#he's just some nerdy kid who made a friend and felt grief and loss for the first time and couldn't take it

[protect-namine]

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[darkestdawnhq]

MIKHAIL VULCHANOV is a 27 year old PUREBLOOD, a former DURMSTRANG STUDENT, and a HERBOLOGIST SPECIALISING IN POISONS AND ANTIDOTES  who is a CIVILIAN and uses HE/HIM pronouns. They are categorized as CODE TWO. They are currently CLOSED.

Plants growing in every corner of your home | Books piled up everywhere | Not understanding the absurd blood purity ideals of these foreigners | Talking about books all night long | Making friends with everyone, regardless of alliance | The smell of cinnamon and mint | Gentle muscular giant with a poet’s soul 

HISTORY.

TW:  parental death.

A cold wind blew through the snow packed streets of the small village he was born in.  Just miles away from the heart of Moscow, Mikhail Vulchanov’s hometown simultaneously offered the peace of the countryside and the opportunity found only in the city.  Mikha was born with unmatched kindness and unyielding curiosity.  Everyone who managed to cross his path found something in Mikha, whether it was a friend, a comfort, or just knowledge depending on the encounter.  His mother called him a gentle giant, and his father called him soft in a stern voice with a glint of affection in his eyes -- but neither of those things sounded quite right.  He was just Mikha.

It was in the weeks after his father’s unexpected death that Mikha first came to the conclusion that he was different.  He was fed the same platitudes, the same lines, that all kids were given in the midst of their first experience with death.  He didn’t want to leave.  He’s not coming back.  He loved you very much.   Mikhail knew all of those things, and yet, he still didn’t understand.  So he asked why and he questioned and he watched the discomfort and frustration grow on the faces of the adults in his life.  Intermixed with the weight heavy loss and the confusion was a new understanding.  Questions made people uncomfortable, sometimes you were meant to just say okay and continue on with a lack of understanding; but Mikhail didn’t plan on doing that.  He wanted to know everything.

After his father’s death his mother leaned heavily on her circle, especially the Dolohovs.  He had met Antonin long before that, the two boys having been pushed to play together as toddlers, something that had never taken all that much prompting -- but it felt as though their friendship deepened in those painful months after his father’s death.  It was a blur now, the sharp edges dulled by time and grief, but he knew that he came out of that time with a friend as good as a brother.  Really, he was the only family Mikha had beyond his grieving mother.  It was why he was so devastated when Antonin left Durmstrang for Hogwarts.  He wasn’t just losing a best friend, he was losing his brother, the only one that he had ever had.  But he knew that it wasn’t the end, that they’d always be in each other’s lives, even if it had to look a bit different.  And as things changed, quickly he realized he wasn’t as alone as he thought he might be.  His penchant for gathering knowledge made him an engaged listener, which would lead him to many genuine friendships; friendships that taught him lessons about life, love, and himself.  He walked through life, learning from all he came across, and scattering the seeds of friendship wherever he went.  He found himself leaving a piece of his heart behind every step of the way.

Years passed, friends and lovers had come and gone, and yet, he never forgot about the Dolohovs; a special place in his closet was dedicated to the letters he had shared with Antonin, full of details of his new home and the political tension and subsequent war.  For every letter Mikha had responded, at least once but sometimes two or three times, full of enthusiastic questions about Antonin's life and stories from their home.  So, when he was offered a research position in the United Kingdom he jumped at the opportunity, thrilled to learn from and explore a new place, a place his friends knew so well.

The United Kingdom was confusing.  The pride, superiority, and truthfully, the prejudice, that he saw in the hearts of his new co-workers and friends made little sense to him -- biologically, there was little that separated the magical from the muggle.  And, honestly, wasn’t it more impressive that the magical genes, seemingly, spontaneous appeared in the Muggleborns?  In equal measure, why fight it?  The codes were silly, but they didn’t seem to matter all that much in the end.  He knew it would be far wiser to keep his mouth shut, to put his head down and get his work done, returning to Russia when his contract was up -- but he had never been very good at that; despite knowing what the best course of action was, he took the opposite path, extending his position indefinitely and speaking up when he felt it necessary.  If something didn't make sense he said so.  If he saw someone, no matter their code or alliance, being treated unfairly he would do what he could to step in and help.  There was too much to learn and see here, too many people to connect and reconnect with. There was too much work to be done in this beautiful country so full of foolish, confused people.  How could he leave now?

And so he let his flat go and purchased a small house on the outskirts of London, hovering between the magical and muggle worlds (because no one was going to tell him that the muggles hadn’t far surpassed those with magic in some disciplines.  He wasn’t going to give up easy access to all of that, to the resources and knowledge, just because of the pride of others).  He filled it to the brim with plants and his favorite books, every inch of counter space full of chipped pots and worn paperbacks.  Soft blankets and cozy cushions were piled on the couch and his spare bed.  Mismatched teacups spilled from his cabinets.  All of this worked together to, hopefully, create a place where all of his new friends, on all sides of this silly conflict, could find a safe space.  Home was still in Russia, but this could be something else, for him and for the people who cared about.

CONNECTIONS.

ANONTIN DOLOHOV: Best Friend. Of course everyone knew of the Dolohov’s involvement in the criminal underground of the Moscow society. Still, that didn’t stop Mikha’s mother from being friends with Antonin’s. The two babes were raised together and a friendship soon formed between the two. They attended Durmstrang together at first before Antonin’s father sent him to the English school. This distance couldn’t end their friendship though, and it only grew stronger over the years. Even when his friend was in the middle of some war over policies in the foreign land, he still kept in touch with his best friend. When the chance came to move to Antonin’s new home, Mikha took the chance and has been happy since growing near to him once more.

WENDY SLINKHARD: Friend With Benefits. When Mikha first met Wendy, she was browsing the books at Flourish and Blotts and he could not resist the pretty witch. He started flirting with her in his own charming manner with pick up lines he was trying in English. They spent all evening together, talking about books, herbology and more. When she went home with him that night, he was already enamored with the intelligent and pretty witch. When he found out later she was the daughter of William Slinkhard, one of his favorite authors, he was even more enamored. She made it clear she didn’t want anything serious so they started to fall into a friends with benefits relationship and both couldn’t be happier with it.

ASLAN SHAFIQ: New Friend. True to his nerdy nature, Mikha is never happier than when he’s talking about books or herbology with another. After trying to find some rare books in Russian in this strange country, he crossed paths with Aslan. After helping him to one of the books on his list, Mikha took him for a drink to thank him. Conversation started to flow easily between the two and Mikha soon discovered that they liked all the same books. He doesn’t care what Antonin’s friends say of the wizard, he thinks he is worthy of much more credit than they give him.

THEA ROSMERTA:  Confidant.  Maybe it was her spirit, her bright eyes and the sharp tongue he had experienced first hand a time or two.  Maybe it was the constant presence of a worn, well-loved, paperback... a different one every time he saw her.  Or maybe it was just the fact that she was so different from the typical company he kept, the ones who grew up with.  He didn’t know why people in this country seemed so adverse to those who were different from themselves.  Whatever it was, he found himself beginning to trust her.  Maybe she’d be a friend, but at the very least, she was someone he could depend on to listen when things got hard.

Currently portrayed by ZANE HOLTZ

[your-brieflycrazydonut]

loss

Summary: Peter is dead and Ned cant cope.

Just a little drabble I thought of.

Warning: major character death, grief, car accident

it wasn't possible. it wasn't possible that Spider man was gone. How could this even happen? Peter was supposed to be super, not be able to die from a semi truck hitting him in the middle of the street because he didn't look before he crossed one time. Currently, Ned was sitting in Peter's room staring at a Lego set they had just started but would never finish. Legos were scattered about before the millennium falcon they had been building. Peter hadn't had the chance to clean them. It had only been one day since Peter died, but it already felt like it had been years since Ned had seen his best friend. His heart was aching. He couldn't even cry because he hurt too much. He kept just sitting on Peter's room and staring at the unfinished set. "Ned?" Aunt may appeared in the doorway, her eyes rimmed with red and her voice cracking. Her hair was unkempt and her hands were slightly shaking. Ned just stared at the unfinished Lego set. "Its not possible. There's no way this is happening Mrs. Parker. There's no way my friend is dead" Tears appeared in his eyes but didn't fall. "I know sweetie." she walked forward and put her arm around him. Ned leaned back into the contact and sighed. "you have to go home now, I bet your mom is worried sick" Ned knew she was right, but he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to ever leave. He wanted to be in the room with Peter geeking out over nerdy movies and Peter's crush on Liz. He wanted things to be like they were in the past, not this hellish version of the present. Feeling numb, Ned left the room and made the journey back to his own house. He ignored his parents questions about if he was alright and headed right up to his room and laid face down on the bed. It was yesterday during third period that he was called into the principals office to be told the news. Peter had been running late and had taken a shortcut in the middle of the street without seeing the truck that would eventually smash him to bits.

It had been 2 months since Peter had died and Ned could barely take it. Tony Stark had approached him a month ago to tell Ned about how he knew Peter through his internship at Stark Enterprises, but Ned had quickly informed him that he knew Peter was Spider man. This caused Mr. Stark to take Ned to Avengers Tower to meet the team. "Guys, this is Ned," Tony introduced. Ned looked around at the superheroes who were now all staring at him before announcing he was the closest to Spider man they would ever get from now on. He explained how he was Peter's best friend for years and immediately the faces filled with sympathy.  "This is so cool," Ned smiled. "I never thought I'd meet you guys. I-i just wish Peter was the one introducing me". "we have his old suit. Would you like to see it?" Black Widow suggested quietly, her eyes never leaving Ned. "Oh yeah thatd-thatd be great," he allowed himself to be led down the hall. They approached a super hero lair of sorts and in the middle was the eponymous suit, still wrinkled from the last time it was worn. Without even knowing he did it, Ned ran to the suit and hugged it, holding it to his body. He sniffed it deeply, relishing that it was the only thing that still smelled like Peter. God, he hadn't smelled that in months. It was simple things like this that made him really miss Peter. School was also tough now that Peter was gone. He sat with Michelle in the cafeteria every day, but they rarely spoke. They just didn't have much in common. Flash had also stopped his bullying completely. Two days after it had happened, he had approached Ned and apologized for how he treated Peter. It was at this point that Ned would welcome some bullying. That would mean Peter wasn't gone. He let go of the suit and let it fall to the ground when he realized he couldn't smell it anymore.  Tears in his eyes, he ran out of the room and out of Stark Tower, Mr. Stark shouting behind him. He ran all the way to Peter's-Aunt May's apartment and knocked on the door. Aunt May answered it and let him in wordlessly when she saw the state Ned was in. He opened the door to Peter's room and sat on the bed, crying his eyes out about he missed his best friend. "God, peter why cant you just come back? even for just a second. that's all I need, man." he grabbed onto the bed sheets as his throat began to ache with all the tears he had been holding back for so long. He flashed back to the funeral, held one week after Peter's death. Pretty much the whole school had come. Flash even got up and did a speech about how he was sorry for what he had done to Peter. Ned thought it was big of him to admit he had hurt the dead kid at his own funeral. The funeral was closed casket because Peter's body was so mangled after the truck had hit him, but when it was Ned's turn to say goodbye, he opened the lid. He wished he hadn't. He was greeted with a smashed up body that he could still recognize, but couldn't believe was Peter. His chest was caved in, and his face was completely busted. Ned still had nightmares about his body. Every time he would wake up cloaked in sweat and screaming about how he needed to save Peter.  When he calmed down, he would turn over, check the clock and try to sleep again, knowing he had failed in saving Peter.

3 months later

The pain of losing Peter was still very real, but a bit muted now. Ned had stopped expecting to see Peter everyday in class, and that hurt more than in the early days when he couldn't understand why Peter was gone. He felt as though he was forgetting Peter whenever this happened. He and Michelle talked more now, and they even had plans for a sleepover at her house next week. Every day, it seemed there were moments where Peter's loss hit him like a brick and he was overwhelmed again by the fact that he truly would never see him again. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him and he often would sit down. He clutched the locket that had a picture of him and Peter in it. Ned had had it made after Peter died, so that he could always be with him. Heart shaped and silver, the locket simply said 'Always remembered' in cursive on the outside. The locket had helped Ned a great deal by making him feel like he was still holding Peter whenever times got hard. He headed to Aunt May's apartment for what seemed like the millionth time after school. His feet guided him on their own, the path as familiar to him as that of his own house. He immediately went into Peter's room and noticed the still unfinished Millenium Falcon Lego set. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. The memories of starting the set assaulted him and he found himself haunted by how it would never be finished. Steeling himself, he picked up one of the pieces off of the floor and started putting the legos together.

#peterparker #deadpeter #avengers #ned #marvel

[mx-loar-tev]

When Alex had asked him to walked her down the aisle on her wedding day, J'onn had thought it was the best day of his life since he landed on this planet.

At this point, he knew enough of Earth-customs to understand how important Alex's demand was. He knew he should be honored; he was and he told her so.

On Mars, even though Martian weddings were radically different in apparence, the father of the bride had also charges that traditionally were incumbent on them. And after he had lost K'hym and T'ania, he thought he would never have the chance to do his father duty on her daughter's wedding day.

There he was though, in front of his very alive daughter who was looking at him with a mixture of hope and unbridled love.

He couldn't stop the tears from pooling in his eyes as a surge of conflicting emotions rushed through his whole being. The joy and the love, the grief for his late family, the contentment and feeling of belonging upon finding another one in this new life, the undecided feelings about Jeremiah, once a friend and now a foe. A storm of emotions he couldn't fight against as much as he tried.

Losing his family in the hands of White Martians had left him hollow. He knew there was nothing in the universe that could ever change that, that could ever fill the empty space left behind by the greatest loss of his existence. That spot of his soul would forever belong to their ghosts.

But for the first time in two centuries, he realized how full he felt. Somehow his heart had grown around the hole of grief to accommodate the love he had for his new, chosen family.

He hadn't expected becoming a father again, and certainly not of two grown up women (and a nerdy man-child).

He thought his happy days were in the past, and suddenly he had a new best day of his new life to remember.

Then, when the Big Day finally came, he had second one.

It was all he had dreamed of and more. Seeing his oldest Earth-daughter with so much joy in her eyes as she gripped onto his arm and walked toward the altar where Maggie was waiting for her in happy excitement. As he gave her away and linked the two brides' hands together. As he kissed her cheek and then Maggie's. As they recited their vows and exchanged rings. As they kissed, more passionately than what was appropriate. (But no one cared because everyone present were happy for the couple.)

As he looked around him and took on the surprising amount of people gathered considering both brides were workaholics and had issues sociabilizing (Alex hadn't been kidding when she had said it was going to be the biggest, gayest wedding National City had ever seen), his eyes locked on a familiar figure in the back. He sighed and nodded.

After the ceremony came the reception. They ate and drank and laughed. Toasts where given by Kara (who seemed the closest to her old, exuberant self today), Eliza, M'gann, Adrian (Maggie's best man), Conny (Maggie's cousin, the only of her blood relatives that came), and of course himself. Winn and unsurprisingly Brian sang a somewhat sappy, somewhat humorous song they composed specifically for this day, that had the newlyweds blushing by the end of it. James was immortalizing every moment with his camera. Lucy thought that filming it was more fun.

Alex and Maggie's first dance as wives was a quiet affair, the silence only broken by the song they had chosen, as everyone watched the happy couple gently swaying in each other's arms, foreheads pressed together. The second and third dances weren't as solemn and the guests started conversing again.

Soon, it was time for the father-daughter dance. They were silent for a minute, only focusing on the movement of their feet. J'onn might have lived thousands of years on Earth, but his knowledge of human dances were pretty recent; Alex's was even more fresh and for a formidable agent who had incredible control over her body, she was still gauche in her steps. So far they were doing good; they hadn't stepped on each other foot yet. They counted it as success.

It was Alex who broke the silence first, almost timidly.

"Thank you. For being here. For doing all this. Walking me down the aisle, giving the speech. Talking me down when I've got cold feet." she laughed. "Thank you for being the father I needed. When my dad couldn't. When he failed to be that."

J'onn looked at her for a long moment, pondering if it was wise to tell her the truth. He took his decision; he hoped he was right and the revelation would give her some confort and not upset her.

"He was there, Alex."

"What?"

"Jeremiah. He was there, in disguise. Watching you from afar."

"He... He was?" J'onn nodded. He could hear her heart beating wildly in her chest. He took her in his arm, in a very fatherly fashion, and let her bury her face into his chest, let her calm down and process the news.

Finally, she composed herself, took a step back and stood straight, brushing away a stray tear.

"Why didn't you go after him? He's a traitor. He's Cadmus and tried to massively deported thousands of aliens. He hurt you. He hurt all of us."

"It's your big day. I wasn't going to ruin that."

"Yeah, well, I'm surprised nothing interrupted it. Like another invasion or something."

He chuckled.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "For telling me. For... For protecting me. For giving me today."

"Of course. What kind of father figure would I be if I'd ruined my daughter's wedding day?"

She smiled gratefully at him but couldn't help the tears flooding her eyes, blurring her vision. "I couldn't ask for a better father. I'm lucky I've find you. Or, well, you've found me. You know what I mean."

"Despite his shortcomings, despite what he has become and the choices he made, Jeremiah is the reason I'm here today."

"No. He may have asked you to look after me and Kara, but you choose to go beyond that. You didn't promise him to become family, you did that on your own. I'll be forever grateful for that. Dad."

She winked, trying to look playful and teasing but her still teary eyes and the crack in her voice betrayed the true weight of her feelings. J'onn didn't need to be psychic to know she was deadly serious.

The song ended and the first notes of the next elevated in the air. He knew they both needed a break after so much emotion, though he knew he would not get it yet. "Today I gained another daughter. And I promised her a dance too."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. She's probably waiting for that impatiently." She didn't look disappointed, quite the opposite. She flashed him a bright grin and let him lead her to where Maggie was seated, watching them with a soft smile. J'onn kissed Alex's cheek and smiled proudly as the newlyweds pressed their mouths together tenderly.

"Ready for your dance?" he asked Maggie. She didn't answer verbally, only standing and placing her hand in his. He could sense at the edge of her mind as much as see in the sea of her eyes the storm of conflicted emotions and thoughts. He smiled as reassuringly as he managed, gently leading her into the steps of the dance.

"Welcome to the family."

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Thank you, sir- J'onn. That means a lot coming from you."

"I know how you feel. That's the same way I do. You've lost a family years ago and thought you'd never get that feeling back again. And here we are. With our little makeshift family."

"Not what I would have imagine, but I love them all the same. All of them. When I started falling for Alex, I hadn't realized that she was a package deal. Not like that."

"Yes, we're quiet a bunch, aren't we? And Alex is the worst of us," joked J'onn as he twirled her.

They looked at the subject of their discussion who was dancing with Eliza. More people were joining the dancefloor.

"You know she's wearing combat boots under her dress, right?"

"Yes. And I know she asked Winn to make her dress bulletproof. And fireproof."

"She did. And she convinced me to let him do the same for mine."

"Well, she cares about you. She wants you to be safe. But she can be... What's the word? Extra? She can be extra."

Maggie snorted. "She probably have half a dozen weapons concealed somewhere on her. God, I love that woman."

"You two are right for each other," J'onn said with a rare, teasing smile he reserved for his daughters. "How many weapons do you have?"

"Oh, erm. Just one. My spare gun. In... In my garter." She blushed and he couldn't help but laugh heartily.

"Yes, there's no doubt about it. You two are soulmates."

"Yeah, I think we are."

Maggie looked at Alex's and they locked eyes lovingly for an instant. J'onn watched with fatherly pride. He shared a knowing look with Eliza.

He released Maggie so she could dance with Adrian. He heard the two bickering about eating vegetables. Apparently Ade wasn't thrilled Maggie had decided to serve so much healthy foods at her wedding. But the bride seemed to be winning the argument and the young man grumblingly agreed to finish his plate.

J'onn laughed at their antics and went to join his father who was seated at their table, amicably chatting with M'gann and Kara. He kissed his girlfriend and sat beside her.

<You look happy,> his father told him through the Bond. J'onn was glad to be able to communicate through the traditional Green Martian way again.

<I am. I have all the reasons to be.>

<You have three beautiful daughters.>

<They're my joy and pride in this new life, Father.>

Myr'nn smiled knowingly. <Oh I know. That is what I feel for you, my son. That's what it feels like to be a father. I am overjoyed to see you endorse that role again. And I thank you for giving me beautiful grandchildren.>

<Thank them for accepting me in their heart. I know I'll be forever grateful. On days like this, I feel what it's like to live again, and not just to survive. It's all thanks to them.>

J'onn looked at his family contently. Alex and Eliza dancing and chatting about the latest scientific papers they read, Kara and M'gann discussing alien foods, Maggie dancing and laughing with Adrian, Winn bickering with James and Lucy. All these people that had change his life for the better.

<Our family.>

[emouradian]

Grief: 18 Months Later

It’s been 18 months since my dad died and my life barely resembles the one he inhabited. 18 months ago, I had just moved from New York to Maryland (back in NY), rented a great, marina-front apartment (current situation: childhood home), was starting a big new position (eliminated) at the organization where I worked for over a decade (unemployed). To be fair, 18 months ago I had also never left the United States, and am currently writing this on a ferry journeying from Athens, Greece to Naxos Island, so it’s not all bad.

I’m wrapping up Week 2 in a month-long trek across Europe. For the equation to that, please see above loss of job, add severance and divide by limited adult responsibilities. This jaunt has already taken me to London, Edinburgh & Prague, across my parents homeland of Bulgaria, a popover in Athens and en route, at time of writing, to Naxos. Still to come: a week through Italy, a stop in Barcelona and finally the south of France. I suppose I should clarify, in this post-Fake News world we live in, that I have been to the Bahamas as a child, Puerto Rico as an adult and all countries in Epcot Center’s World Showcase Pavilion. You can follow the adventures of #AnEddieAbroad on Instagram. #branding

Over these past few weeks, as I’ve been on this adventure of a lifetime, I can’t help but wonder (cue Carrie Bradshaw voiceover): With my current life changing at such a breakneck pace, the loss of my father seems more and more distant. That must mean something, right? Have I gotten over it? Does moving around so much mean I have moved on? As I’ve come to ponder that question, I’ve realized the answer is simple: There is no answer to the question because the question is stupid.

You move on from the Beckys being mean to you in 2nd grade, you “get over” being too sick to go to Safety Town in 3rd grade. Here’s the shocker of loss I’ve discovered: You don’t ever move on. You never get over it. You start over.

After this kind of life change you just begin to exist as a slightly different version of your self, you start over. This is the version of me that doesn’t have a father. Because of that loss, I’ve felt and experienced so much more life - and it shows. Maybe not in creases on my face (post-Whole30 my skin looks amazing), but in a nearly invisible shadow cast over me. This new version functions in the world in a different way, like having an indiscernible limp after a bad car accident. New people I meet, hopefully at my new job (it doesn’t exist yet, so let’s all take a moment to cross our collective fingers, shall we?), will never know him, or know me with him in my life, and that will make our relationship different - not better or worse, just different.  I think I may be less kind now, perhaps not in a way that anyone else notices but in ways that I feel in myself. Or maybe I just see the world that way, not necessarily darker but a hue more grey.  I’m certainly less patient and find anger and jealousy much easier to access than before. I’m now the kind of person who prescribes meaning to everything – pennies, orange cats. Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed by the navigation of life as the new me, that I need to stop and stand still for a moment. I think I’ve developed eczema on my leg. 

Now I realize this sounds mostly bleak, but really, it’s not: I go to the gym now and care about my personal health. I got everything in my body from top to tail checked out, because I wanted to feel strong and healthy, but also because it seemed like something a person who lost his father at 70 should do. I used to joke that I moved to Maryland to escape my friends and now if I could crawl into their collective skin, it wouldn’t be close enough. I’m closer with my mother, appreciate my sister, value my family more. Every Thursday in June I did something new that scared me – went to Yoga, took a spin class, got a tattoo. This version of me is writing because nothing makes me happier, and am trying, at thirty-six, to pursue it as my career (feel free to forward this to any agents you may know). I’ve gotten braver, more adventurous, even though a few months ago, just existing in the world was terrifying. Now I’m traipsing across Europe breathing in all it has to offer. Perhaps most telling of all, I’ve skipped an astonishing number of naps on this trip in favor of one more soul-righting site to see. Even when it’s not perfect, maybe especially when it’s not perfect, I feel an appreciation for life, for living, that I didn’t before. This new version of me I started over as, took the lemons that life served me, and decided to go to Europe for a month, because by the time I get back the lemons will have rotted and disintegrated into nothing.  I don’t think I would’ve done that six months, a year, two years ago.

When you experience a huge loss - or, I suppose any big life change, as I imagine a lot of parents can relate to some of what I’m saying – a version of yourself vanishes, like Marty McFly’s siblings from a picture every time his mom flirts with him in Back to the Future (Sidenote: That movie has a lot of problematic elements). I didn’t expect this, even though, to be fair, I’ve experienced some degree of loss over my thirty-six years on Earth. The person who moved to Maryland for an exciting adventure to take on a big new job and meet new people and maybe find someone to spend his life with, that person is gone. In this particular chapter of “Choose Your Own Adventure: Life Edition”, I have lost the option of seeing what would become of that (potentially) loveable scamp. I suppose he’d grow to love soft shell crab and Old Bay seasoning, maybe he would’ve fought harder to stay at the job he’s been at since he was twenty-five, not because he wanted to but because it felt safe; Maybe he would’ve been brave enough to stay in Maryland for another year, just to give it a real chance to work, even if he hadn’t stayed at his job. But even that makes this guy a stranger - an outline of a person who will never be colored in. I never expected to mourn anything other than losing my dad, but I’ve come to realize that I grieve for that version of my life. Or maybe it’s just curiosity, or anger that I’ll never know, but it’s there, once at the outside of the frame, now coming sharper into focus. The real truth is this all stopped being about my dad a long, long time ago. To pretend like it hasn’t, like this is still only about him not being here, is like blaming a mass-shooting victim for being in the way of the gun.

I’ve become both better and worse in ways subtle and grand, in ways I probably wouldn’t have realized if I hadn’t started writing all this eighteen months ago. In death, my father gave me this incredible gift of a new version of myself, a new skin after the old has been shed, or more accurately, ripped off me. It was a gift I didn’t ask for, which sent me on a journey I wasn't quite ready for like Frodo and his ring or Buffy and her Slayer-ness or some other less nerdy example. It is a gift, this Eddie Reboot, that has made me want to call Life’s Manager and ask about the return policy several times. If given a map I could draw a line from the person I am today, standing on this boat, and the call I got from my mother telling me to drive to the hospital in New York during a snowstorm. It’s awful and wonderful to feel like anything good came from losing him; spectacular and devastating to think this new version of me may be the best one, that it could only exist without my father here.

I still miss my dad, sometimes so much, so thoroughly, so unexpectedly, I need to excuse myself in the middle of a conversation at a Scotland bar so I can go have a good, beer-infused cry in a bathroom stall. Sometimes I am so taken over by the magnitude of the beauty of this trip – both literally and figuratively – that I find myself needing to catch my breath. Eighteen months, to the day, after my father left us, I found myself in Bulgaria where he lived as a kid. Just a few days later I was in Greece, my old mentor and Work Dad Ted’s beloved home country on the anniversary of his passing. I no longer take the magic of that happenstance for granted.

Life is long and extraordinary and weird and beautiful. I think for the first time in my life, I can appreciate that; I can feel it jolting me awake like the salt water spraying my face on the deck of this ferry. And that I thank my dad for. Eighteen months gone and he still gives the best gifts.

[mergowyn]

Stories, life

OK, let's start from the start.

So naturally, as a straight white male who’d been reading scifi my whole life, my first real novel is a 70’s detective romance about two mixed race cousins, one of whom is a married lesbian. And the sequel also has lots of not white & not straight people.

Wait, what?

Why?

And how does that have anything to with me writing into this second, not yet started novel,  fictionalized versions of people I barely know through Twitter?

Stay with me for this long bit: It's about who I've become, and discovering some of who I've been for a while, and about rediscovering some of what was lost. And how all of that determined what I choose to write.

In 2009, I discovered this webseries, Anyone But Me. Back then, webseries were a brand new thing. TV shows made for the internet were super low budget, because there was no standard way to reach an audience or monetize. This was before crowd sourcing sites. Webseries then were something like audio drama podcasts now: make some episodes, build an audience, then ask for donations or sell ads to make more. But there was no Patreon back then. Crowd funding was much harder. Anyway, the series caught my attention with the trailer because it had something you didn't see in a dramatic presentation: two women kissing. But the show wasn't to show men two women kissing; the show was about two teenagers at that crucial first point in life where you start to figure out what path you're going to be on in life. Where you really start to see how your life is different from what you expected it to be.

You learn how your life doesn't match the stories you were taught growing up.

Sometimes we learn that later. It's really obvious, and really hard, when something about who you are doesn't line up with what society teaches you is the way to be. That can be what you love, like nerdy things; it can be the color of your skin, or your religion; or it can be who you fall in love with.

Anyone But Me is about two people in love dealing with life changes, and ultimately working their way back to each other over and over. So it was about being in love and making it work, when how you're in love doesn't match what you were taught being in love was like.

The stories we're taught about being in love don't teach us how hard it is to work through so many of life's challenges together. They don't teach us that both people have to be committed to doing the work, but that sometimes one or both can't do the work for a time.

Sometimes that's OK; sometimes it's not.

The stories don't teach us that sometimes love fails.

That's why divorce is so hard. We're never prepared for it by what our society teaches us.

2009 was when I had accepted that my marriage was failing, had had the talk with the now ex about it, and that I'd keep working on it.

She didn't work on it. So Anyone But Me struck a chord in that I really, really wanted to have a loving relationship that worked. The series ended in 2010 with a poorly crowd funded third season of only 5 episodes. In 2011 I separated from the ex, 3 years after deciding the marriage was almost certainly beyond repair. It hurt me a lot to know that although I had to separate to not be miserable, it would be hard on my daughters.

I was terrified that I would live my life alone, without the story of a happy life together with someone being fulfilled.

The stories taught us that someday we'd be in love.

The first week I moved out one of my daughters had massive meltdowns. She had only recently been diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, so I had at least some idea about why she was acting out this particular way.

The stories don't tell us about all the ways we might grow up to be different. Then, I had my own apartment. A few weeks later my boss told me he was moving me from being the help desk manger to doing the knowledge management role full time. I had built a successful help desk but couldn't do certain things my boss wanted. Dealing with the divorce and taking care of my kids required too much time.

One of the other stories this society teaches us is that if we work hard enough, we'll succeed, we'll become the boss; we'll make a lot more money.

That also doesn't always work out, but the stories don't tell us that, either.

In the new role I made some good friends, and did some amazing work at making the company super responsive to customer needs. But I'd had to redefine myself.

I wasn't the leader anymore; I was back to being a scout, to figuring out the best paths to making things work better. In 2012 I met Ayalah.

When you date a black woman, you very quickly learn about white privilege. Every thing anyone black has ever said about being treated unfairly, and as lesser -- yup, now I've seen it firsthand.

I got into Tumblr on the strength of an article written by a woman (@unwinona) about her frequent harassment by men as she would ride the train home. It blew my mind just how common harassment of women was. How had I missed that?

I was to learn a lot more about things I'd missed, about how I still saw a lot of people as not quite like me, because the stories had taught me that was the way things worked.

The stories aren't always right.

In 2013 my mom passed suddenly from rapid onset leukemia. She couldn't accept donated blood due to having radiation treatment for breast cancer previously. I asked Ayalah to marry me. She said yes. I ran into the Tumblr by Jasika Nicole, an actress I'd known about from the show Fringe. She wrote a beautiful blog post about how she got married to her long time partner, how every time someone referred to Claire as her wife, she got a little pang of joy. I could totally relate, as I felt that way about Ayalah, although we weren't married yet. Seeing someone who wasn't straight as not quite like me, as "not of my tribe," went away. In 2014 I was laid off from the company I'd given nearly 10 years of my life to, a month before our wedding. I got a new job 6 months later.

In 2015 I decided it was time to write, and finish, a novel. So I started what was to become The Red and the Black. I started with a character wholly unlike me, and added a second main character wholly unlike me, and then I realized they weren’t unlike me at all. They dealt with grief, with loss, with love, with marriage, with children, with parents, with doubt, with fear, with courage, and with eventually figuring out who the hell you are in the middle of all that.

The setting is a town, Wick, founded by two interracial couples so that their kids would grow up in a supportive environment. Along the way one set of parents figured out their daughter was gay, so they made their town friendly for who she was.

And, as a 70’s detective story/romance set in the south, it also has kung fu, power afros, redneck cops, and lots of great music. End of March 2017 I reconnected with a friend who had stopped talking to me due to his own life stresses about the time of my separation. He was about to be in town for another friend’s  birthday party. I'd known both guys since we were 15-16. So I could have the relationship again. End of April 2017 I rediscovered Anyone But Me. Turns out there was a series finale filmed as episode 6 of season 3, and several "lost scenes" filmed as zero budget, theater like, performances in 2015. The lead actresses acted out several scenes that hadn't been filmed for the regular series, with no costuming, no sets, just them and two cameras, in somebody's apartment. So I could have enjoying the series again, and revisiting all the emotions it had caused me to feel, and the whys behind it. And I realized how much the hopeful relationship of the series had influenced my writing, and how that driven me to write three (ultimately) happy love stories in my first novel. And how the series had inspired another novel that I have partially written in my head, that may one day be written down.

It struck a chord with me this time because being in love with someone of a different skin color is like being in love with someone of the same gender: society teaches you that being in love with that person is not supposed to happen, and will end badly.

But the stories are wrong.

Because Anyone But Me is a story about how the stories we're taught don't prepare us for becoming who we are, if we don't fit a certain mold.

If you're a nerd, or not Christian, or not the boss, or don't sing well, or don't feel like you stand out, or black, or not straight, or you fall in love with someone with a different skin color, the stories didn't teach you how to be. You have to figure that out. You have to figure out how to be who you are.

On the last day of April in 2017, I watched the last of the lost scenes.

In the third to the last of them, the two main characters are talking about applying to colleges. Vivian is surprised that Aster is applying all over the country, realizing that although they've found their way back to each other after months apart, that they're going to be separated, on and off, for years.

"We'll be together, someday," says Aster.

"Someday. I hate that word," says Vivian.

That was a lost scene from the series finale.

The last of the lost scenes is set after college, five or six years after the main story. Vivian and Aster have just moved in together. They sit on the floor because they don't have a table yet, and toast with champagne.

They trade keys in a symbolic marriage ceremony.

They talk about how they finally get to be together; no more calling parents, no more taking trains, no more nights apart.

Then Aster says, "Hey, Vivian, do you know what day it is? It's someday!

I'll have been with Ayalah for five years, as of a few days before I turn fifty.

She's my someday.

I'm doing a lot of deep thinking about what is is in life to fall in love with someone, to change your life to intertwine it with theirs, and even what happens when you have to pull away when someone changes too much or when someone passes on. When my mom passed suddenly, my dad gave away or otherwise got rid of all her stuff, and most of the things that had been theirs together, except their house. It was the only way he could survive; they'd been together for over 50 years, since she was 17 and he was 19.

There's a story I've been writing just in my head. It works as a series of short stories, so I started to write it as an audio drama. I was listening to a lot of audio drama podcasts on my very long commutes at the time. One of my favorites, The Bright Sessions, is basically two people talking, in a single room. That format would work really well for my story, so I gave it a shot.

My expectation was that it would work as a short story, but I realized there was an enormous amount of back story (and forward story) to be developed first to be able to tell this one piece.

So writing it would take as long as the novel I'm working on, so I shelved it.

I love the premise though.

It has a theme of transformation, because transformation is so important in what I write. I had to transform myself when my marriage failed. Beings who have obvious transformations, like werewolves, tantalize my imagination. My father had to transform himself after my mom passed. I became somebody different with Ayalah.

The story is a way of examining all the little, daily things married couple do that express love and affection to one another. Not the big, dramatic things. Instead, things like taking out the trash because although you hate to do it, your spouse hates it more. Or sitting next to each other instead of across from each other when you go out. Or making them cookies when they're sad.

"Remembering Her Scent" is about Brynn. As the story starts, she wakes up in bed next to someone... but doesn't remember how she got there. She dresses quickly, then notices a light on the outside of the bathroom door, shining on a note. In her handwriting. That starts, "Brynn, if you don't remember where you are, here's why: You're having a temporary period of memory loss. Your memory will come back over the next few hours. The memory loss was caused by a brain injury from a car accident. Every so often, your memory resets to the period just before the accident. By the way, that was 3 years ago, and you're married now... to a woman."

So then Brynn has to come to terms with who she is now that so many elements of her life have changed so radically. She remembers figuring out over several years that she wasn’t straight, and was about to ask Gaby out, because she wondered, “Am I falling for her?”

Her memory doesn't come back at first as images, but as intuitively knowing things. If she tries to remember, it doesn't work. If instead she sits in what is her chair at the kitchen table, it feels familiar. When she looks at a photo from 2 years ago, she can't remember it. When she smells Gaby's hair, that's comforting. The details gradually fill in from those aspects of senses below the conscious level: smell, muscle memory, and touch.

So the first story is the process of Brynn going through her daily routine causing the memories to fill back in. Sitting down for breakfast with her spouse. Brynn cooking Gaby's eggs half hard while Gaby gets her morning coffee. Knowing which chair to sit in at the table. Knowing where the dishes are, but if she thinks about it, she can't find the forks. All the little pieces of how two people share their daily routines unfold, and so do Brynn's memories. She rediscovers who she has become over the last few years.

For me, that's a way of very consciously looking at the little details of how I interact with Ayalah, to make those mundane tasks a conscious expression of love.

“Remembering Her Scent” led me to another story that also forced me to deeply look at how relationships work. What happens if you fall in love with two people, instead of one, and they fall in love with each other, and each of them also falls in love with you? How effectively do you have to communicate, how relentlessly do have to be truthful, to deal with the inherent instability of a three way relationship? I called that story “Triple” as in not a couple, but a triple.

Then I realized that those two stories could easily intertwine as they were both about deconstructing relationships. And then I figured out the stories had to be set in Wick.

So I had a sequel, with romances, and great characters, but no real plot, and then a goofy gay voice actress & a nerdy, biracial, deeply thoughtful writer/actress make themselves known to me through audio dramas, and I get to interact with these really interesting and wonderful humans, and then I get an idea…

Wick has to have detectives, yeah?

Who better?

Now, how do I fit in & fictionalize Kristin DiMercurio’s antics and Danielle Shemaiah thinkiness into that story?

Hmmm. I could mash them up with some of the many existing main characters….

Yeah, yeah. Gonna let that percolate in my brain for a while. I already have some ideas… I mean, I’ve already thought of them in certain roles should “Remembering Her Scent” ever become the audio drama it started as...