offer you my help in your search. She was my mother, I might have a better chance than your rock band members.” She hoped he understood what she was saying, with a smile she asked, “What do you say Rumple?

A brief war passed through his eyes, and how did he became so infamous when he was so easy to read? “They do look the part, don’t they?” The smile returned to his face, “I’d be glad to continue being your henchman.”

There were too many reasons to stay.

#RCIJ 2020 #Joylee56

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spamzineglasgow · 5 years ago

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SWAT SIGHT: An Interview with Nasim Luczaj

In this interview, Glasgow-based writer, dj and multidisciplinary artist Nasim Luczaj talks to SPAM editor Maria Sledmere about her recent publication, SWAT SIGHT: a hybrid essay and artist’s book that weaves modalities of lyric, photography and online dialogue to explore Luczaj’s experience of aphantasia and its implications for aesthetics, perception and philosophical enquiry.

Can you explain what aphantasia is, and how did you discover this was something you experienced?

Aphantasia is the inability to form mental imagery. To have aphantasia is to not be able to ‘see in your head’ – not the characters of a book you are reading, not the faces of your loved ones, not a random object you’ve been asked to visualise, not the sheep you may or may not be counting. It seems there is a spectrum in people’s ability to do any of these things. Roughly, those without it have aphantasia, while those who are extremely good at visualising have hyperphantasia. Most people fall somewhere in between. I get something imagelike appear when I’m falling asleep or really really tired, and once in my life I visualised while reading (about the Quidditch World Cup – I saw Viktor Krum flying about the stadium!) – but I had a fever at the time and as soon as I noticed what was going on and got excited about it, I was unable to keep the imaging up. I think I mentioned my imageless way of reading to a friend, probably one of the times we were watching a film (again, probably Harry Potter) and she complained that the character doesn’t look like they’re ‘supposed to’. What did they mean, supposed to? I remember talking to them, shocked at how they claimed to have something like a film unfolding in their head. They were as shocked as I was to find that I didn’t have one, especially since I was a full-on bookworm, and they didn’t understand why I’d ever want to read if it wasn’t a filmlike experience (guess what: I was reading for the words!). I accepted these differences and didn’t think too much about which of us was normal, or whether either of us were not. Then, a couple of years ago, another friend discovered the term and asked me whether I have it – reading my work gave her the feeling I might. I started reading and found out what I have is a rare disorder. I’m still not so sure it is. I don’t think the samples studied so far are big enough for us to come to that kind of conclusion.

Maybe a cheeky question, but what does the SWAT in the title stand for?

Swatting sight is partly a play on catching sight. I can’t do justice to what sight is but trust that I’ve caught something, an angle, a thing among many. It’s also a bit like ‘shot’ in ‘screenshot’ (at first the title was actually going to be SIGHT SWAT), but ‘swat’ is more organic, and invokes a kind of slaughtering of something that’s necessary in order to study it. I wanted a title that sounded nice, compact, yet violent nevertheless, because as I wrote I became aware I was feeling angry at the misjustice being done to people who are called abnormal or disordered without careful consideration. Only writing fully enabled the sensation to emerge out of a plethora of ambivalent strands to my experience. And then the insect-connotations of swatting work nicely with one of the central metaphors I consider in the work, that is, Wittgenstein’s beetle in the box. I guess all of the above considerations, the rational reasons, were hovering somewhere in the background of my choice, but here’s a short and honest answer: it just came to me once I got to the I-need-a-title-stage. And I felt it fit, although – bad pun – I hadn’t seen it coming.

I’m interested in the mode of address that opens SWAT SIGHT, which features a sequence of questions. It’s unclear whether the speaker is speaking to the reader, or having a dialogue with herself. So many times in your poetry I get to a point where I think I know what’s happening, but then a few lines come and totally throw me off my assumptions. It’s poetry that keeps you dancing through metaphysics, for sure. Can you talk a bit about how asking questions of yourself, of the world, of the reader, is a process or form of poetics for you—and perhaps to what end?

I guess I’ve always been inquisitive but have felt increasingly answerless. I love the questioning stage, and the addressal that it often entails, for its own sake. I’ve kind of given up on answers, I don’t trust them, don’t feel as comfortable in them as I do in the mode of questioning. What I want to be expressing, in perhaps every piece I ever write, is roughly: wow, all this exists and we don’t really know anything, or if we do we can’t confirm whether we do or fit it into a whole that would really be the whole thing. Answering has never seemed as doable, as satisfying to me, as asking. The best poems distil the poise of a question. It’s a shame questions are often rashly associated with despair.

You recently graduated with a degree in English Literature and Philosophy (congrats!), which I know included elements of creative writing. What do you see as the relation between the two, and how has each fed or diverged from the other?

I used both to access a kind of metaphysical vertigo of not knowing what the hell’s going on, as explained above. At first I approached the ‘content’ of this vertigo as a philosophical one. I think I’ve been able to address similar things to myself in a ‘creative’ way and in a ‘philosophical’ way, but I no longer believe that the hard work of philosophical answers is worth anything to me personally. I’m chasing a connection with a feeling partly composed of not accepting answers. I believe in attentiveness and possibilities for elaborate playfulness that do arise in philosophy and always appreciate willingness to take on difficult and deep questions. But I cannot feel devoted to this field, while I can be attentive, elaborately playful, and ‘deep’ through writing, I hope. It’s easier to find works of literature of this kind than philosophy that is honest about its inability to actually answer as much as it claims to.

Poetry seems a totally embodied thing for you, ‘a pinch in relation to the tongue’. Where do you see the body in your poems? Does poetry need more body?

I don’t see it anywhere, ha! But I try to be in the moment, and poetry can very much be the art of the moment, the linguistic equivalent of some alarming glimpse. I like how you can – though maybe not always should – read a poem in a short unit of time, one in which you have not yet disconnected from the physical motions that brought you to this page, because you haven’t and will not repeat it in quite the same way as when reading gripping prose. If something odd happens in the language, as I like it to, I want to be there to feel it ‘oddening’ the body, for it to all amount to a flash, an enacting of the gut that leaves space for me to feel all of these effects.

It strikes me that a lot of this book is about the possibilities of attunement, for instance: ‘a sense of the circuit run through / worldly activity’. What poets for you manage to supplement, enhance, expose or skew particular senses?

This is hard for me to answer. I read in quite a scattered way and try not to distinguish much between the senses, to read in undistinguished frenzy and love for what’s going on in the words without categorising what’s happening on a ‘sensual’ level. Without having any synesthetic tendencies whatsoever, I still struggle with things that are grouped into categories: 5 senses and then their subdomains, such as types of taste. I’m more than a little obsessed with how anything is partly something else, how things affect one another in a way that makes it unhelpful to present things as belonging to clear-cut types. So I don’t seem to fall into noticing what’s going on on the level of the 5 separate senses, but yes, some poetry and some work in other art forms have indeed enhanced and skewed and supplemented my perception, I think increasingly. They make me notice a word, an object, an emotion I may have neglected. I’ve recently been excited by Nasser Hussain’s airport poems. Hussain wrote a whole collection (SKY WRI TEI NGS) of poems written using only existing airport codes. I’m pretty sure I’m going to see the airport world through them for years to come. More than for a synesthetic image, that’s what I’m looking out for: works that change the structuring of my experience, that alter noticing, that leave me interested in some phenomenon.

This is probably the first poetry book I’ve seen (outside of SPAM!) that replicates the architectures of Facebook discussion, including groups, comment threads and private messages. Without quibbling over the term ‘post-internet’, what do you think happens when these kinds of archives are translated onto the printed page? I’m interested in your decision to reproduce the discussions as screenshots rather than, say, collage select quotes in a more traditional poem. What’s the importance of including the context, the avatars, the reactions?

The only one? That’s surprising! I remember wanting to write a detective novel in chatroom form as a child, and the reader would only have these online conversations to go by and figure the truth out (one of the messagers was guilty). Now I’m quite dedicated to my phone notes, in which I mainly write down dreams, funny things people say, and passing thoughts (without ever making note of which category a note belongs or who is its author). I proudly show them to people when we’re killing time. As they are one of the ways in which I feedback loop with my surroundings, one of the things that shape my cognition, I always wanted to use them in my work, and knew they belonged in SWAT SIGHT as soon as I decided to write it. Then I started messaging people about the fact I’m writing something and wanted to engage them somehow, so I ended up embedding what they say in their own words, partly because of how seriously I treat the beetle in the box problem. I thought that maybe you’ll understand what they’re telling me better than what I tell you they told me, even if you don’t know these people as the reader, and I (think!) I do. I’ll give you exactly what they said and what the context of the words were (by context I mean, in large part, the interface that always affects the way they say it), and you can have fun figuring it out or leave it if it’s not your thing. The chats, forums, websites are a habitat I’m in, the form of communication I am immersed in as I do my thinking, the way I arrive at knowledge, arrangements, humour. They have a massive effect on the way my mind and, I presume, your mind works, for better or for worse, and I want to convey that, even if the craft lies in what the disembodied, timeless-y voice has to say and how. As for screenshotting rather than quoting, I’m also really interested in signs I see in the streets and how they operate linguistically, but that’s also something I’d take a picture of and think of including in a text – something I’m rarely tempted to take out and play with without its context, the pole it’s fitted to, the road it’s next to, the weeds that grow at the bottom of it. The way things are framed is partly responsible for their juice. I really want people to communicate about this in whatever way that is natural to them – so giving this much space to the discussion is a way of counterbalancing the strength of the ‘literary’ voice, of saying: it’s equally important to use language in all sorts of other ways and places.

What was the most surprising thing you encountered within the aphantasia ‘community’ online?

Nothing, really. There’s a divide between people who are genuinely upset about not being able to visualise and those who are extremely affirmative of the way they are, but I expected as much.

I’d love to hear more about your decisions around the book’s design. What’s especially unique, of course, is the palimpsest effect whereby text printed on clear acetate is layered over content printed on white pages. As readers, we can lift the acetate with all its textual clutter to ‘cleaner’ pages underneath. I’m struck in particular with the page of Aphantasia Awareness Group content, lifted to reveal a short passage underneath: ‘research on aphantasia is sparse. my looking into it decorated with a pang. […] what keeps me out and makes me look like this is apparently a lack’. Can you talk a bit more about this lack and how it relates to the play between white space, acetate, page and text?

The lack I’m mostly on about here is a lack of seeing – and then of course there’s a play there. On another page, one full of messages, thanks to the lack in the acetate page I can see the text on paper (as ‘i hope for darkness’ in the passage itself). I can tell myself that I’m missing something, that I don’t have an ability, but it’s not like someone cutting the content of a text box – it’s a reshuffling and change of the relationship of everything else that is giving me this different outcome, and to think of myself as ‘deficient’ is not to think about my cognition as play. Quirks are, to an extent, enabling. The form mimics this. Also emptiness can be good, so I wanted places where a condition for arriving at some sentence is the empty space that allows it to be seen. Sometimes I imagine daydreaming as if it were a film, which apparently people do, and I wonder how that would affect my peace of mind, my mental clutter, my voice. You know the truism: less is more. It’s unverifiable what I’d be up to if my mental processes were different, but I have a feeling that I am gifted with a space that could have been cluttered beyond my control.

I’m also interested in how the book’s design goes some way to dramatising Marshall McLuhan’s point about us directing towards acoustic civilisation, as you put it, civilisation ‘infused with simultaneity’. Lifting a page is a bit like opening or closing a window, and the size of the book replicates that sense of screen. Sometimes light catches the plastic acetate and I’m tricked into thinking someone’s left their iPad on my desk. I also think of screening as in brain-scan. What is the work of ‘screening’ in poetry?

I’ve mentioned this already, but what I like about poetry is containment. I often encounter longer poems with confusion and laziness, at first, which ceases if the work is still at the pitch/intensity of a shorter poem, except, hurrah, longer (as is the work of Anne Carson). Good poetry brings me straight into a space of simultaneity. It gets at something that’s both a detail and sort of everything at once. It makes you look at everything like that. Screening is also a kind of framing. You need something brisk to catch and then place just right on the screen, let it replay.

In a message you include to your mum, you write ‘aphantasia is horizontal again but with a margin that makes it a different kind of rectangle’. For me this speaks, quite beautifully, to the book as a whole. What or where is your sense of geometry in writing, and how does this relate to aphantasia and maybe even the structure of the book?

I love flippability. And maybe it’s in poetry that I get to have a sense of order I’m probably lacking elsewhere. But then most poems are like something that intended to be rectangular and then persists in trailing off. Of course there are all sorts of ways of trailing, many of them elegant. Here I wasn’t really writing poems, but a piece that was self-consciously scattered. Intuitively I picked up the shapes, the widths for each part. Maybe I use a similar intuition to drive and park my car – if you asked me, I’m not actually sure how much or what sort of space I have, I can’t see it, but I can do what I have to do just right. The shapes make or dictate themselves in a similar way.

In being orientated landscape, SWAT SIGHT also has the satisfying feel of a guestbook or ledger. Which feels appropriate, given that you include song lyrics, text conversations, comments, quotes and cross-references from philosophy, poetry (even William Blake is in there!) and what looks like Yahoo! Answers. I see SWAT SIGHT as a kind of experimental archive, or revisionist provocation of the-archive-as-such in the time of social media alongside the ‘traditional’ book. I think within this what you’ve done is quite remarkable: established a vernacular compendium of feedback, testimony and reflection on a condition that is not only rarely heard of but seems (at least until very recently) also to lack research or medical recognition. Do you see SWAT SIGHT as a counter-text to this discursive absence? Who should be reading this book?

Yeah, I guess it’s a form of affirmation – I want to encourage conversation about aphantasia in any way possible, and all sorts seem fit. But I need fun. I need to draw attention in some other way than linking to a BBC article on Facebook, which really doesn’t feel like engagement. I guess I’m also implying: I’m engaged with my environment and its diversity of mediums/registers, even of matter (different kinds of pages, B/W and colour images, shots from classic cinema, scans of my clothes and of plants, memes), as I seek to be engaged with people and their diverse ways of functioning. People work in mysterious ways, like poems – they might ‘work’ for you and one could assume that means there’s something similar about you, you could be part of one book. But it turns out you’re doing (even similar) things really really differently. I want to get some kind of rush from that. As for who should read it – whoever also might get a rush from what I give them.

In this discussion around the book’s holding together of analogue and digital, I was reminded of visual snow: a neurological ‘disorder’ characterised by continuous visual disturbance, often described as miniscule dots that flicker like the noise of a detuned analogue telly. It’s interesting how these conditions ‘glitch’ or interrupt the representations of visual perfection or clarity which culture and technology pushes towards with retina displays, Blu-ray etc. I wonder if you’d come across any other under-studied neurological conditions (especially those of the senses) in your research? Are there any famous poets or musicians who’ve ‘come out’ as aphantasic?

No - I guess that’s the problem with the under-studied! There’s Aldous Huxley, whom I quote in the book. My mum is also an aphantasiac poet. It’s more of a thing that visual artists tend to ‘come out’ with, because it can be counterintuitive and shocking. The conversation comes more naturally than in the case of writing, which doesn’t seem necessarily tied to any traditional sense (one kind of archetypical writer is cut off from the sensual world in a dusty study with just enough lamplight to keep to their lines). An interesting example in the visual domain has resurfaced recently, via the BBC. One of Disney’s most important animators had aphantasia, while his collaborator who worked the identical job was on the opposite end of the visualising spectrum.

Is neurodivergent poetics a term you recognise or identify with? Do you think we’re moving towards recognising the role of neuroscience more in understanding poetry as also a kind of cognitive manifestation or aesthetics?

I’ve never looked into it much. What I’ve been coming to terms with is how much of what I’d consider normal might be identified as ‘divergent’ – it’s interesting that different people might have differing tendencies here, some to distinguish differences and others to widen what the norm might be. I am interested in making people pay attention to difference and to question whether there is not so much of it that it collapses back into a kind of sameness. I guess that’s my poetics. I’m not sure what you mean by ‘cognitive aesthetics’, but the term sparked a thought in me: people find very different kinds of poetry (if any) pleasing, and I wonder about the neurological basis of this. How does a combination of words ‘hit the spot’? If language can get to our emotions even when it’s not someone we are closed to addressing themselves to us specifically, it must do so on the basis of connections that will vary from person to person, and are to do with a multitude of factors, maybe even a kind of genetic memory for the ways their ancestors used language. There’s certainly a lot to investigate and, at the same time, a lot that will resist investigation.

I’m struck by the book’s illumined confusion of paratextual, marginalia, annotation, footnotes or poetic content. At the same time, there’s often a lyric voice weaving through, synthesising things, moving between exemplary media, linking anecdote with theory. There’s a drive towards turning the page, even as each page is also a ‘field’ in its own right. So in a sense I’d say SWAT SIGHT is maybe actually a lyric essay remixed with its paratextual materials. An essay that stages its own research process? What’s the value in this ‘transparency’, did any particular text inspire you to take that risk of reflexivity and assemblage?

Yeah, that’s what I’d say it is. I wanted to write a lyric essay and wasn’t sure how to start. As soon as I did, the voice started pushing me. It had a lot to say and I think it still does. To me of course the voice is the most important part, it’s most akin to my ‘core’ that all the rest branches from, is light that my leaves pick up and comes back to the trunk. But as for all the staging – my voice does that. Another thing I wanted to stage was my need for props, my love for images, designs, the ways of working of different websites, which I find inextricable from my lack of ‘invention’. I look at things out there, I get excited about things out there, and what’s going on in my head is either a tic, or something not quite surfaced, or, at best, that voice of the lyric essay. So the book ends up being my mental process and the world that it takes from, that it reacts to, that it is shocked and moved by and tries, in turn, to shock and move (more feedback loop!).

The whole book, of course, is about ‘vision’. I found that line, ‘to have a song stuck in your head, for some reason, is harder to treat as a metaphor than an image being stuck. […] rain on the trees as jewels. I couldn’t, I can’t’, really emotional. Throughout SWAT SIGHT, you recalibrate what ‘imagination’ is -- in both form and content. How can poetry intervene in what we consider ‘sight’, to be less ocular-centric? Do we need new tropes and metaphors, or more a kind of visual refusal?

I love the phrase ‘visual refusal’! It’s right up my street and I don’t think it’s occurred to me before. Poetry brings awareness to language, and so an awareness of the baggage, the loadedness of any word. If sight has to be visual, and we have words like ‘foresight’, that does subtly hint at how we imagine the future. So maybe we can work on other terms. But I think what is best to do is to remind yourself of your other senses and how much it means to you to smell/taste/hear/feel/pull something sensual from the world, categorised or not. If you pay attention to that, you’ll write differently, thus enhancing others’ attention to those things.

But as you put it, ‘no-one’s looked in anyone else’s box. language doesn’t quite do inner life’. We can’t expect SWAT SIGHT to provide an actual snapshot of the aphantasic experience, any more than we can expect reading Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time to somehow allow us to comprehensively ‘enter’ an autistic mind. I think the fact that you weave personal perspective alongside many other voices and representations (including an art exhibition) makes that clear. I’m interested, then, in what you might want readers to take away from this book in terms of empathy, awareness but also potentially recalibrating their own neurological sensitivities?

I would like us all to be aware of unnamed, unsaid, unprovable diversity. To approach it as a gift, with childish glee, and to know that it cannot be unwrapped. To ask each other questions and listen in to the way we describe each other’s mental processes, and to be aware of the fact that even when we think we agree or disagree there aren’t ‘samples’ of experience we can put next to each other to confirm or disconfirm anything. Also to be aware of the fact that our culture is skewed towards the visual, that it privileges it partly arbitrarily.

Can you talk about the images you chose for SWAT SIGHT, which include a lovely full-colour photo of you lying on a bed of coastal heather, as well as many representations of abstracted or glitched scenes/textures which must’ve taken a toll on your printer’s black ink cartridge. How do you see the relationship between image and text in this work, and are there any other writers who use images in an interesting way who you might’ve taken inspiration from?

The glitchy toner-heavy images are scanned objects from around my room – a top, a leaf, a headline, a daffodil. I really enjoyed their textures, the kind of nightscape of a piece of fabric that barely stands out of the uniform black. I’d achieve the glitches by moving the objects around while they were being scanned just the right amount, at the right time. I was intentionally confusing the printer but not quite in control either. It was both a hectic and repetitive process. It had in it excitement and tediousness – like writing. The images show the world as processed by a kind of system – a printer – thus running parallel to my verbal processing.

In SWAT SIGHT, the relationship between image and text is of course crucial. At first, I was tempted to completely do away with seeing, adornment – to have a kind of unity between sign and signified. Then I started adding the black scanned images as something along the lines of, but never really, illustrations. As soon as I did that, I started craving contrast and thought, to hell with that, I love the visual world and don’t want to be misunderstood as someone who doesn’t, just because I’m making a kind of cultural critique of vision-centricity. I am engaged in the visual world, and this lack of ‘inner’ will not take it away from me, and it does work for my way of perceiving the world, too. The images dispel inner and outer.

I really like W. G. Sebald’s use of photographs as strange hinges on oneiric texts. They complicate the voice by putting pressure on the distance we make for speaker from author, without ever allowing us to identify that voice with the author.

You also run a radio show for subcity, [underthunder]. Can you talk about the ethos behind the show. How important is music to your writing process, and do you think your experience of music has changed or intensified since you recognise your (visual) aphantasia?

At some point I realised that I love contrasting interactions between tones, mediums, textures. I like profound-grumpy-metaphysical things being read out loud and I also like ‘tribal’ energy. I was once editing a poem while listening to some Detroit techno and it struck me that these two things really fit together, that the words are energised, driven, dipped in densely and magnetically. I became increasingly curious about how best to combine these and whether others do it. I started paying attention to uses of language in electronic music, where words have diverse but recognisable, categorisable roles, but are not what you’d call ‘lyrics’. Now my experience of music is changing and intensifying by the day. This happened partly through that discovery, and so through poetry. I felt that it gave me an entry point into music, because I knew I was good at words and started copy-pasting them into other people’s tracks – otherwise I would never have felt entitled to ‘touch’ music. I always feel a bit guilty when I do that copy-pasting, a tad unsatisfied, hungry for something I’ve made from scratch. I’ve not got there at all yet, but it’s poetry that got me to focus on music in its own right. And my being drawn to poetry must stand in some relationship to aphantasia. I think I’m more at ease with oddness, a kind of casual surrealism, because of it, and that’s what often keeps my work going. When I feel I’ve written something good, it’s always because I’ve flexed the world without some specific message or thing in mind.

You write that ‘bliss’ is ‘a current […] i obsess over’. Your website says you are ‘here to make bliss’. What does bliss mean to you, or better still, what’s giving you bliss right now?

I just love the word. I think I fell in love about two years ago, and I’m not sure how, but it happened to me and my mum more or less simultaneously. She also puts that word everywhere; although I don’t know what’s in anyone’s box, including I think the most similar box to mine in this world, it does feel like a shared entity. Bliss is a short word that echoes out, like most poems – present, compact, extending its arm to everyone. A really small thing giving everything else a hug. And it seems like a half-place, a spacious state, not something like ‘joy’ which is much more identifiable with the springing up of some happy hormone, much more bound up with a person and nothing else. ‘Bliss’ is halfway between ‘joy’ and ‘paradise’. It’s something you can have next to you, or visit, or, as my mum says, ‘plug into’.

What’s giving me bliss now? Apricots, speeding tracks up as I DJ, ferry red.

Anything else you’d like to say about the publication, or what you’re currently working on?

I’m working on how to have a lot of time + space. Then full-blown bliss is gonna move in and we’ll split the bills.

SWAT SIGHT is out now. To order a copy, drop an email to nasimluczaj[at]gmail.com.

Images by Nasim Luczaj and Maria Sledmere, all taken from the publication.

Published 8/9/19

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