#i could go on a whole tangent about the difference between the Stranger's fear of unknown and the Dark's fear of unknown

[podcasts-in-space]

tma fandom, food for thought: would the fear of being lost in life be the Vast or the Dark? cause i could argue it both ways

[unhommesansnom]

On religious based compulsion in mentally ill children: an Essay

TW: OCD, religion trauma, self harm,

This is my first ever Tumblr post!! I am just speaking into the void to see if anyone hears it, and if no one does that's okay, I just want to put some thoughts out there :)

In the name of the Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray to the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take,

God bless my Daddy and God bless my Mom

Amen

The debate as to whether it is ethical to teach children to believe certain religious dogmas at an age when they are unable to comprehend the difference between fact and faith is a very personal one to me. I was baptized to rid me of my sin before I was even capable of rolling over, let alone capable of understanding what hell is or the fact that I would go there if I, an infant, were to die before such a ceremony. More progressive teachings in the Catholic church would argue that unbaptized children would not be damned to eternal hellfire if they are not baptized, however the belief must still be there if the sacrament continues without a beat. Later, I will elaborate further on my issues with the argument that those who do not know the love of Jesus Christ will not make it into the gates of heaven, but that is a whole tangent, and I will put a pin in it for now.

As a child, parents tell lies to explain large ideas that the young mind cannot comprehend without immense fear, including lies to explain things that adults are not capable of understanding themselves. I believe there is a certain extent that lies can be told ethically to a child, for instance, excluding certain gory details about stranger danger while still emphasizing the message to stay away from adults, protecting their innocence while you still can, not exposing them to things that would interfere with their sleep and sense of safety. However, I believe it is extremely unethical to introduce the concept of God, Hell, and other religious dogmas to children without emphasizing that these are faith based beliefs, not tested facts that could be false. As a child, everything your parents tell you is your entire world and your entire belief system, and if you are provided with a safe and secure childhood, there should be no reason to question what your parents are telling you about the facts of the universe. I believe that if you are going to teach your children about religion, it should be taught in the way fairy tales are, in that they are parables and lessons provided to guide your child through moral dilemmas, form their sense of self internally and through their connection to others, and to provide a community of people who gather to spread love and positivity. I do not think it should be used as a tool to instill rules the child must follow, should not teach the child that if they do not follow those rules there are dire consequences, and I think it is dangerous to teach a child about any form of afterlife, hell or heaven alike, because it introduces topics too broad and nebulous for a child to grasp, let alone to bring any comfort to that child. The only instance in childhood where afterlife provided comfort to me was at funerals, being told ‘They’re in a better place,’ ‘At least they [the family of dead relatives] are together now,’ ‘we’ll meet again.’ While these are temporary comforts for a grieving child, I believe they lead to more confusing, harmful coping mechanisms down the road. The child will not properly grieve, because they do not understand that the person is really gone, and if that child, say, has an undiagnosed (as most mental illnesses remain when taught within the Catholic School system) that leads to intrusive thoughts and constant shame, the child will think that their dead relatives are omniscient beings who not only see their sins as they commit them, but also hear every ‘sinful’ (intrusive really) thought the child has but cannot control. Heaven looming over the heads of youths as a place where relatives, saints, and God can tune into your thoughts like flipping through television programs is a horrifying thing for a child to understand. The other constant fear is much more obvious and widely discussed, and that is the concept of hell. Luckily, Catholicism has a get out jail free card that is Reconciliation, so if you confess to your sins you can still get into heaven, but what about the fears of the child who has not yet reached that step in their sacramental journey yet? What of the child who goes to confession once a year, and fears throughout the rest of it of dying a sudden death and suffering in hell forever? What of the child who has no sense of scaling when it comes to sin, who for some reason believes that having sexual thoughts will give them a one way ticket to the same eternal resting place of men like Hitler? In my case, sadly, I fear I would go to hell no matter how many times I prayed the Act of Contrition and feared that no amount of repentance would wipe away the ultimate sin I was committing by existing. Despite baptism, despite confession, despite my nightly compulsions to pray acts of repentance, I still believed that I deserved to go to hell and did not deserve saving. Who would have thought that a religion whose main message is that we are all born impure, sinful beings would lead children to experience constant shame and self-hatred.

Oh my God I am sorry I have sinned with all my heart.

In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good

I have sinned against You, who I should love above all things.

I firmly intend with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin

Our Savior, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us,

In His name, have mercy.

Amen

I have alluded to mental illness I have experienced in childhood. I believe that as a child I had undiagnosed obsessive compulsive disorder worsened by religious teachings. The illness started as intrusive thoughts that would loop for hours on end, until it would become so bad I would throw up or have a panic attack. As mentioned above the self-hatred that is programmed into children by Catholicism, when you are suffering as a deeply religious child, you believe that a) you are a burden if you let this illness show and interfere with others lives, because you are taught that others come first, to put yourself aside, and b) this is your cross to bear, Jesus died for you, he was whipped, stabbed, crucified, how is it that the thoughts in your head are comparable to the suffering of He who did not complain?, and c) turn to the lord and you shall have no reason to fear, and if you do fear, then your faith must be weak and your belief is not sound. For these reasons, I kept my anxieties about death and the universe in my head, ultimately making them worse. I would not be able to think for hours at a tiem because of these thoughts constantly looping in my head, losing sleep and peace. When I had my first panic attack, I could not explain it to my parents. MY parents are extremely loving, yet I could not tell them I was terrified to die. All that triggered it was a horrible John Travolta movie in which he dies in the first ten minutes, laughable looking back at it, but this was turned on a night where my thoughts were already looping and unrelenting. I started panicking, unable to breath, my parents God bless them, had no experience with this and pulled the classic paper bag trick. As I said they are inexperienced with this, and they did not ask if anything was bothering me, did not consider this might be a mental crisis, instead thinking I was having an asthma attack. One expensive trip to the ER later and it was discovered that yes, I was just having a panic attack, and when asked what was going on, I said simply that I was really stressed out from school (fourth grade mind you). That night my mother taught me a prayer with good intention but would soon become a part of a ritual that would keep me up at night for hours.

Angel of God, my gaudian dead,

To whom God’s love comits me hear,

Ever this day be by my side,

To light, to guard, to rule, to guide.

Amen

In the name of the Father, The Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

The number one reason I can say with confidence that I was suffering from OCD was a child was my nightly ritual that I now realize was compulsions I could not control.  Each evening before falling asleep, I had to say goodnight to my mother and father and tell them I loved them, or I believed I would die in my sleep and never get the chance to tell them again. If I happened to go to bed without completing this first task, I would toss and turn, unable to sleep, riddled by fear of my death or theirs. At least two times I can remember sneaking into their bedroom at ungodly hours crying just to say, ‘I love you!’ and leave, finally able to sleep peacefully. The second part of this ritual was not so simple to correct. Each night I had to say my three prayers, in order, perfectly, or I would die and not make I into heaven. Sounds simple, you say the same prayers every night you would think it would be an easy task to complete, but I would start over if my mind got distracted by other things and I wasn’t ~present~ for my insane nightly task. I would forget how to say the prayer, I would forget what prays I had already said, I would say them in the wrong order or forget whether I had already prayed that night, starting over sometimes five times an evening. Bad days where I sinned more than usual or was having relationship issues with friends or family, these nights called for full blown on the knee’s hands clapped together prayer, in addition to a rosary prayed. Unfortunately, these were not my only form of repentance, and around 4th grade, although I did not have the language to understand it, was the time I started to self-harm. I used to compulsively pick every scab, ingrown hair, and pimple on my body, including trying to rip off any moles or freckles I might have had (successfully I may add). However, this took a new form. After getting into a fight with my best friend, which ended with me insulting him in a way I did not even believe, I vividly remember scratching my wrist raw in my mother bathroom because I thought it was the only way to say sorry to the Lord for what I had done. I was not worthy of His, nor my friend’s, forgiveness. This became a frequent coping mechanism of mine, and my mother would always ask me what happened, I would simply say I had eczema and itched it in my sleep. Having a past of allergies and skin picking, my mom would believe me and just tell me to use anti-itch cream and not to pick. Let’s just say that did not work.

 As my Catholic school education continued, the religious messaging was no longer vague, it was extremely rule based, and as sexualities develop and bodies change, the teachings take on a much darker, scarier message that you are sexually broken. I am queer and this was not the right environment for a queer child who loved God. I often find it difficult to relate to certain corners of discussions about queer religious trauma, because often this trauma comes in externally by the church environment they were raised in, and not from believing in God. While that was a large part, the hardest part for me as a child was truly believing God loved me, not unconditionally, but on the condition that I behave by a certain set of rules and behave perfectly. An unfortunate aspect of Catholic teachings is the concept that God hears every thought you have no matter how insignificant, at any moment of the day. Terrifying. I believed I was sinning if I had a single thought about sex, so I would purposefully try not to think about it, but in doing so was thinking about it, and it would cause a shame spiral of thinking about it, tryng not to and asking for God’s forgiveness, but then thinking about it again as the cycle repeats. I would pray at church to take away my thoughts, would dream of being a nun or anything to keep God’s love, praying to no longer have gay or even sexual thoughts. I felt broken and dirty, even though I was not aroused by these thoughts, later I discovered I am asexual, but I would think about sex out of curiosity or impulse, not even experiencing a physiological sensation from it, I still believed I was sinning by thinking about it. Obviously, this led to a delay in understanding my sexuality, because questioning it at all was a sin in my eyes and the eyes of every adult who was sending me the message that being gay did not align with the ways of the Church. I feared losing the love of God who I adored and losing my place within the congregation. I loved the rituals. I loved the sacraments. I loved the routines. I loved the mythology, the bible, the stories that contained the secrets of life. I loved it all so much and I feared that if I even thought about being with someone, I would lose my favorite part of living. So rather than exploring those parts of myself, I dived deeper into the Church, going to conferences, church twice a week, making my family go with me, constantly praying. MY family would make fun of me because come on who becomes MORE Catholic than their parents. Any time an intrusive thought would come in, there was an escape within religion, and this led to coping mechanisms that were not coping at all, but just compulsions and rituals.

I fear I have not said all I want to say on the topic. I fear I have started many thoughts that I did not fully elaborate on, but I am not going to reread this in fear of deleting the whole thing. I decided to start writing again for the first time in years and it feels good. I’ve decided to finally share my thoughts because I want to find someone to relate to. I am doing good now and I have found comfort in certain aspects of my old theology, however I have found that organized religion is not a safe space for me, and it is my belief it is not safe for children. I am sure I will continue to write about religion, as it was formative for how my brain processes just about everything, and it has given me unique perspectives.

[cadykeus-clay]

i would low key love to hear your tangent about the differences there are between how VM and TM9 react with the world

ah, the perfect excuse for me to put off my 30 page reading, thank you :3

(i’m also going to preface this by saying most of this is stuff i’ve picked from other people’s various metas and i absolutely do not remember who those authors might be so i apologize jsdlkfsd)

....

but uh ... basically i feel like vox machina and the nein have a completely opposite standard for how they interact with the people the consider to be their “inner circle” vs. everyone who doesn’t qualify as that. 

vm is a group of individuals who, overall, had one cruel person that slighted them but didn’t really destroy their faith in humanity. (their faith in themselves is a whole different horse. that ones .... woof. looking at you percy scanlan tary keyleth.) Percy had the briarwoods, Grog had Kevdak, the twins and tary had their father. so, the way that they interact with just random people that they meet is - with exceptions of course - amicable, or at the very least, respectably polite. 

they’re the saviours of emon, the freers of whitestone. they have festivals held in their honor. they have kid fans and random farmers knocking on their doorstep for aid because they’ve heard tales of the kindness. sure, vex can be a hassle when she’s haggling down a price, and keyleth tends to poke buttons in way that gets her arrested a fair amount of the time, but at the end of the day they’re the people’s heroes, and they’re happy to be that!

their inner circle, however, is much more closely guarded. they have a few chosen allies (gilmore, allura, kima, kash and zahra, cassandra) and that’s it. They’re hesitant with anyone else trying to creep into their personal fold. Hell, it took beating up tary and him breaking down sobbing for them to even consider liking him. they’ve been burned by raishan and clarota and hotis, by individuals they let in and who then stabbed them in the back. they’ll do almost any favor for a stranger who asks, but they’ll be damned if they trust anyone to actually join their midst. vox machina is vox machina is vox machina and that’s incredibly hard to change. 

the nein, on the other hand, are fundamentally a group of rejects. some of them have specific people they can point a finger at and say “i hate you”, but those problems stem from a greater societal rejection. beau has daddy issues, but she also felt rejected by the entire cobalt soul until dairon found her. caleb has trent’s fucked up shit, but he also has this constant pressure of having failed his entire country, not to mention the faceless hate piled up on him from living homeless for a year. jester’s whole deal is that she had to hide from LITERALLY ALL OF SOCIETY for her entire childhood because she wasn’t supposed to exist.

and so, the nein are shitheads to society right back. they’re mean to random barkeeps, they trash their inns and don’t say sorry, they mock most NPCs behind their back (or sometimes right to their face. @ marius).  Every favor asked of them comes with a ton of deliberation and arguing about whether its bait or not (ie bowlgate, the giants in the mine outside rosohna, essiks “favors”). 

but, on the flip side, they’re willing to tug just about anyone into their ranks. if society already hates them by default, what’s there to lose if they get close to someone? nothing, there’s only more love to be found! so it’s adopting random bird girls on the road, its sending cupcakes to a hag that cursed your friend, its sending messages to everyone you’ve ever met just to check in, it’s making someone sit in the hot tub with you and share trauma and then when you find out he started a war you say “we get it bro” and kiss him on the forehead. it’s “welcome to the mighty nein”. 

and it’s also very interesting, i think, to talk about the ways in which the party interacts with themselves. vox machina was a family, undoubtedly, as is the nein now. but vox machina ... had a lack of desperation to their attachment. i mean for one, they took a full year off from adventuring together and scattered cross continent. even if the nein gets down time like they did, i expect they’ll just trail each other around like lemmings. (its kind of what they’ve been doing from hiatus until now with the eiselcross arc starting). 

but vox machina just ... went. and scanlan walked away from the party and (after the heat of the moment), they agreed to just let him be. and pike would spend weeks on quests for sarenrae without much of a complaint. even at the end - and this will be a controversial take, i know - but they let vax go pretty easily. (sure, mechanically they were wiped from fighting, but besides tears the only attempt to defy trq was from percy, which even he gave up on with minimal struggle because vax said to stop it). that’s not to say they don’t miss each other when they’re gone! of course they do!!! but they trust each other to go off into the world, because the world as whole is a place they trust. 

(the one exception to this might be vex, who fought every one of these situations adamantly, but that’s a whole separate essay about her issues stemming from an innate sense of ‘failed family’ that she’s desperate to not repeat, and less about a mistrust of everyone until proven otherwise)

the nein on the other hand. hoo boy. they’ve been hot glued to each other’s hips since day one. So many quotes (many from beau, which could be worked into my previous vex essay, as they’re very much cross-campaign foils. getting sidetracked again) are about their inability to separate. “You don’t get to choose who cares about you”; “No one goes”; “If one of us is gone for more than 7 days assume we’re dead and have a funeral”; “Do we have co-dependecy issues?” Jester’s cool personal vacation to her god’s get together turned into a party with everyone because why would she go anywhere without the nein? Veth’s time with Luc and/or Yeza is constantly overrun with the rest of the nein dropping in for fun. Even small things like shopping trips are so much more “oh well if you’re going then i’ll go” snowballs than they ever were with vm. 

Also, ashley’s absences had to be much more forceful than in c1. Post episode 11, the only time yasha left the group (rather than someone else piloting her) of her own free will was when she ran in grief from molly’s grave. And yes, there’s something to be said about “oh they were on a boat for a long time she had nowhere to go” but if Matt can justify astral projection pike, i feel like he could justify ‘the stormlord teleports yasha away for a bit’ and he chose not to. 

Because!!!!!!!!! of the dynamic that the nein has!!!!!!!! Because of this idea that the world is bad and cold and full of hate and in here in our little hut (soon to be mansion??????) it’s safe and good and full of love and no one can leave because then you’d be going somewhere much more dangerous and we can’t have that, now can we? 

.....

well uh. that’s a lot of words. i hope they made some sense??? and were at all what you were expecting???? thank u for sending the ask tho this was very fun to write!!

tldr: vox machina is a group of people who were betrayed by one bad figure, so they trust the world and are wary of the individual; whereas the nein is a group of people who were failed by the world at large so they welcome the loner and fear the pack. 

[trashmouth--breather]

IT Chapter One: After the Flood (1957), Parts 1-4

oh boy, here we go...

-Though it shouldn't surprise me, I was still a bit startled by the fact that Bill was only ten when George died.

-The first chapter also introduces the first Derry flooding in 1931--exactly 27 years before the current flood in 1957, so of course there's some reference to It here. I felt as though this devastating flooding was Pennywise and his warm welcome to the town, the ode to It's torment, if you will. Even if the water damage was extensive and it cost them billions to repair, the people of Derry only trudge forward to "get through [the flooding]...and to then forget it." Just get over it. Much like how they handle their demon clown in the sewers, and the mass child killings, huh?

-The contrasting tone between Georgie's boots making a "jolly jingling as [he] ran toward his strange death" was especially pretty. Jingling made me think of bells, and of course, bells usually signify the coming of something, or even a jovial tune or occasion. Quite eerie.

-"Bill was good at reading and writing...[but that] wasn't the only reason why Bill got all A's on his report cards. Telling was only part of it. Bill was good at seeing." I don't wanna grasp at nonexistent straws here (or maybe I do) but the "seeing" bit could be a reference to Bill's mnemonic device from his speech therapy. He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts. Earlier in the quote, George knows his big brother is a good writer, and also recognizes his ability to "see" and have a perceptive outlook in his literature. This kinda tied into why Bill becoming an author and his mnemonic device being one of the braver things to defeat Pennywise was so important. Bill didn't just want to tell the same old story, he wanted people to see it how he did, to see the "ghosts" that no one else could. Which was exactly why overcoming his stutter was him breaking off that fear, he was the only one who suffered with the stutter, maybe that's his "ghost." I'm going on a tangent this is for a later post I'll stop talking.

-This is completely irrelevant, but I have "his left arm curled around the doorjamb in a deathgrip" underlined in my copy, and the following written underneath: enjoy your arm while you still have it Georgie.

-"The smell of the monster, the apotheosis of all monsters." Just beautiful. We're seven pages in and already King is being poetic.

-The visual of George imagining something in the darkness of their basement while looking for wax was so spot on. The quote in the previous bullet point was the stage setter for It, how the children envision their fears. Georgie introducing his fear of the dark as a monster "crouched and lurking" who could "eat anything," but in George's fear-induced lack of rationale, knew It wanted "boymeat." This whole passage was just, eek. The only state of relief for him was the sound of his mother playing the piano in the living room, with King comparing it to "music from another world." Since I've read this before, and I hate to break it to anyone who hasn't read IT, George's mother abruptly stopped the piano playing once he died, so that was a punch to the fandom gut.

-On that note ^ I found this sort of grief in reverse. George fears for things in which he cannot see in the darkness (Pennywise) and the only relief was the soothing sound of the piano played by his mother. At the end of the chapter (or chapter two, technically) we find out that Mrs. Denbrough was faced with the most crippling fear of all: losing one of her sons, which was sort of like It in a way. Then that soothing act of playing the piano ceases, much like the fear that George alternately faced.

-I'll mention this analogy in further posts but It is likened to that of a snake many, many times. George's embodiment of his fear of the darkness was like a snake, with him knowing it "would simply slither part of its rotted self up." The slithering serpent of whatever he imagined was in the basement was "rotted," which also plays on another commonality in the novel of It's overall smell being decaying, rotting, and musty (as all of the Losers minus Richie have noted). Sorry, I'm all over the place but I also love this book aha-

-Once George loses his precious paper boat, and meets Pennywise in the sewer, we are (as I'll repeat this word, forgive me) introduced to It's mind games on the children It feeds on. To George, Pennywise's voice is "perfectly reasonable, and rather pleasant." This rhetoric, if you will, is reinforced further (because, excluding Eddie, Pennywise only feeds on children) when George realizes he only truly believes this clown in the sewers is real because he wasn't ten years older. Children have a different state of mind than adults, and will believe just about anything if it's keyed to the right kid.

-More mind game stuff. The balloons that Pennywise brings forth are "like gorgeous ripe fruit in one hand." This isn't just a somewhat pleasant simlie so Georgie feels secure, it's also a play on temptation. Forbidden fruit? Serpent? Am I getting too far into this?

-Something I thought was kinda interesting was that Pennywise says to George that, "...you're no stranger to me." Which I interpreted as this: earlier, It changes his appearance so his eyes resemble George's mothers (so it's something familiar, "no stranger") or he isn't a stranger to fear? Everyone's a victim of something or other?

-The end of the chapter (part 4) shifts into first person. Which I found annoying, and a bit confusing, but I'm pretty sure it's just Mike, since he is the only other narrator in the whole book to use first person. Don't quote me on that.  

Thanks for taking the time to read this!! Please feel free to comment on my analysis (whether you think I'm right, or full of horse shit) and reblog if you have any ideas!

[melto]

ive said it multiple times before but the thing that is really getting me about cherry magic is how well from the start they are depicting the gay experiences of othering, of fear, of loneliness, of not knowing yourself. they've always been REALLY strong with adachi but in ep 3 it's just way more intense because imo it's the first time that there has been such a heavy focus on kurosawa's gay experiences that we're solely revolving around his crush on adachi. it was still adachi centric as well. it is a show about them but it does truly highlight some intense fear that he holds close to himself due to him being gay, and in ep 3 it's not just an internal thing, it's external and with adachi so while he doesn't come out and say i'm say i'm gay or anything, he is still putting himself in such a vulnerable position by even allowing the topic to be spoken about. he didn't have to push to try and confirm that adachi is grossed out by the idea of kissing another, but his thoughts show that he already feels so extremely guilty for even thinking about putting adachi in such an uncomfortable position and even worse that he was happy to be that close and intimate with him. he's setting himself up to have his heartbroken not only in a sense of by adachi in a romantic sense but also by the othering and rejection of a peer outright for his true self. adachi doesn't respond which is answer enough, and it would probably hurt too much to hear him say something bad out loud so he immediately tries to run away but then adachi does once again reach out to him by starting to speak to keep him there and they both look so scared for different reasons 

adachi has an extremely hard time allowing himself to want thing and putting himself out there. and i think on top of that he's really been a stranger to himself because there is such a big piece of him just unknown due to him being gay and his issues with self worth which i think is in part do this his gayness, because he is very aware of the distance he keeps between himself and others and he doesn't full understand what it stems from. and growing up gay even if you arent aware of it does cause this inherent isolation a lot of the time especially in a culture and time where lgbt things arent something that are fully accepted or really ever spoken about. i am not going to go off on a tangent of the nuances of gay loneliness in relation to adachi because honestly even at just ep 3 i think i could write a whole ass academic paper on it. but anyways he does push himself out of that comfort zone for kurosawa, who he does feel more comfortable around between knowing that kurosawa isn't internally mocking him but also because the glass barrier that has been between adachi and other people in his life due to his gayness isnt present with kurosawa, because it doesnt need to be there because they are both on the same side of it. 

and in the scene as adachi struggles to say what he wants to kurosawa and also admit it internally there is such distance between them. which physically since the series started they really haven't interacted that far away from one another and at this point, even adachi is aware that the distance in his head that he has with everyone isnt as vast with kurosawa. but here there is that physical distance and adachi cant just hear what kurosawa is thinking as like any sort of validation that he's saying the right thing. it might take him a moment but he does get it out, both to kurosawa and himself. and that's a big step for him and also comes with it's own sense of relief. because he admits that he doesn't fully understand what he's feeling, but he does know that he wants to be around kurosawa. he wants to get to know him, and wants to make him smile like kurosawa does him (as he before said that he cant handle seeing the scared and heartbroken look on his face again). he's once again actively choosing to do something about it rather than shy away because he's scared. he acknowledges that he still is, but he not letting it hinder him any longer (and at this point adachi knows that if there is any place he is safe to take those types of risks, it's with kurosawa). 

and then with kurosawa...god. well he was simply fucked me up so bad with his gay fear and guilt. the look on his face as adachi is struggling to get out everything is just so much. he's holding on the to fear he was before, but there's something lighter about it, almost hopeful but obviously struggling with allowing himself to feel any hope with the situation. the way he immediately tries to still shut everything down by making a joke about how it's still a good thing that he didn't steal adachi's first kiss and he's so confused and caught off guard just like earlier in the day when adachi stopped the elevator and for just a moment he looks scared again, but he doesn't want to be away from adachi, and he knows sometimes it takes him a bit to get things out so he stays still trying his best to not be hopeful even after adachi said he didn't dislike his kiss. he's trying to confirm again with adachi like he did originally by trying to get him to say he thinks two men kissing is gross but didn't get that. 

but he's still scared and cant bring himself to directly say it, so he's just staring and asking him if he has any idea what he's saying. to confirm that they are on the same page, and he's just staring so hard looking for any true sign of it going south but when adachi doesn't offer him any again, he chooses to go back to him rather than turn away to leave again. it's so slow and careful and there's still no protest from adachi and you know kurosawa is just searching for it. all he gets is adachi's usually nervousness and a call of his name and the whole time you can still see that struggle of his own hope and fear fighting one another from his face and the way he's breathing. he looks for it again before pulling him closer and looks for it once more once his hand is completely placed behind adachi's neck before pulling him in to kiss (god. please just give them something) because adachi's expression is what keep kurosawa from just going for it during the game so surely, without that scared look it was okay but he just can't let himself feel that relief, both of them are holding onto that uncertainty about what they are doing because coming to terms with being gay and also acting on your own gay feelings are terrifying in their own rights. 

and i really just. Yeah. i just think cherry magic is doing an amazing job with expressing these nuanced parts of the gay experience, especially for two like proper adult characters where a lot of the time the struggle with such for them is erased. i like how both of them are struggling with the same thing at their core but are at different places with it all and how it affects them and their life. adachi with being a stranger to himself and others so long and coming to terms with his identity and kurosawa being aware of his but struggling with the fear of rejection and being predatory inherently for his feelings. 

sorry if this is simply not coherent hjdkhfjlkvd im just really loving cherry magic so much and as a gay person both of them are really resonating with me and hitting really hard. 

[mihidecet]

Sbi&CO d&d AU: A Familiar Face (1/?)

WELCOME WELCOME EVERYONE! Today, the tournament arc begins! I do hope you’ll enjoy this ahahah

I dedicate this to all the wonderful people of the Au’s Discord - hit me up if you wanna join! Also, a special thank you to @traitorous-bisexual and @awebo without whom this arc wouldn’t exist <3

Finally, before we start: make sure you check out @whatimevendoinhere , @spout1nk and (soon) @julius-ranch for art and fanfics about the AU!!

It was a lovely morning. 

The sun shined through the tinted windows, turning the light a soft orange glow that lessened the glare of it against his eyes. 

It was a welcome respite: during the months that involved preparing the tournament, days were quick to melt together, nights becoming just darker afternoons as Scott and everyone around him hurried to make everything look ready for the contestants' arrival. So, not having the sun shine directly into his eyes as he looked over the final challenges that had been chosen for the tournament was a relief. The cup of warm tea by his desk was also a saving grace.

Stifling a yawn, Scott figured that he could let himself take a stroll. Maybe open up his window, let the room freshen up a bit. 

With his window overlooking one of the many parks inside the Academy, maybe he could distract himself for a moment and see if his protege had finally started warming up to his teammates. 

That plan had flown out of the window almost immediately. Or maybe it would be better to say that it had flown into the window, along with a green tipped arrow that had suddenly appeared in his field of vision. 

Now, Scott hasn't been adventuring for a while, but it would be foolish to think that he's forgotten how the world works - with a flick of his wrist, a translucent dome of purple arcane energy materializes between him and the incoming arrow, which impacts with the barrier a split second later. The tip goes through, piercing the veil of his magic, and for a terrifying moment Scott thinks it's not gonna stop, but it simply stops, held in place as if caught in a web. 

Which is a relief, the amateur that tried to attack him - an Archmage, in the middle of his own Academy - failed to get their first shot in and this will give him the time to step back and call his most trusted in order to quickly and efficiently get rid of the problem at hand. He has other more pressing matters to attend to, he's not going to waste his time on this. 

As his Shield spell fades, it congeals like a shimmering second skin over his upper arm. Maybe calling the guards isn't that pressing, he's got this. 

Or maybe he doesn't, he thinks as he get a second, much more terrifying surprise - in the span of a couple of seconds, he really can get no breaks.

A figure materializes in the air in front of him, with a dark hood over their head that covers most of their features except for a huge - terrifying - grin and an intricate bow strapped to their back.

The figure appears with a puff of iridescent smoke, crouched in the air as if they'd been in the process of jumping before they decided to teleport, and- crashes into him, the force of the impact and the shock of it happening making him lose his balance and start falling back. 

There's a moment where Scott is confused: is this some sort of strange tactic? Did the stranger misjudge their trajectory? Are they going to wrestle on the ground as if they weren't both magic users? 

Then, a brief split second of panic - he didn't look what the stranger was holding, and he is currently falling on his back. He is going to get stabbed, at the very least, and that conviction is only made stronger as he feels the stranger's arms close in around him. 

But then, Scott has simply enough time to blink in shock, as the arms just wrap around his back, before his world is literally turned upside down.

One moment he is falling on his back, already anticipating the pain of a knife to the back - please no vital organs, spare him the need for an extremely expansive healer. The next the is wrapped in a hug and grunting in pain as his knees impact with the ground. 

"Ah, fuck that hurt- Scotty are you alright?" 

Scott refuses to believe this. He pushes against the chest under him - the arms give, letting him go - and finds himself face to face with a sight that is both very familiar and weirdly unusual. 

"You-" Scott says, tone an unconvincingly mix of menacing and angry as he jabs a finger into the not-so-stranger's chest -"Are lucky to be alive. I could have murdered you."

Hbomb's worried glance instantly brightens, despite Scott's best hopes, and he throws his head back to laugh. No matter how irritated he is at his friend, he can't help but huff out a laugh himself, and a moment later they're both chuckling together on the floor. By all the gods, it has been some time.

"You are a dumbass, H. You couldn't just use the door? You know, like a normal person?!" Scott asks, holding himself up on his left elbow because H has always been one to laugh with his whole body and Scott is still recovering from jamming his knees into the floor, he's not in the mood to be jostled around by an enthusiastic ranger. 

"Aw, Scotty, aren't you happy to see me?" The half-elf asks, putting a hand on his chest as he fails to pretend he's insulted. Scott flicks his nose. 

"Ah- that hurt!"

"I know, I meant it to hurt. Now, do you want to tell me what you're doing here? And what is that doing on your face?" Scott demands, serious at first until he realises that H has been growing out his beard well past what he considers to be a good length - H's pout is barely visible under all that scruff.

"Well, now, that is unnecessarily rude. I've been traveling for a while now, and I wasn't gonna risk injuring myself-" Scott grabs a wandering hand and brings it back on H's chest. 

"H." Hbomb has a tendency of gesticulating when his hands aren't being kept busy, and while he did figure that his friend had simply forgotten to shave, he has known him long enough to be able to recognise when H is going off on a tangent - which is perfectly fine - and when he's changing the subject because he doesn't want to answer. 

He knows he's right when H simply shuts up, eyes wide like those of a deer - quite fitting, considering where he enjoys spending most of his time. But instead of looking pensive, or starting to answer, H just … looks down. At where their hands are. 

Normally, he wouldn't think much of it. But H looks almost sheepish, and his eyes keep moving from his face to their hands, so Scott looks down. 

His brain screeches to a halt, and suddenly he stands up a little straighter, sitting on the floor next to H as he grabs his hand in his. 

Around his fingers wraps a perfect replica of a silver winged fae dragon, while in his palm- one of the most accurate representations of the different Planes. 

Scott turns his stare to his fiend, who looks more calm than Scott feels he has any right to, and when he speaks he sounds almost breathless. 

"What happened to you?"

The tale of how Shubble's patron reached out to him to grant him powers is exhilarating. Not in the "funny" sense, more in the "my friend who is usually not that fond of talking and interacting with people especially when he's not in a place he is familiar with, was transported to a different plane and spoke with a being of transcendent power". So maybe a bit in the "funny" sense. 

The only negative side of the whole affair is the fact that Shubble is currently not present. 

She actually teaches at the Academy, so H was right in his assumption that reaching this place would have helped him out, but he just barely missed her by a couple of weeks. She's recently left, called out on an urgent mission by her patron themselves, and a part of Scott's mind can't help but feel like it is an extremely weird coincidence: he respects power gained through pacts, but he fears deeply the machinations of otherworldly beings' minds and the power they hold over his friends. He'd much prefer dealing with forces controlled by his own self, so that when a spell backfires comically he only has himself to blame. 

But all things considered, he's glad to see H is still alive and seemingly doing better than ever. He looks fine, happy and more confident than the last time he saw him - the way he stands and moves more firm, more secure, filling his space in a way the Hbomb of some time ago wouldn't have. 

It's nice to see him like this. 

What isn't nice is the way his increased confidence leads him to suggest how good of an idea it would be for him to take part into the tournament. Which is a horrible idea. 

"Listen, I know I am banned from playing again-" H starts, arms spread open with a mischievous grin on his face. Scott has sudden flashbacks to all the times he'd seen that grin from the other side of the battlefield and shakes his head firmly before pointing a stern finger at his chest.

"You still have a year before you can." 

H huffs, shoulders falling, and he adopts the most fake-innocent expression Scott has ever seen. 

"But I'm just here to say hi!" Scott levels him with a blank stare, using all of his willpower and internal strength to avoid bursting out laughing. Because for all that his friend's expression is hilarious, this is really no laughing matter. He can't have him win again. 

"I said what I said." H's head hits the desk with a groan of protest. 

On the other side of the table, Scott pinches his own arm in order not to laugh. 

He fails.

H still manages to pout his way into getting a free room to stay in for a while - just like the old times, come on! - and seems to be alright with being left to his own devices for the rest of the morning. 

Knowing him, he'll take it as the perfect chance to snoop around, make new friends and bother the tournament's contestants. 

As Scott turns back to his schematics, the only thing he does is chuckle to himself. 

[haro-whumps]

Group Whumpees 12: Cahoots

Y’know I say I’m nothing but mean to these poor folks but y’all put some really cute ideas in my head that fell really in-line with what I’m trying to do so here you go. Y’all can have One chapter where nice things happen, as a treat.

CW: slavery, aftermath of abuse, disassociation, multiple whumpees

Tag list:  @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout @lonesome--hunter @looptheloup @icannotweave  @deluxewhump @whumping-every-day @yeet-me-out-a-window @what-a-whumpy-world @burtlederp @constellationwhump @swordkallya @finder-of-rings @fairybean101 @adventuresofacreesty @arlennil @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @lumpofwhump @thatsthewhump @pinkdiamondprince @shameless-whumper  @whump-only @infested-with-bloodv2 @kiretto-laorentze

Masterlist

Evan was such a whiny little baby. Lilah was combing her hair and rolling her eyes, listening to the back and forth between Nyla and Evan. Master had told all of them how Evan’s pain meds were supposed to work, and how he was allowed to take less but not more than the recommended dose (and then he’d gone on a tangent about how this rule absolutely did not apply to other medications, like antibiotics, and they should always make sure to take the exact instructions on those, like the five of them hadn’t received any formal training on anything important)(It was… charming, in a sense). Nyla had, of course, taken it to mean she was in charge of getting Evan’s stuff straightened out for him, and Evan took that as his cue to be difficult.

“They make me act weird!” he protested for the millionth time.

“Evan, just take one.”

“I’m fine. I’m confined to ‘taking it easy,’ remember? I’ll just sit in the sunroom and not move and it won’t even hurt.”

“It will hurt, and should you really be going upstairs if you’re not going to work? Master will see you.”

“Nyla, I love you so much, but I will go totally nuts if I stay locked up in this room for weeks, now let me--” he cut off trying to get out of bed, but Nyla pinned him down with the hand not carrying the water glass, Evan restricted in his movements and wincing all the while.

Lilah set the comb down, tugged a finger under her collar (it was getting tight again, asking Master to loosen it could be… added to the list of her ideas), and then went over to the bed, where Evan was begrudgingly sitting back under Nyla’s hand, his brows knit together and his hair still down.

“Move,” she ordered, shoving Evan in the chest so he was forced back down onto his back, and then she promptly sat down on his chest, earning a wheeze out of him.

“Hey!”

“Hi.”

“Lilah, I’m an injured man, here.”

“You were stabbed in the leg, doofus, your chest is fine.”

“Not with you crushing it.”

“Really? It sounds like you’re in pain, then.” Lilah propped her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee, staring down at Evan with a carefully neutral face.

“I--”

“Gee, if only there was a solution to that, readily available! Maybe if someone had the solution in one hand with a glass of water in the other!”

“Lilah, get off of--” Evan protested with a weak shove against her side.

“Oh wow! Nyla, look at what you have there! Golly, Evan, isn’t that convenient!?” Lilah propped her fists on her hips and sent him a broad smile, obviously faked.

“You’re terrible.”

“You’re mulish.”

“I’m being ganged up on!” Evan complained. “Greyson, come back me up!”

“Hm?” Greyson intoned, pulling his tie tight.

“Tell them to lay off me--literally.” Evan gave another weak shove to Lilah’s side. “It’s two against one, here.”

“You should probably listen to Nyla.”

“Traitor,” Evan hissed, Lilah staring down at him smugly, feeling her cattish grin. She deliberately shifted her weight, bringing it right back down on his ribcage, and he wheezed again.

“Oh gee, Ev, that sounded like you’re in a lot of pain!”

“Get your lardbutt off of me!”

Lilah just stared at him, grinning, while Nyla looked at him as well, seeming very ready to have this over with.

She felt him go limp before he sighed out, “Fine! One pill, now get off of me.”

Lilah hopped off, prompting another “OOF” outta him, and she pulled on a pair of socks. Hole in the toe, on one, and while she could theoretically work with that, she added it to her ideas. 

Her family did not know about her ideas. Her family would find out about them when or after Master did.

Because here was the thing: Lilah was clever. Nyla knew more about math and how to run a household than Lilah ever would, and Greyson knew the ins and outs of being theoretically perfect, and Sasha was a cook like no other, (and well Evan, he was just dumb (he wasn’t, he was brilliant in his own right)), but Lilah was clever. And that cleverness had never done her any good, with Mistress, the mind games weren’t the sort that called on her smarts to solve, but she was fairly certain she had a good read on Master.

It just wasn’t a take that her family would agree with. Yet.

They were too close to the situation, too involved, whereas Lilah was kept in the garden and only heard of Master’s actions, and, if Lilah was being honest, her family was too used to how things were with Mistress. Too willing to believe her. Lilah was the youngest, which meant she was the most frail, and the most in need of protection, she wouldn’t deny that, but it also meant she had never fully bought into the “this is normal” rhetoric Mistress and the others were so married to. 

Honestly, the only reason she hadn’t called the bureau’s slave report line on Mistress had been because by the time she realized just how bad things were here, she’d already gotten attached to her family. Getting out from under Mistress’s thumb, no matter how bad it was, wasn’t worth sacrificing her family for. It wasn’t worth getting auctioned off to different owners, other strangers, separated from each other. And honestly, she couldn’t remove Greyson from the only home he’d known for so long; it would’ve been unforgivably cruel.

But Mistress was dead, and now alllllll those lessons she’d learned four years ago (the longest four years of her life, but much closer to her than to the others) in slave training were resurfacing. The demands a slave could reasonably make of their owner, expectations she hadn’t forgotten, necessarily, just left somewhere in a cranny of her mind to collect dust until she brushed it off.

If Master was being honest, if he really wasn’t playing a weird mind game with them, then that meant Lilah was the most equipped to, well, ‘deal with him’ was a weird way to phrase it but an accurate one nonetheless. “If,” of course, being the key word. If he really was as kind as he acted. If he meant the things he told them. If this wasn’t all just one long, intricate act.

Evan had tried to call him on that if. As much as Lilah loved him, she could say with full certainty that Evan had been an idiot about it. She was also of a mind that he’d been an idiot each time he’d tried it with Mistress, too, because there were other ways to test an owner’s limits! Part of her blamed herself; Evan had been reckless because Master had been hurt, and it was Lilah’s fault. The noble moron was always looking out for her, like that.

It was her turn, now, to be the one to look after her family, to be clever and find the edge of that if. 

The problem, of course, was that Lilah’s confidence was largely born from the fact that she interacted with Master very little, and the times he did have anything to do with her he had been very nice and friendly (and merciful, even a generous owner would hit a slave for injuring them). Which meant the problem, of course, was that Lilah would have to actually interact with him and push that if. She revved up the lawn mower, and made an “if” of her own.

Master liked it when they asked for things. If she asked for something absurd (something far too expensive, something dangerous, too many things altogether all at once (hence her list of ideas)) and he said yes, this was an act. If she asked for something absurd and he said no, that meant he was enacting sensible limits and she and her family just hadn’t reached those yet (because Mistress had been terrible and unreasonable like Lilah had said).

The tipping point of all of this, naturally, had been Nyla getting attacked and Evan getting stabbed. Lilah had come inside to find Nyla in Master’s shirt, and heard that Master had gone, half-naked, to the hospital with Evan, with the insinuation that he wouldn’t be back home unless Evan was with him. It had been Master calling just to check in on them, and suggest a movie night (which, hm, wow), and let them know that Evan, their Evan, was alright, more or less. It had been hearing about just how much Evan had messed up while on painkillers and how Master hadn’t even reprimanded him.

So here were the stakes: Lilah could settle their Master, once and for all, into the category of “a good person,” or she could pull the curtain away from his act before she got attached and ended up the butt of the game he was playing. 

The trick would be to keep herself from going Quiet. She hadn’t in a while, which gave her some confidence, but she knew that once she was actually, like, up near him and trying to talk to him, the fear would settle in. He was just… so big. And the if was so big. And if she messed this up, it’d be a really, really big mistake. (If her hunch was right, it’d be a really big payoff).

None of this was helped by the fact that she herself was so exceptionally small. 

She always went Quiet when the Lords (though Master Galo said she couldn’t call them Lords anymore, which, good riddance) played with her. Her only other experiences with men were Greyson (who could and would do nothing to her, ever) and Evan (who she loved and cherished dearly and who loved her just as much, also not a threat). So it was anybody’s gamble how she would react to Master Galo when she was doing more than just, like, standing there with his hand on her back and listening to him fumble with his words.

The fumbling was a good sign, though, now that she’d had the chance to recognize it as such. Master Galo was thoughtful, but he wasn’t like, schemey. A schemer. He had no schemes.

She hoped.

Ultimately, she’d find out; she just needed an opportunity. She hadn’t really thought she would get one so soon.

Sasha waved her in for lunch, instead of carrying a plate out to her, which, hm. Alarm bell number one. Sasha rarely passed up the chance to go outside, and usually family meetings happened at dinner these days. Master didn’t have hair-triggers like Mistress had, so keeping everyone up to date on even the most minute changes in mood wasn’t a necessity anymore. Another reason Lilah was, more or less, willing to believe this wasn’t an elaborate act. There’d be more push and pull to it, wouldn’t there?

Lilah was last to arrive, and took up a spot beside Evan, who was sitting on the kitchen stool. Greyson was standing, and that was just weird.

“Lilah, once we’re done eating, you’re to remain inside,” Nyla stated, and Lilah didn’t bother questioning if that was Master’s order, or reasoning of Nyla’s own. It didn’t matter, either way; one’s word was as good as the other’s. None of them would ever disobey Master Galo, except Evan when he was stupid, but none of them would ever disobey Nyla, period.

(Well, okay, maybe Evan if he was being really stupid, but he promised he wouldn’t do that anymore).

“Wh-” Sasha started, licked her lips, set plates out in front of Nyla and Greyson, “What is M-Master..?”

“I don’t know yet,” Nyla said, brushing down her apron before picking up her fork. “Something. Everyone be careful.”

“It might just have something to do with Evan’s stab wound,” Lilah mentioned, taking her and Evan’s plates from Sasha and setting his in front of him, snitching a bite off his plate as he plucked one from hers. The mood in the room shifted. Master was the sort to fuss over Evan’s injury, based on everything they’d seen him do before. The agitation… didn’t disappear, but it settled, a little, everyone nervous but not Sasha-scared.

Lilah tagged along with Nyla when she went to go find Master, once she’d eaten. Sasha and Greyson helped Evan up to the second floor, where Master had been all day (apparently) and where they were expecting him to want them. Nyla couldn’t immediately find Master, though, and Lilah kept back a few paces. Nyla wasn’t… super aware that Lilah was tailing her, instead of sticking with the group. Lilah wasn’t hiding that fact from her, but she was also keeping her feet light and staying a ways behind her. They went back downstairs, and found him in the main floor sunroom.

“Oh, hey Nyla!” Master said brightly, Lilah listening and half-watching from around the doorframe. It wasn’t spying. It wasn’t eavesdropping. (But if it was, would it be a mind game or a mercy when (not if, when) he didn’t punish her for it, if he were to find out?)

“Master Galo,” Nyla greeted graciously, bowing and kissing his hand with the grace and fluidity that Lilah ever only mimicked. “We have finished, Master, and available to attend to your needs.”

“Great, thanks, so, can we get everyone together in a room with a tv? I know you all don’t like the den--” Lilah flinched, and Nyla didn’t but she knew the very word bothered her also, “--but the living room furniture isn’t great and the parlor doesn’t have a TV, so I guess library maybe? I’m open to suggestions here.”

“If Master would prefer, we could gather in the central drawing room upstairs,” Nyla suggested with all her practiced poise. 

“Oh, gee, I don’t wanna make Evan climb all those stairs on his leg,” Master Galo said, scratching at a sideburn.

“Evan is already upstairs, Master.”

Lilah watched Master’s face knit together in confusion, lips making a choked off “Wh--” before pursing closed, then thinning into a pale line. His hands (seemingly reflexively) made a ‘just leave it’ kind of motion as he said, “Okay. Let’s uh, let’s go get everyone in the upstairs drawing room. The one with the sunken furniture, right?”

That was Lilah’s cue to run. Swiftly, but paying speed in exchange for silence, she ran down the hall and up the steps, and found her family in the ‘greenhouse’ that wasn’t a greenhouse it was just Mistress not knowing what to call things.

“Lilah!” Evan hissed with agitation, “Where were y--”

“Master says we should all go into the central drawing room,” Lilah said, “I was tailing Nyla.”

“Sh-she’s not g-going to, like that,” Sasha whispered, and yes, Lilah was aware. She was gonna do a lot of things Nyla was going to get very, very stressed about. Maybe all of the things. It depended on what Master wanted them all for, but she was definitely going to start pressing the if. She’d thought about it all morning, she wasn’t going to chicken out now, when she’d literally wondered when she might get an opportunity.

“Come here and be my crutch.”

“You have crutches.”

“Yeah but they’re not gonna run off and do stupid shit. I’m the idiot in this relationship, remember?”

Lilah stuck her tongue out, but stayed out of arm’s reach. She was gonna go off-script and that meant scaring the living bejeezus out of her family and also not letting Evan’s warm arm and familiar smell talk her down from it. 

Master was already sitting down in the low furniture, Nyla looking surprised to see them all already on their way into the room. He was fiddling with his laptop, hooking it up to one of the tvs on the wall. She wasn’t gonna get a better opportunity than this.

Master liked physical proximity. They’d all noted that more than well enough, ranging from quietly pleased (Nyla) to bitter and pouty (Evan). Master didn’t like it when they kneeled on the ground, always insisting that they sit in ways that didn’t hurt and that one time he’d coaxed Greyson onto the furniture. He was a generous owner, and Mistress had been horrifically bad.

All the details, all the odds were in her favor.

She just needed to

Walk up to him 

And

Hop

Over the back of the couch and

Breathe 

Passing out would probably not go over well

And sit

With a cheerful “Hello Master Galo”

With the tremors kept out of her voice

(Thank god)

As she sat

Right

There.

Her pulse was careening, her hands were shaking, but she was smiling (and why hadn’t she ever been able to fake a smile like this, before?) and sitting a hair away from her Master. Her giant Master who could hurt her so bad (but hadn’t). He was staring down at her with open surprise. Her whole family, she knew, were statues of shock. But she didn’t kiss his hand, she stomped down her body screaming at her to get down on the ground and grovel, apologize, beg forgiveness. She just sat on the couch with her hands between her thighs and her feet swinging shallowly to hide their shaking. Smiling up at her Master, whose arm was so close to her she wouldn’t even really need to lean in for them to touch.

“Hey, Lilah,” Master Galo said, settling his giant hand onto her tiny back and giving it a brief rub with his thumb, and he could probably hear her next shaky, relieved breath, but he didn’t comment. “Good to see you. The rest of you, come on over, I want to try a thing today.”

Well that makes two of us, Lilah thought. Between us both, we should be able to kill my family with stress, she tacked on, morbidly humored. 

“Is there anywhere you would prefer us, sir?” Nyla asked, not stuttering (she was always too composed for that) but her own voice sounding a little shaky (Lilah would need to be so good for her as an apology). It was very clearly an opening for Master Galo to direct Lilah somewhere away from him, where the family could 1. hide her, protect her and 2. silently reprimand her until they got someplace where they could afford to make it no longer silent. The order of those items was, in fact, by priority.

But Lilah wasn’t going anywhere. “Yeah, come sit on the couches with us,” Master ordered, friendly and open and he had said us. Lilah was… included in on that. It was gratifying, in a way, to be the first of the five of them to do something right for the situation. Usually Nyla went uncontested in that department. (It was because Nyla was smart and quick and experienced and also beautiful and amazing). Greyson sat next to Lilah, Evan next to him, then Nyla, then Sasha, at the far end, clinging to Nyla’s arm and leaning close, with the bodies of the others ideally obscuring Master’s view of the minor intimacy. 

Lilah briefly thought of reaching out and voluntarily touching her Master, grabbing onto his arm and leaning like that, but her brain and stomach reminded her of the virtue of baby steps and not overwhelming herself. And yeah, she was gonna keep pushing the if, but like, in a smart way. She was gonna do exactly what Master had said, and find the limits, not suicidally touch the guy who owned her without provocation. She wasn’t Evan, no matter how much her family was sending fervent, secretive, panicked glances her way.

“So,” Master started, his laptop screen projected on the massive tv in front of them, showing what looked to be some sort of online catalogue, “starting with the easier stuff: Nyla and Evan both need new clothes, since theirs got knifed, and I figured this could just be a nice opportunity for you all to get new clothes? I noticed you didn’t really have, uh, many.”

“Master is generous,” Nyla said, dutiful and exactly as she was meant to.

“Well, I can afford to be as generous as conceivably possible. So,” Master Galo gestured at the tv, “my thought process was that I’d click around the stores I think sell quality stuff, and if you see something you like, pipe up? Nyla, will you speak for Sasha if she sees something she wants?”

“Yes, Master.”

Lilah felt like if there really was a god, it was holding her accountable to her ideas. How’s that for cosmic interference? She literally could not have asked for a better setup to test Master Galo’s if.

“Cool, so, uh, feel free to take this as an order if it makes it more comfortable, but tell me when you guys want something on the screen, okay?”

“Yessir,” Lilah beat Nyla to the punch, which was a grievous upset of the natural order of their family hierarchy, but she was doin’ something here.

“Cool,” Master said, glancing down at Lilah with what seemed like befuddlement. It would be befuddlement on any regular, non-owner person, so, in adherence with Lilah’s theory that this wasn’t just an act. Then. It was befuddlement. Conclusion drawn, haha.

“Master, may I have that?” Lilah asked, stopping him mid-scroll with a point of her finger. “The pink one.” Her finger was definitely shaking. Her whole arm was shaking. Master liked being asked for things and this whole setup was specifically so they would ask him things. Heck, it might even be that he was doing this just because they’d been so bad at asking him for things, and he thought they needed a… tutorial of sorts. A beginner’s sort of experience. She dropped her hand back between her thighs, willing herself to stop trembling.

“Yeah, Lilah, good girl,” Master praised, adding the skirt to the cart. The way he phrased it was so strikingly familiar--Lilah’s trainers had done the same thing, setting up easy tests for behaviors that didn’t come naturally to slaves just so they could praise and reaffirm the successes, make their students associate doing the undesirable thing with rewards.

She could do this. She could do this.

“Master, may I have that?” she asked again. And again. And again, and again. Any time anything even remotely caught her eye, anything that sparkled or glittered or was made of pink or lime or lilac or mint. She asked for overalls with flowers embroidered all over them, t shirts and tank tops and sports shirts and graphic tees and funny sayings and jewelry, too, cheap stuff, fake stuff, (though if the option of actual jewelry was presented, she’d ask anyway, just to test the if), but glittery and shiny and entirely unnecessary. She asked for crazy socks and a new pair of workboots and thick t-shirts to ward off the sun, headbands, cat ears, gloves, weird belts, leggings, skirts, and lace. Every time, he indulged her, encouraged her, once even told her to keep it up. Her shaking didn’t disappear, but it… lessened, with that. 

By the time any of the rest of her family spoke up, Master Galo had checked out from two virtual stores with carts filled with nothing but frivolous nonsense that Lilah and only Lilah had asked for. Old Navy had absolutely nothing that interested Lilah, all dark dreary blues and blacks and whites, so she mostly just sat there, buzzing, as Master scrolled.

“Master,” Evan said, and Master’s finger stopped, “may I… wear something other than vests?”

“Yeah,” Master answered, sounding about as cautious with his words as Evan had. “Do you, not want to wear vests?”

“I don’t, sir.”

“Okay then. Yeah, don’t wear vests.”

“Master, may I have the red t-shirts?” Evan asked, gesturing with a hand that was absolutely shaking as bad as Lilah’s had, towards the 10-pack of plain t’s on the top of the list. Master Galo added to the cart with an easy “Sure, bud.”

“And… could I bother you to go back a page, sir? To the jeans?”

Evan was trying very hard to be polite, which usually just left him sounding uncertain, unless the manners were a cover up for barely-leashed rage, which usually made him sound constipated.

“Sure, no big,” Master Galo said, and ordered multiple sets of jeans for Ev. “Well done, Evan.”

With Lilah leading and Evan having followed one (1) time, Sasha and Nyla hesitantly joined in, Sasha getting a lot of soft looking fabrics, sweaters, skirts, and the like, Nyla getting a pressed skirt, two blouses, a plain beige sweater, tights, and three different crisp, cute dresses. Lilah kept up her resolution to ask for everything she could possibly want until she found out how much was too much.

“Do you want me to just, like, pull up the Claire’s catalogue and hand you the computer?” Master Galo asked. Lilah wasn’t sure, but she was willing to say that that meant Master Galo’s ‘too much’ came in at around 227 consecutive “Master may I”s, because yes Lilah had been counting.

“If that’s what you would prefer, sir,” Lilah said, and took the laptop when he handed it to her.

...okay. Okay, she could do this. Just, add the things to the cart herself. “Without asking, sir?”

“Yeah, just add anything you want, I’m good for it.”

Lilah scrolled down so she could see the first item, which was a fat grey cat plush, and she added it. She added every single following item, waiting, each time she did, for her Master to call her on it, to tell her “too much.” She legitimately did want every single thing she saw, though, all the flower crowns, the earrings, the necklaces, the gaudy sunglasses, the plastic hair extensions, the bracelets, the flip flops, the trinkets, the charms.

“Master, Sasha would like the blue hair pins,” Nyla said, and Lilah, daringly, did not wait for her owner’s response before simply changing the quantity from one to two. She hovered, still, for a moment after, waiting for the reprimand, the blow. Neither came. She resumed scrolling. 

She handed the laptop back when it came to checking out, and her Master didn’t even seem bothered by how much she’d already asked for. It made sweat prickle between her shoulder blades.

Four stores later, Master gently prompted, “Greyson, have you seen anything you like?”

He’d been silent the whole time, and everyone glanced nervously at him. It didn’t look like he was Quiet, not like she got, but there was definitely something… not absent but hardly present, in his eyes.

“I have been neutral towards all selections, Master,” he said, quiet and even.

“Okay, well, do you think you could manage finding one thing you want, before we wrap up here?” Master prodded, sounding gentle, but they all knew a demand when they heard one.

“The… Hawaiian shirts were nice, sir,” Greyson said, even quieter.

“Okay, sure, which store were those in..?” Master trailed off, but Nyla knew the answer anyway. Master selected a greyish-blue one when Greyson seemed to struggle with a color preference, and then bought all of them packs of plain underwear and socks. No lingerie, which… yeah, Lilah was having faith in him, she was, which meant that that was a good sign.

“So, I don’t actually know how normal bras work,” Master informed them, “Mine were all too-small sports bras I tried on in the Target dressing room and binders once I made it out on my own; I do not know how sizing works.” He scratched uncomfortably at the back of his head, the women looking at him intensely, Grey and Ev staring pointedly at the tv in different stages of discomfort.

“I am a 32B, Sasha is a 42DD, and Lilah is a 30C, Master,” Nyla said, crisp and clear and not showing the discomfort that Lilah knew she was feeling. Lilah also noted that those were… up a band size, from the last time Lilah had heard those particular measurements. Though, true, they’d been eating regularly and work had been light, so they were all gaining weight, it made sense to account for that.

Nyla was so smart.

“Great, sweet, done,” Master said, quickly locating those sizes, and prompting them to choose bras (three each) in those sizes, clearly and evidently wanting this particular part of their online spree to be done. Lilah felt very much the same, and knew Sasha could only be feeling that so, so so so, so so much worse.

“Alright, anything else anybody want while we’re still on this topic?” Master Galo asked. “I would like to clarify if something comes up later, you can absolutely still ask for it then, just, while I have the tab up, yknow.”

If Lilah was going to push the if, now was the time to push.

“Master, may I have a knife set?” Lilah asked with faux-cheer, Evan actually leaning around past Grey to look at her like she was nuts. She pointedly didn’t look at him, her pulse keying back up in her chest and her body shaking again.

“Uh,” Master looked at her strangely as well, and she smiled at him. “W… mmm, why?” Master asked, his voice pitching up.

Right, frick, because knives could technically have sensible uses. She needed to make it clear that this was a dangerous and unnecessary request. “I wanna stab Evan again.”

“Okay, uh, gonna put a no, on that one, actually,” Master said, laughing breathlessly, seeming torn between confusion and amusement. Lilah would absolutely take that over him getting mad.

“Yes Master!” she said perkily, and for all that she could hear her own heartbeat, the happiness wasn’t even faked. He’d set a sensible, reasonable boundary, and enforced it. Not even by punishing or scolding her! She was right. She was right.

It didn’t immediately turn off the part of her brain that was in charge of being scared of him, or calm the shaking of her hands squished tightly between her thighs, but she could work on that.

“Okay, so next item on the list: therapists. There are two therapists in this city that have precedent with consulting--slaves.”

Lilah watched the screen with the rest of the family as he tabbed to a different window, the profiles of two women already pulled up. And, because Lilah could read and pay attention to her owner at the same time, she knew the word Master had stumbled over. Abused slaves. Was that what they were? It seemed right.

“This is not actually gonna be a negotiable thing; you guys need to talk to someone with a degree about--everything. I think it’s generally poor practice to consult people who are connected to each other, but, given the circumstances, I’m hoping we can just split you five between the two. Or not! Therapy should ideally feel like a good fit, so, if you have a session with one and don’t click, you can always change your mind, and if you all end up preferring one over the other that’s fine! But I’m making appointments for you all so if you could please tell me which person you’d like to have your first visit with, that’d be great.”

A pregnant pause.

“Oh, and you don’t have to decide right away immediately, read over their profiles or--yeah, just, like, before you leave the room, okay?”

“Yes, Master,” Nyla said, staring at the high-definition images of two strangers, same as the rest of them.

Lilah glanced between the faces. Professional women, looking younger than Greyson but probably about that age, one wearing a cheerful blue top and the other a friendly green. Their biographies were… pretty similar, so Lilah went ahead and chose based on something superficial. 

“Master, may I go with the green one?” Lilah asked, not sure if that was the right way to phrase that.

“Sure,” Master Galo said, as easily as he had for everything else she’d asked for that day. She kicked her legs a little higher, wondering if she should resent the idea that her Master thought they needed fixing or keep on in good faith that he was doing things because he believed it was the right thing to do.

“Master, I would also ask for the one in the green shirt,” said Nyla, “and Sasha humbly requests the one in blue.”

Master nodded, and Evan cleared his throat quietly before saying, “May I go with Nyla and Lilah, sir?”

“Yes, but therapy is one-on-one so you won’t actually be with them.”

The room’s focus shifted to Greyson, who stared at the screen blankly before saying, “Sir, I would prefer blue.”

“Alright, thanks everyone, I’ll get that arranged,” Master Galo said, tabbing windows again. “So, we’re gonna meet back up and do this again, tomorrow, sort of--well, okay, we’re meeting up again tomorrow. Probably not here, because stairs, but after lunch I’m gonna sit you all down and give you a crash course on queerness and more specifically what my life as a trans man specifically involves, since, uh. Auntie Bethany would’ve given you either no information, or wrong information. Which is something we should all, like, fix. You guys can head back to whatever you get up to after lunch, except Evan.” Sweet, Lilah could dodge that particular bullet for a little while. Master Galo pointed a finger (but not in a particularly scary or alarming way) at Evan and said, “We gotta talk about PT. But yeah--uh, dismissed?”

“Thank you, Master,” Nyla said, rising to her feet. Sasha and Greyson followed her lead, and Lilah briefly considered asking Master if she could stay and listen in on the ‘PT’ stuff, if only to delay the inevitable, but no, then Evan would be there to join in with the others and Lilah figured that’d be a lot of people mad at her all at once. Oh well, time to go get read the riot act. Lilah hopped to her feet and knew what Greyson was doing when he settled into step behind her.

Ohhhhh, she was in so much deep shit. Her brain flip flopped on whether she wanted to try and be cavalier about it, or if the Quiet was gonna come swooping in partway through Nyla scolding her.

She didn’t want to leave the room. The others wouldn’t demand answers to complicated questions with Master in ear-shot.

Lilah was all but counting the steps. Down the stairs, through the hall, deliberately herded into the kitchen (she reminded herself there was little point in making a break for it). She weighed the pros and cons of trying to cut Nyla off and explain herself before the others could say anything, but she dismissed the idea. She’d interrupted Nyla enough already. 

“Lilah,” Nyla said, turning around and clapping her palms together in front of her mouth. “Mind explaining to us what, exactly, that was?”

She wasn’t mad at Lilah like she’d been when Evan was stupid. Good? Lilah hadn’t pissed their Master off like Evan had, though, so this probably shouldn’t be surprising.

(Maybe Nyla had the same suspicions Lilah did).

“He likes it when we ask for things,” Lilah said with a shrug that was more relaxed than she felt. “So I asked him for things.”

“And practically sat on top of him,” Nyla grit out with a twitch in her right eye. Ah, there was the anger Lilah had been expecting. She looked away from Nyla, shoulders rising and shifting her weight uncomfortably.

“He wasn’t gonna hurt me.”

“How could you p-possibly know th-that?!” Sasha demanded, and oh, yikes. Sasha was the mad one, okay, Lilah would need to recalibrate on that.

“He didn’t,” Lilah said with a broad gesture at the ceiling. He didn’t murmured her pounding heart, still not quite believing it all the way, herself.

“But you c-can’t have known th-that!”

“Sure I could,” she lied, “he hasn’t hurt us yet, right?”

“Lilah,” Nyla said, firm and even and calm and bringing the gravity of the room right back onto her, “That was incredibly reckless. What were you trying to accomplish?” Something in Nyla’s tone made Lilah pause. Like… like Nyla was looking for something more than just answers.

“...I wanted to see if he really meant it,” Lilah admitted, though she did not specify what ‘it’ was.

“And you couldn’t have warned us?” Nyla asked with narrowed eyes.

“You would’ve tried to stop me,” Lilah said sullenly, no longer able to bite down on the need to cross her arms in front of her chest. Given how everyone was reacting so far, maybe she could’ve, maybe they woulda let her. It made the scolding hit harder than she’d anticipated.

“Lilah,” Nyla started, but cut herself off with a grimace and a hand raised to her head. Oh gee, oh gee oh god.

“Nyla?” all three of them said together, and Lilah jumped a little at the reminder that Greyson was right behind her. Silent to that point.

“It’s just a headache,” she said with a wave of her other hand, then leaned lightly on the counter. She was still upright, so Lilah was inclined to believe her, but she also knew that she was very likely the cause for this headache. 

“I was reckless,” Lilah said quietly, hands on Nyla’s arms and eyes on Nyla’s face, waiting until she could see her eyes again. “I’m sorry I upset you, but I’ll probably do it again, for as long as Master lets us, because I want to know. You’ve all protected me so well,” Lilah praised, grateful, so thankful she could never in all her life express it properly, “but I don’t think I need protected, right now.”

Nyla sighed, and then pulled Lilah into a hug. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? Promise me that much, at least.”

“I promise,” Lilah said, and meant it. She had no intention of being an idiot about this; she had more self-preservation than that.

Sasha’s hand came to rest on Nyla’s shoulder, and Lilah let go as Nyla was gently pulled away. “M-Master and Evan are t-t-talking. You can lie d-down until th--”

“It really is just a headache, Sasha,” Nyla murmured, smiling at her, and Lilah frowned. She agreed with Sasha.

“You could ask,” Lilah said, since that was apparently her forte, now. “I could ask for you. Master likes being asked for things; he’d let you lie down until it went away, you wouldn’t even have to be sneak--”

“Lilah, please,” Nyla said, cutting her off as well. “It’s just a headache. Let’s all get back to work, okay?”

But what if it doesn’t stay just a headache!? Lilah wanted to ask, but arguing with Nyla was a guaranteed way to make it worse, so she just. Went back outside. She tugged at her collar again as she went. Darn, and she’d just been in a room with Master asking him for things. Oh well, it wasn’t terrible yet.

She picked up the garden shears and started pruning, the snip snip snip of the metal calming, routine, familiar. She entered the hedges, afternoon sun casting short shadows over her, the leaves and branches of the hedges creating dark dappling over her already freckled skin and twitching with each branch or leaf she cut off.

It all hit her then. What she’d done. How badly she could’ve been punished, if she hadn’t been right. All the fear and tension she’d hidden from her family, pretending to be fine, all the ice around her heart keeping her tense as a strung bow as she sat within a breath of her Master, who she could stand next to and not even reach his shoulder. She had been reckless, she had been risky, and it paid off but oh god, oh god oh god oh god. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, her hands stopped moving and she stared out into space, her mind shutting down against the wave of emotion she wasn’t equipped to handle.

--

Galo waited only as long as it took to make sure Evan didn’t fall down the stairs, then he was on the lookout for a subtle way to slip out to the garden. He had enough presence of mind to know that if the others saw him going outside right on the heels of, well, that, they’d probably freak and think he was upset with Lilah for being bold.

But oh, just the opposite. He had not expected Lilah, of all people, to be the first to, well, take that big of a step. She’d even cracked a joke! He was delighted, and confused, and so curious it tasted like metal in his mouth. He wanted, he needed, to talk to her, to see-- to know-- to--

He had to talk to her. He was jittery, abuzz. He just needed to find a way to do it without freaking anyone out. He’d be visible from any of the back-facing windows on the trek out there, so, hnng, how to go about it, fuck.

There were no windows in the utility room, beyond a small, thin, rectangular skylight that offered no visibility, and Greyson was gonna pull the laundry out of the dryer and fold it soon, if Galo’s internal clock was right. The kitchen had one single window in it, half-hidden by a hutch and blocked by a tree, and it didn’t even face the backyard, so Sasha wasn’t a concern. Evan, well, Galo knew where Evan was. So really, that just left Nyla that Galo needed to make sure didn’t look at the garden for… like, five minutes. However long it took for him and Lilah to get behind a hedge. 

Hm. That sounded--uh. Bad word choice there, brain. Thank god no one here was as mindreader.

He found Nyla in the den (UGH), duster in hand and leaning on the back of an armchair, looking to be in pain. A new priority took hold.

“Nyla? Nyla, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Galo asked in a rush, approaching her swiftly and very gingerly touching a hand to her back and hovering the other over her arm, wanting to avoid too much touch if possible. “Where does it hurt?”

“Master, I…” Nyla took a deep breath, straightened (and Galo reluctantly moved back, gave her space), and smiled, but a wince came close on its heels. “I’m fine, Master, I’m just,” her foot shifted, ever so slightly, but on Nyla it was noticeable as hell, “prone to headaches, sir. It will pass.”

Well, hey, two birds with one stone, Galo joked morbidly. “Would it pass faster if you took a break and lied down for a little while?” he suggested, side stepping so Nyla had a clear shot to the door of the den and nudging her forward with a gentle hand to her back.

“Master, I’m fine--”

“Nyla,” Galo interrupted, very softly. He--slowly, gently--took the duster out of her hand and set it down on a random piece of furniture, it didn’t matter, and gave her another, feather-light push towards the basement stairs.

“...Yes, Master Galo,” Nyla said, and Galo raised his hand to gently cup the lower base of her skull, away from where most of his headaches were generally located, and gave her hair a small ruffle.

“Good girl, Nyla, go lie down and rest a bit.” Galo nearly jumped out of his skin to find that Greyson was also there, their paths crossing, but quickly gave the man a smile and nod. Good, right on schedule. Okay. He looked a little… odd, but Galo didn't think too hard on it, preoccupied with getting outside. 

Greyson and Nyla went downstairs, and Galo waited exactly long enough for them to hit that bottom step before he slipped out the back door, carefully closing it behind him, thankful--not for the first time--that Nyla maintained the house with such intense care. The thing was well-oiled, and soundless.

No immediate sight of Lilah, so he felt it was okay for him to jog. Seeing someone like, well, him, running towards her would spook her, no matter how brave she’d felt a little while ago, but she couldn’t scare if she couldn’t see him. And for a solid bit, he couldn’t see her, either! Yeah, haha, the grounds were massive. He still felt way, way too large for just one person to be in charge of, but he’d seen the others popping out to help Lilah with stuff here and there so like?? He resolved to try not to worry about it too hard.

He would, however, worry about Lilah as he found her, vacantly staring through the hedge she was standing behind, garden shears raised but unmoving. He approached slowly, brow furrowed, and quietly asked, “Lilah?”

No response, which, okay! Okay, alright, so, he just, like, carefully wrapped his fingers around the shears (he didn’t want anyone getting hurt), very gently set his palm against her back, and tried again, a little louder, “Lilah?”

She jumped, unsurprisingly, and Galo caught the shears easily, already murmuring, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re alright.”

Lilah stared at him with large eyes, hands visibly shaking, and swallowed thickly. “Yes, sir, thank you Master.”

Galo set the shears down on the grass and settled his hand on her shoulder blade, eyes searching her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Master, just…” she took a deep breath in, looking entirely overwhelmed.

“Would… it be better if I wasn’t here right now?” Galo asked, mentally kicking himself. He’d been so concerned with what the others might think if they saw him coming out to visit Lilah that he’d neglected to consider how she might feel, this close on the heels of something that had to have been difficult for her. Here he was again! Pushing too hard, too fast, too soon!

“No! Sir, no sir,” Lilah said snatching out a hand but stopping herself before she grabbed his shirt, bringing her hand back to her chest and half-hugging herself. “No, I’m--what did you want from me, sir?”

“Just, like, to check in, I guess. Theoretically I wanted to talk to you about, uh,” Galo faltered, wondering what he would even call that.

“...Theoretically, sir, that might be a little much for me to discuss head-on,” Lilah said, eyes staring past him but not looking quite like she was disassociating, just focused on her words (he hoped).

“Right, sorry--”

“But, hypothetically,” Lilah cut in, visibly flinched, then pushed on, “what would you have wanted to say, Master?”

Galo paused for a long moment, scanning what he could see of Lilah’s face (god she was so short, would it be rude of him to kneel down or would that feel like he was invading her space?) and his gears turning.

“Hypothetically,” he said carefully, “I would--could be wondering what prompted today’s show of bravery.” Then he rushed to tack on, “If, hypothetically, that would be something you were comfortable discussing.”

“And,” Lilah said, taking a couple of steps around Galo and moving towards the fountain, “in this hypothetical situation, would it be okay if I said I didn’t want to answer your questions?”

“Of course,” Galo said immediately, softly, following after her, hands clasped behind his back. 

“Then, since, knowing that it’d be okay either way would make me more comfortable, I’d probably tell you that it’s because I think you really might be as nice as you’ve been acting, to us.”

From anyone else in the world, phrasing like that would’ve been the most passive aggressive of insults, but from Lilah, from one of his slaves, it was a compliment so potent it knocked the wind out of him.

“Yeah?”

Lilah held her wrist with a shaking hand, staring straight ahead at the fountain as she said, “I’ve been, thinking, lately, Master, about how you act, and how you talk to us. And I think… that you wouldn’t put so much effort into being kind to us, and gentle and careful with us, if it was all just going to be an act in the end. You went with Evan, to the hospital, and you fuss over us, and you gave Nyla your shirt, and you’ve literally never hit any of us, even when Evan was trying to get you to. So. I think, that you’re a good person, sir, and that, theoretically, means that I, possibly, could push boundaries.”

Galo wanted to cry. He took a deep, surprisingly shaky breath (though really, should he be surprised) and ran his fingers through his hair, watching Lilah plop herself down on the side of the fountain and taking a seat next to her.

“Well, in this hypothetical situation, that would make me so, so happy to hear.”

“Yeah? It would?” Lilah asked uncertainly, and Galo nodded; now he was the one unable to look directly at Lilah.

“I’ve been, uh, trying really hard, to prove to you--all of you--that I don’t want to hurt you, and that you’re my responsibility and I want to take good care of you all. I just--I was starting to wonder if I’d made any progress at all, the entire time I’d been here. So, hypothetically, that kind of information could be a big weight off my chest.” Galo sounded emotional as all hell, but decided that was a vulnerability Lilah could see.

Galo took a deep breath, two, three, and then softly, cautiously added, “And, it would be nice if I had someone else in my corner. I don’t know what I’m doing, half the time, and I don’t know how to ask without scaring all of you, so, hypothetically, being able to ask one of you questions would also be a big weight off of me.” 

Lilah nodded very slowly. “Hypothetically, sir, the others wouldn’t like that, if they knew about it. They’ve always protected me, so, if you were to ask me questions, it would probably be best if it didn’t happen where they could hear it. But, I think I probably wouldn’t mind, if you were just asking questions. Sir,” she tacked on at the end.

“And I would be very appreciative, if that were the case.” Galo took a deep breath. “The others, if I wanted them to reach that same conclusion as you, about me meaning it when I say I want to take care of you: how, theoretically, would I go about that?”

“I think… you would just need to be patient with them, Master. They were with Mistress longer than I was, so, it’s harder for them to remember that they’re supposed to be treated better than--how she treated us.”

Galo nodded. “Is there--would there be anything, in the meantime, that I could do? Not even to earn their trust, just to, y’know, make them more comfortable, feel safer? You, too, you’re included in that question.”

Lilah took a moment, and Galo used that span of time to collect himself. “Let us stutter.”

Galo blinked, and turned to her. “Pardon?” Lilah cringed, and Galo quickly rushed to add, “No, no, I just, a little elaboration, please, you’re fine, this conversation is still purely hypothetical, yeah?”

Lilah nodded with a loud inhale through her nose, hugging her knees. “Hypothetically,” she said quietly, as though to herself. “Hypothetically, letting us stutter would,” she gestured vaguely with one hand, “take off a lot of pressure.”

Galo nodded slowly. “I think this is another one of those things where I wasn’t aware it was happening until you brought it up, like the food thing? Did my aunt not let you stutter?”

Lilah shook her head, little rapid movements that set her hair jiggling. “She hated it, sir. It was the fastest way for any of us to get punished, and Sa--” Lilah cut herself off, and picked at a fraying string on her jeans. “It’d be nice, sir, to not have to focus so hard on not stuttering, is all I’m saying.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll make--I would make, like, an official announcement. Stuttering is a-okay and I’m not bothered by it. Would--hmm. Would it be a good idea to also say the hand-kissing isn’t necessary, or would that just upset the balance of things?”

“I think the hand-kissing isn’t really important, and could, hypothetically, wait, sir.”

Galo nodded, “Good to know. On the topic of ‘too much too fast,’ if I wanted to give everyone a day off once a week, or evenings, would now be too soon?”

“Yes Master.” No hesitation on that one, shit.

“Damn, okay, would it work out better if I started out with, like, an evening off once a week?”

“That, uh, that might work, sir, I wouldn’t be certain.” Alright, well, he’d try it. “Sir?”

“Yes, Lilah?”

“Did you--you said ‘like the food thing,’ so, that means you didn't know we weren’t eating?”

“I had no idea. I'm still sorry, though.” Lilah took those words and nodded, putting on a determined face. 

“Not, not smiling all the time, would also, be a nice thing to do, that would be helpful. Nyla will probably do it anyways, but, hypothetically, letting us make facial expressions naturally, would, that could help, sir.”

“Okay, yeah, I’d probably throw that in there with the stuttering announcement. Anything else that comes automatically to mind?”

“And moving gracefully when you’re in the room. Nyla will still probably do that too, but, it’s another one of those things where it’d be nice to not try and focus on.”

“Another added to the hypothetical list. Keep going?”

Lilah’s leg dropped off the side of the fountain and started bouncing. “Master, may I ask for four more kitchen stools?”

“Yes, you can,” Galo said, pulling out his phone and googling that. He ordered a pack of six, since he wasn’t gonna bother scrolling to look for the model his aunt had (not that he’d even remember it without looking at it).

“Master?” Lilah asked, quiet and small.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve grown since the last time my collar was adjusted, so it’s getting tight again. Would you be willing to loosen it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Galo said, extending an arm towards her and letting her shuffle over, back turned to him, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “You can’t do it on your own?”

Lilah went stiff all over, and Galo added, “Since I, theoretically, wouldn’t know.”

“Slaves aren’t allowed to touch the buckles of their collars, Master. Not even regular slaves, who didn’t live with Mistress.”

“Okay,” Galo said, gently pulling the black leather out and taking it down a notch before re-securing it. “Thank you for telling me, turns out my lack of knowledge wasn’t just theoretical, there. Is that a good tightness for you?”

“Yes Master, thank you,” Lilah said, but curiously didn’t move back to where she’d been sitting, just turned and dropped her legs off the side again, bouncing the one furthest from Galo. 

“Okay, hypothetically--well, not hypothetically, I do know that you don’t want to sleep in separate rooms from each other--but, hypothetically, if I were to suggest giving you all, like… offices? Where you could keep your own personal belongings like clothes and everything you ordered today, and have a space of your own that could be called ‘yours’ but then just all go sleep in the same room, would that… how would I go about that?”

Lilah bit her lip and bounced her leg a little faster.

“I think, in theory, that might go over better if, when the items you ordered today start arriving, you, um, you would be like, ‘hey here’s those things that are yours, here is also this space that is yours, that you can keep your stuff in,’ but still let everyone know that sleeping arrangements haven’t changed, sir.”

“Oh, good idea!” Galo praised. That made sense! “And you could all decorate and keep personal stuff, too.”

Lilah glanced to him, as though not quite believing him, and he added, “Hypothetically,” with a playful smile. Lilah grinned back, lopsided and conspiratory, and Galo felt his smile widen. 

It was tentative, still new, and they couldn’t quite address it directly, but Galo had someone on his side now.

Next

[masterheartsxiii]

Notes from mass 9/20/20

A note before I start. This was my first time at mass by myself, as a non-catholic. It was also my first time taking notes. I am looking to be challenged and hold discussion on my thoughts.

I grew up non-denominational, I didn’t know much about Catholicism other than that they worshiped Mary and stuff (things I found out were wrong later). Eventually I started spending time with my dear friend, who was catholic. She and I went back and forth as she brought forward points about catholic faith, and I would pose counter arguments. There was a point where she seemed close to snapping away towards a different denomination, closer to mine. But then, she suddenly snapped back. Her connection to her Catholic faith became like steel, forged in the heat of questioning. This fire fascinated me. I now know that she had an advisor who helped temper that steel into its current shape on this site, but that doesn’t change that she found something about Catholicism that resonated, or else no amount of advice would have caused it. So I had to know. I have to know. What about Catholicism draws one closer to God even when fought against with more Protestant views. For that reason, I have begun going to Catholic Mass, starting now due to covid, and long to have my answers about God and the universe answered.

Now the notes proper:

I arrived late due to traffic and going to a new church. Will have to prepare for that earlier. Due to this I had to sit in the back outside of the church proper.

Gospel was on the parable of the men who were hired at different times yet paid the same amount.

>An interesting parable. One that would easily reflect on any time period, and all have surely felt similar.

Homily begins:

Talking about vacation?

>Not really sure how this all connects

The priest went to Maine

>I get he’s trying to relate this, but talking about vacation as your connection seems odd during times where quarantine is supposed to be in place.

Got distracted on how to take notes

>I was trying to figure out how best to take notes by looking at the examples my dear friend has posted in the past. I resolved then to get a notebook and have since done so so that my notes can be taken and translated later.

The priest gets back to the parable

>Finally. I guess the connection was between lobster farmers and field workers, but that seems thin.

The fairness is what we focus on, but the point of the parable is gods love.

>Well that seems obvious. But it has an important point to make, and right as I thought that he continued

Christianity, like field work, can be back breaking.

>Living with an atheist, can agree.

We need to save all people no matter when in their life. (But what rewards are there besides the end?)

>So the parenthesis are the thoughts I had at the time that I felt needed to be jotted down. These carrots are post church reflections. But it is a common thought. How often have I gone to God and said “I’ve done all this for you. I’ve been here since I was a child? Why am I not getting benefits. Why don’t my wishes carry more weight? My god, my god, why have you forsaken me.”

We might harbor feelings that we’ve been unfairly treated (no rewards to be in early)

>precisely. We feel that just because someone “got on board late” they shouldn’t be given equal treatment. But that’s not right. We should want the best for everyone. To hold someone to a standard of when they became a follower, why do we assume that makes them lesser? Isn’t that judgement? There is only one Judge, and it isn’t any of us on Earth.

Why do we think that? Why do we feel it’s “better” that we wish we could have joined later.

>That brings up an interesting conundrum. Often times we think the best way, even as Christians is to fall into this trap. We say “well it’s alright if I break this rule as long as I ask forgiveness” but that could devolve into a whole tangent of what is right vs what feels good. I’d be happy to discuss that more in the comments or a dm.

Better to rejoice that we added more people to the kingdom of heaven.

>On this we can easily agree. It is a victory to add someone, but where does it end? Do we check in and make sure they’re actually living it out? Surely just getting them to confess isn’t the end. That gets into circle of control vs circle of influence. Something my therapist and I have been working through. But while my circle of control is small with a larger circle of influence, an interesting irony is that God’s circle of control is massive, but he chooses to only use his influence, less we become puppets. Idk. This is where my mind wanders to.

Started talking about donations? That felt out of place.

>Yeah I guess just because it’s nearing the end of the fiscal year, it’s time to bring in money. It was an unfortunate time for me to first visit as I’m sure it sounded more greedy than intended, but it did feel weird that they ended the homily with it. Is that normal. I have no comparative reference.

I left before communion as I don’t feel I can go to it yet as a non catholic (why so isolating?)

>Something I’ve always wrestled with. The requirement to be catholic before receiving communion. Jesus said “let the little children come into me”. He didn’t require them to vow to him first. Jesus dined with beggars, crooks, and tax collectors. He never required them to be a part of his church before then. And then of course there’s the fact that is in spirit the body and blood of Christ. I grew up with communion being symbolic, not a true transformation. For a long time I viewed that as a weird interpretation. But I’ve seen it. The times I went to mass with my dear friend in the past I saw the power that the reverence and respect the priest placed on it. The Meal is more than a symbol, but I believe that is only to those that believe it so. My literal brain has trouble seeing past the veil, but I did for one fleeting moment and it’s stuck with me.

I felt so alone. How does one connect to god at these things? He is held so far above. How can one reach.

>I’ve never gone to mass by myself. I’ve always had at least my dear friends long side me. Ins one ways that was a detriment. After all, if ones focus is torn between two places, can one truly grasp Heaven’s message for you? But on the other side, without anyone beside me at church, how am I to parse these feelings. I am a Stranger in a Strange Land, and without a spiritual guide, how am I to reach it. I fear my journey will be impossible alone. I will pray on this.

One final note: the priest says it feels like the devil has really had his way with this year. It has been a hard year for sure, but how much is this the work of devils and how much is the work of man. The age old question does the devil really exist: or is it just the Bible’s embodiment of man’s free will, given personification. May pursue this more.

>A thought I’ve had many times. One I’d love to discuss. The Bible has many allegories. Might the devil be one as well. After all humans with free will don’t need something bad influencing them. That’s actually the problem with some other denominations. The ones that make “Hell Houses” the prescribe everything to “demons” and that takes humanity’s free will out of the equation. The devil may not exist. There may instead just be humanity’s desire to turn away from blinding light. Thoughts?

[steven-falls]

Steven Universe Future Critically reviewed: Little Graduation (An underwhelming end to the LarSadie arc)

Basic synopsis: Sadie reveals she has a new partner, Shep. Steven takes the news badly, believing that there are unresolved feelings between Sadie and Lars. But what about Steven’s own feelings?

‘Oh no! Our ship!’

Wow, this has got to be Steven Universe’s craziest use of foreshadowing yet!

So, the LarSadie ship that sailed through rocky waters for the past 5 seasons has finally sank. Am I as devastated as Steven that the two of them couldn’t work things out?

 Nope.

 To be honest I’m pretty glad. Lars was always kind of dickish to Sadie, and Sadie’s best character moments tended to be in episodes where Lars wasn’t involved. So nothing but a net positive for Sadie that she’s moved on.

The conclusion that the audience are supposed to come to is that yes, Lars and Sadie not being together is for the best. The two of them have chosen different life paths, and seem content with the paths they’re taking. But we’re also supposed to sympathise with Steven to some degree; it’s a bittersweet ending that the two of them couldn’t work things out.

 But I honestly just don’t care. 

The main reason being that I had no investment in Lars and Sadie’s relationship whatsoever. 

I think what really stunted the Lars and Sadie arc was how it was shackled to the Steven only perspective. They actually lampshade this in the episode. When Lars and Sadie explain how they have already discussed their relationship with one another, Steven exclaims ‘but I didn’t see any of that!’. This being a nod to how the audience only sees what Steven sees. It’s meant to be this cute little in-joke, like the crewniverse is saying: ‘Ha ha we know the Steven only perspective is something our audience has issues with but we’re still not doing anything about it!’ I didn’t find this amusing, I just found it irritating that they would point out limitations in their storytelling methods without actually doing anything to try and fix them.

‘We can take what we’ve learned to other planets!’

Alright settle down you store brand Steven wannabe.

In theory, I think the way the Lars and Sadie arc was concluded is quite nice. They live separate lives now, but are still happy for one another. What I think is lame is that instead of seeing how their relationship developed first hand, we instead have to settle for being told all this happened off screen. This is a textbook case of telling instead of showing. 

Like, the only reason we, the audience, weren’t allowed to see Lars and Sadie’s private conversations was because Steven wasn’t there to witness them. And it's always going to be more satisfying for an audience member to see how a situation or relationship develops first hand rather than just being told ‘oh yeah, by the way, while you were gone this happened.’

I already stated that I don’t particularly care about Lars and Sadie. But if I have to sit through an episode about their relationship anyway, maybe actually getting to see an intimate conversation between the two of them would have given me a reason to care.

Ew, Buck’s eyes are gross

Steven’s mere presence limits how much you can develop Lars and Sadie’s dynamic. Because Steven always has to be there, anytime the crewniverse want to do a Lars and Sadie episode they first have to invent a reason for Steven to get involved. Which means he takes up screen time away from all the other characters, who are already less developed then he is because they aren’t around as frequently.

And what makes this worse is that Steven’s connection to Lars and Sadie is a little flimsy. He’s just some kid who was customer at the shop they used to work at. It’s kind of weird to use Steven as the viewpoint for their relationship when he tends to only see one specific facet of their lives.

Which leads me into my second issue with Lars and Sadie. That they as characters, and by extension their relationship, was too far removed from the main plot of the show. 

You’d think Lars having to escape the tyranny of Homeworld would have made him a more integral presence in the plot, but it really didn’t. We barely got to see any of his escape from the gempire. I’m still not sure how he even managed to get off homeworld in the first place. 

This problem isn’t unique to Lars and Sadie, other relationships have also suffered because of the Steven only perspective, a prime example being Lapis and Peridot. I actually think one of the best developed relationships in the show was Rose and Greg’s. We got to see that relationship unfold first hand from Greg’s perspective, rather than it being filtered through Steven acting as a third party observer. I’m not even saying they’d have to write Steven out of entire episodes, just don’t have him be the focal character in every single scene. But considering this is the final season of steven universe, It’s obviously too late for any of that.

At the end of the day, I’d say my biggest criticism of this episode is the rather lackluster send off to the Larsadie arc. And considering this episode’s purpose was to conclude the Larsadie arc,  that’s a pretty bad thing for the episode to fumble.

I realise that was a pretty lengthy tangent about Lars and Sadie, but considering this episode is supposed to act as a conclusion to that arc I feel justified in harping on about them. But what were my thoughts on the graduation itself?

Padparadscha and Fluorite’s teachers must of had the patience of a saint. 

One thing that jumped out of me was that while a lot of characters attended this graduation, most of them were awkwardly silent throughout the whole thing. With Sourcream, Buck and the off colours not getting any lines. I know the reason is because they don’t want to pay all these voice actors to have only one or two lines in an episode. Why bother giving Sourcream and Buck lines when you can convey everything you need to through just Jenny? But it gets pretty noticeable when all these characters are facing certain death and have nothing to say about it. Especially for the off colours, who don’t even get to talk at their own graduation. This may seem like a nitpick, but noticing stuff like this takes me out of the episode as I become painfully aware of where the production is cutting costs. 

Also apparently the cool kids are still all teenagers? They seemed to be pushing they’re late teens back when Steven was 14, they’re really stretching it now. And it doesn’t help that none of them have visibly aged.

The  jacket for phone idea is cute and all, but it’s completely impractical. What if I need to answer a phone call or reply to a text? Do I have to unzip the jacket everytime? Wouldn’t the jacket just fall off the phone? Either that or it would partially cover the screen, which would be annoying. This business isn’t getting my investment that’s for sure.

And of course, I got to talk about Shep. Finally, the show has some actual non binary representation, you don’t have to settle for a boy and girl literally fusing together anymore. 

Shep’s gender is so ambiguous that they’re able to get past all censoring. I don’t think it would even register with any conservitive parents watching that this is supposed to be a queer character. They can’t complain about a same sex couple in a cartoon if it’s left completely unclear what Shep’s sex is. 

Although, I do have a fear that foreign dubs of the show might portray Shep as a male.

Shep is also ultimately the one who saves the day. They make an accurate diagnosis of Steven’s issues, despite barely knowing Steven. Which is pretty hilarious to me as being the unlicensed therapist is usually Steven’s role. 

I’m sure this was an intentional subversion on the crewniverse’s part. And it does give Shep an actual character moment, without it they’d just be a love triangle plot device for the episode. But I don’t like this trope of some stranger swooping in and having an answer to your life's problems; I think the advice Shep gave would have been better suited coming from someone who actually knows Steven.

‘It seems like your sad about your friends drifting away, so you trapped us all in this dome to keep us from leaving’

Like yes, that’s exactly what’s happening, but I don’t understand how you know enough about Steven’s life to come to that conclusion.

I also can’t get over how everyone casually dismisses that Steven nearly killed them with magic he couldn’t control. None of them seem to see this as an issue that could get worse in the future.

And of course it does, as Steven’s angst magic ends up taking a deadly turn again in the very next episode ‘Prickly Pair’. Which is what I’ll be discussing in the next review. Hopefully my opinion of that episode won’t be as… prickly.

[bouvillea]

a dense G24 Part 2 Essay

Here is my Part 1 Essay. Like before, I would like to talk about some parts of G24 Part 2 that I found interesting first. Feel free to skip ahead to around the fourth paragraph my discussion of the plot. Spoilers ahead.

The atmosphere is very similar to G20. I don't know about how others felt when they played through G20, but the uncertainty about who you could trust (Talvish...) was emphasized to the point where I, the player, couldn't make a sound decision either. G24 Part 2 revolved a lot around the fact that the Milletian and those that help the Milletian couldn't parse why and what was happening in Erinn. There was just a constant stream of dread and bitterness and an uncertainty about the Milletian themselves; the replies we were allowed to choose reflects that. Is the Milletian really good for the sake of Erinn's future? More on this later.

Part 2 opens with Hunter being, for once, very vulnerable to the Aces and the Milletian. He reveals to us his nightmares about his past and Fodla's past. We continue to see these bonding moments between the Aces, the Expeditionary Force, and the Milletian.* Starlet plays a bigger role now as a counterpoint to Fodla. One moves minds and hearts with persuasion and charisma, the other directly manipulates memories and emotions. The Aces clearly serve as the opposing undercurrent to Vayne's prediction at the end of Part 1. The Milletian will always have friends and supporters that cherishes them. Whether or not that is enough to stop the Milletian from spiraling into angst is another story.

*The Milletian really needs some after care...no one asks how the Milletian is feeling after all of this...

Ultimately, a lot of loose ends and story plots were tied up in Part 2, most of them very bittersweet and only vaguely hopeful at best. These back stories served to make us sympathize with the antagonists and make their motives understandable.

For that reason, I cannot come to hate Fodla. She had a very contrived method of protecting Hunter--her little brother. In a pact she made with Hymerark, Hunter's memories of her and his past were mostly sealed away. To make up for the fact that her little sister, Eriu, was sacrificed and succumbed to the curse, Fodla took in Deirbhile. She was a substitute that Fodla loved, but even in her last moments, Fodla wanted her real sibling. Deirbhile is truly a tragic character. She is a personality made and shaped by Fodla. Whoever she was before is probably buried deep in the recesses of her mind. Judging by the last scenes, Deirbhile cannot exist or function normally without Fodla.

Speaking of which, did Deirbhile make an oath with Hymerark, too? What for? We won't know unless we knew who she was before she met Fodla...

Thanks to Merlin, we now know that a Geas is a pact with a god, a pact that cannot be broken easily. If, in Part 1, the Milletian seeks out Vayne in Bangor and speaks to him wearing one of the Geas armors, he speaks about the dangers of being bound under a Geas: "You become bathed in the absolute authority of his will, which grants tremendous gifts and metes out terrible punishments".* Going against the orders of Hymerark will invoke a punishment. And so Vayne insinuates that he still needs to pay for abandoning his duties on the first night to hang out with the Milletian, and the Incubus King does his best to subvert the Geas in order to help.

*Thank you to Mita on twitter for supplying me with the extra dialogue I missed.

Speaking of which, the Incubus King really went full on angst and drama when he had to separate from his wife and Eiren, huh? He gave away his powers, haphazardly made a deal with Hymerark so he could have a dark, gloomy sarcophagus to dream about his time with his wife and child. Even Eiren made an off-handed remark about how lame it all was. It feels like the developers and writers realized that his motivations were very tropey so they decided to make fun of it. And then Eiren followed up with "he sort of...melted away into the darkness like summer snow". Oh. Okay. Goodbye, papa.

I'm going to continue off-tangent here and talk about Manannan, too. He comes back, all salty that the Milletian is busting into his temple uninvited (he does say another uninvited visitor, so was there someone before the Milletian?). But Manannan is so Cat Mom to the Far Darrigs that he can't maintain his pompous god-like demeanor in front of them and the Milletian. He can't bear to frighten the squishy Far Darrigs. It's nice to see that the Far Darrig's love and trust of Manannan isn't misplaced and is reciprocated. I don't think the Far Darrigs were there when Manannan met Scathach, so did he pick them up when he was heartbroken over her? Pure speculation, but that would be really something... Manannan tries to exit the conversation with the Milletian gracefully but then the Far Darrigs ruin it by letting us know that he's going to play with them. Hah. Glad to see his character getting fleshed out like this.

The Far Darrigs also "uwu" at me so there was that. Okay, back to critical analysis.

Human* greed and corruption is a repeating theme for the gods. Manannan said it in regards to the Fairy Queen's reason for leaving, and Vayne, a former Evil God, said the same to the Milletian during their fight. Even Morrighan and Talvish accused the Milletian of claiming powers out of greed and selfishness. The Milletian is a god-like being with human needs and motivations. They see the world in a much smaller frame than the gods do, but possess powers to rival the lowest gods. Make a mistake as a Milletian, and you might as well make a mistake for the whole world. And yet, the Milletian is not recognized as a deity by the gods, and not as a human by the mortals. They're an outsider.

*I will be using human synonymously for "mortal" since there are multiple races in Erinn

And being an outsider is a vexation for the Milletian brought to the front of the mind during this arc. They are always reminded that they are not one of them, that they are a special existence. Vayne's words wheedle into the mind every time they help someone out of kindness. Admiration will turn to fear, fear will turn to hate. The elves and giants forgetting the Milletian and blaming them, albeit artificially stimulated, was a taste of that. Fodla's nightmarish illusion also put the Milletian in the state of being a stranger. They stand at a distance, listening in on a conversation they aren't a part of.  And when they are noticed, there is nothing they can do to deter the hate, or prevent the blood on their hands. The worst part was that the Milletian's friends do zero damage to them. It was a cruel, one-sided fight.

But maybe this is all a trial for the Milletian, too. To steel their heart and understand who are really their friends and what role they play in Erinn. Piran said that Hymerark's trials for the people of Erinn have gotten more out of hand since Hymerark recognized the Milletian's existence. Then, perhaps, the Milletian isn't an outsider anymore. The trials are meant to be completed with the Milletian's help accounted for. These trials will unify the people of Erinn against the Order of the Black Moon.

Which, when you think about it, is not very dissimilar to Talvish's idea to unify the people against a common cause. You'll also have to admit that Vayne's/Hymerark's plan is a lot better than Talvish's. Piran also mentioned that Aton Cimeni and Talvish both condone chaos, so it explains why Talvish hasn't popped out to help the Milletian yet, or to defend them from a very persistent Vayne. He tried helping a little in G22 and then again during G23 but it seems like he got told off and instead sent Merlin to protect Erinn and protect the Milletian. Talvish is definitely on the Milletian's side though, and is probably hoping that they stay true to themselves and continue to help others.

If the goal of Hymerark was to make the Milletian to feel as helpless as possible and then chase them out of Erinn, he wouldn't need to go through such lengths. He could simply pop the Milletian into the Soul Stream and get rid of them there. Cichol did it, I don't see why one of the Three Gods couldn't. Or perhaps Hymerark's original plan was to get rid of the Milletian, but Vayne's oath with him prevented that. Vayne would want trials for the Milletian to overcome so they would become strong enough to defeat him. On the same note, since the trials are getting more intense due to the Milletian (different, I would say, than the trials are happening because of the Milletian), is the Milletian really good for the future of Erinn? I imagine the turmoil the Milletian is going through has something to do with this. Would the trials have been easier if the Milletian wasn't there? Would less people have died and gotten hurt if they did not step into Erinn?

Very briefly, on Cethlenn and Marleid. I had an inkling for a while that they knew each other (thank you, KR Twitter) but due to circumstances, they had forgotten one another. Marleid took on his name, and Cethlenn isn't his real name. So...did he pick "Cethlenn" or did someone name him that? Or did he just switch names with "Marleid"? If Vayne named him Cethlenn...well then. That's the name of Mythological Figure Balor's wife so...writers what are you thinking? (Or, more likely, Fodla named him to change him and meeting his childhood friend with his old name was the biggest trigger to disrupt her abilities.)

Anyway, things aren't looking good for Cethlenn. Or Tani. Tani's last letter to the Milletian had Morse code that vaguely translated to "please letmeout".* Upsetting, especially now that it's implied that Hymerark will use her body to descend to the mortal world. I'm just waiting for Aton Cimeni to pop into the Milletian's body to tell everyone to stop it and shut up.

*Other interesting implications regarding how Milletians work. They can sleep, but do not dream. Nao remembers every Milletian and they can chose to leave whenever or never return.

After all that has happened in G24, I hope we can get some good closure. And I hope the Milletian gets a nice break.

[mementomcriis]

´   ･   .   ✶   ⧼   maya   hawke,   demiwoman,   she   &   her   &   they   &   them   /   girl   with   one   eye   by   florence   and   the   machine   +   the   soft,   white   noise   crackle   of   an   ancient   vhs   tape,   aging   newspaper   clippings   and   yellowed   family   photographs   pinned   to   a   corkboard   and   connected   with   a   distinct   red   string,   and   the   cloying,   all   consuming   smell   of   lavender   and   sage   ⧽   ━━   don’t   look   now,   but   that’s   SIDNEY   AMELIA   KNOX-KHAN.   the   twenty   two   year   old   HUMAN   has   been   here   in   seattle   for   their   whole   life,   and   is   a   FILM   STUDENT   &   VIDEO   STORE   CLERK.   they’ve   always   been   IRREPRESIBLE   &   IRON   WILLED,   but   i   guess   this   town   just   brings   out   the   worst   in   people   ;   apparently,   they’ve   been   way   more   CONTRARIAN   &   VOCIFEROUS   than   usual.   it   wouldn’t   surprise   me   if   they   knew   what   was   going   on.   you   can   check   out   their   stat   page   HERE.

       i   wish   that   i   could   say   that   i   am   a   LIGHT   that   never   goes   out   /                           BUT   I   FLICKER   FROM   time   TO   time.

section one of three : bullet point history trigger warnings for talk of murder

sidney was born here in seattle, washington. her mother was BEATRICE KHAN, a fairly well known name in the publishing world ( though she never released any of her own countless numbers of novels ), absolutely unrelenting when it came to cutting her clients a good deal. her father was julian knox, a one time american football player who PEAKED in college and turned to writing romance novels after a career ending injury forced him to confront that he wasn’t much qualified for anything else. the family unit that they created was full of love and ever nurturing - perfect, from the inside to the out.

they were the quintessential all american family, where it COUNTED. parents that were sickeningly in love. two kids, with the perfect age difference between them. they lived in a house in the suburbs with a picket fence ( that was actually stained brown, not white ) and a perfect lawn, where the cat they had in place of a dog due to julian’s allergies would lounge, day after day. even the neighbours figured they were perfect ; the kind of thing with with all smiles, to their faces, and muttered darkly in the privacy of their own suburban homes. beatrice would go to work from eight to five, every day. julian would stay home. he got the kids their breakfast, he got them on a bus. he would go inside and write and break up the day with gardening or do it yourself projects, attending community meetings, fulfilling his pta role - and then his kids would come home, and dinner would be on the table in time for his wife’s return. perfect. clockwork. 

sidney loved it, personally. she had no desire to act out. no need to break the mold, so to speak. she never felt as if she were stifled, or that her parents were pushing their own ambitions onto her. if anything, the thing that was most shocking about her early life was that she actually ENJOYED it. school could be challenging, in it’s own way - she was diagnosed with dyslexia young, but it took a few more years for them to pinpoint her adhd - but she got all the help that she could have dreamt of needing. she was allowed, if not encouraged, to try every whim that came to mind. they were, after all, within a privileged position enough to ALLOW it. piano lessons for two years, the violin for five. she attempted gymnastics and managed to break her wrist just two lessons in - never bothered to try another more physical activity, after that, but she had a healthy appreciation for watching sports, just like dad. her home life was excellent. her school life was just fine. she was a BRIGHT and curious soul, and she had aspirations for the kind of college that should she have attended, her mother could have lived VICARIOUSLY through her. she was extremely lucky to like her parents, and to appreciate the life that they had given her for all that it was.

she shouldn’t have to look back on these earlier years with sadness, and yet, life simply doesn’t work the way that it SHOULD. the week before the murders, she never could have presumed what was going to happen, though she was plagued by nightmares - something that she attributed to the horror movie marathon she had just completed or the milk drank before bed, and not to anything legitimate. she dreamt of hooded figures and serrated knives and a screaming that never stopped ringing in her ears, even after she awoke in a cold sweat and struggled to fall back asleep. she would struggle from the tangle of bedsheets with the urge to wash her hands, compulsively ; as if she were trying to get non-existent blood out from beneath her fingernails. she was fifteen years old, and she googled things like ‘can my period give me nightmares?’ and ‘is the milk before bed thing legit’, but she had NO REASON to fear the images that slipped away, as night turned into day. 

it seems cruel, in it’s own way, that the night which changed the course of sidney’s life for good is one she spent completely unaware. she was staying at her girlfriends house - a sleepover planned for almost a MONTH - and the next morning, when the police came to pick her up, she had been in the midst of eating breakfast with the affectionately named ‘in laws’ and trying to swallow back a persistent feeling of unease. she was lucky that she was waiting for a lift back to her house - she was luckier, still, that a nosy neighbour had noticed her mother’s car hadn’t left for work, yet, and popped around to check in on them. if they hadn’t, and if she had gotten the early morning bus as planned, then sidney would have had to live with image of her bloodied parents until the day she DIED, too.

her mom and dad were gone. this was the gut punch, number one. number two was that her sibling - her should have been legal guardian - was under arrest. the MURDER weapon ( a phrase she had only ever heard on tv, and could never have guessed would be said in regards to her life ) had been found wrapped in one of their jackets and thrown in a dumpster outside. they had been picked up a block away, and in interrogation, their alibi didn’t stand up. it was a rather cut & dry case, and suddenly, everyone in the neighbourhood - what felt like the whole world, back then - was doing their level best to pick sidney’s picture perfect life apart. people who had once only ever had good things to say now talked about late night arguments between mom and dad. said that they had never trusted the look of her sibling, not even when they were a kid. said there was something not right about them - and that they couldn’t be sure sidney wasn’t the same. the circumstantial evidence piled against the only member of family that sid had left, and there was nothing that could be done. she was put into the system a mere week after the murders, and everything moved quickly on. she talked to a handful of reporters, but for the most part, people out in the world didn’t care for the story. it wasn’t anything too SPECIAL, she supposed. 

too many stories talk of foster care becoming a sort of hell for the children stuck in it. for sidney, however, her foster home was her only salvation from the world outside her door. the one thing that she could rely on, even as she went through the most momentous changes. her first week back at school, the staring was almost painful. the whispers were worse. sidney requested she be moved, and in the process, she allowed herself be cut off from her old life - the friends she had, the partner she had loved. she started somewhere new, and she was... different, now. stranger. sidney’s way of dealing with all that had happened was to cling to things that had once only been a special interest - UNSOLVED crimes, sensationalist stories, horror movies and the supernatural. she spent a lot of time in her room, and she spent even more indulging in these new interests. the people at her new school figured that she was weird, and that assumption only got worse when they discovered what had happened to her parents. whispers of her being like her MURDEROUS sibling were somehow worse than anything else that had ever been said, but she took it, for the most part, on the chin. she couldn’t explain her sudden draw to the macabre, even less than she could explain why everything in her life had fallen apart. frankly.... it didn’t matter. she simply was.

sidney’s foster family supported her, right up until she turned eighteen, and even after. she sacrificed the dream of an ivy league school for something more achievable, beginning to attend a seattle local college after graduation and majoring in film, finding among those students - OLDER and more mature, of course, than high school kids - something she had started to forget was possible. her job as a film store clerk didn’t exactly help her rake in the cash, but once she started selling movie reviews to online publications, sidney was able to save up some money and buy professional equipment - beginning her podcast in late 2018. she doesn’t tend to talk about what happened. she doesn’t tend to think about her SIBLING. she’s got a life, now, and it’s not exactly the one she ever expected to be living - but it is her own, and that’s really all that she can hope for. 

section two of three : headcanons

sidney dealt with her grief by… hyper fixating on a special interest she had always sort of had, and becoming quite the little movie buff. horror movies, more than anything, but people didn’t react very well when she went off on a tangent over wes craven’s talent, so she broadened her horizons a little. she enjoys film, maybe moreso than she should. all that led her to other special interests, and now she’s dabbled in just about everything that a woman can. 

her podcast deals, of course, with unsolved mysteries. this usually takes the form of unsolved CRIMES, but... she believes in ghosts and aliens, and she throws an episode in every now and then that deals with them. she’s very open about this side gig, solely because she hopes that someday, it’ll be what she does for a living - and because there’s no point in attempting to hide something that’s such a huge part of her life, even if people do tend to... not enjoy her being so into these things, as the daughter of two murder victims.

her older sibling was acquitted of the crime - eventually. sidney still doesn’t enjoy thinking about them or it, per say, but when the news reached her, she did begin to... hyper fixate, once again, and begin to obsess over what the TRUTH was. she has cork theory board dedicated solely to her parents - and more recently has added another one, dedicated to what’s happening in seattle. she’s not gifted, or in the know, but she’s certainly not an idiot.

has a pet rat named church ( which is a fairly ironic reference to the cat in pet sematary ), and he’s NOT her first. she’s owned several since she was put into care, and they’ve always been something of an emotional support for her. 

while i align sidney more with ‘conspiracy theories’ and ‘true crime’ than i do ghosts and ghouls, i will admit that i tend to push a lot of spooky cliche’s onto her, because i like having a character who’s very IN TOUCH and into that season, in particular. promise i’m trying to control the impulses.

always has on at least five necklaces and eight rings, and never has any less than ten bracelets. her style would be hard to define, but the amount of cheap jewelry is FAIRLY indicative. 

section three of three : wanted connections

sidney knox-khan, our maya hawke is looking for their older sibling who resembles finn cole, tiera skovbye, dacre montgomery / up to player and should be 23+. applicants do not have to contact rachel to talk over details before applying.   (   pls allow me preface with the fact that i wld be happy for her sibling to be half / adopted / fostered either, and they don’t necessarily have to be named after a horror character like sid was - though the latter is a fun lil thing abt the family, so i would love if u went that route too ! sid and her sib have had. a rough life. and by that i mean, they had an entirely perfect life up until the sib was aged 18 - when they were arrested for the murder of their well to do parents. it’s all explained more clearly within sid’s intro, and basically… the evidence was circumstantial and flimsy. it probably would have made sense they spend SOME time behind bars, but it’s also possible they didn’t -  though sid was put into care for the remainder of her teens, so may not know they were ever released ! the two very distinct routes this could go in are …. sid being suspicious of them and feeling as if they must of done it, because who else could have, or alternatively - sid being open to the idea of them not, because nothing about the case ever sat right w her. we could talk more abt it, but i feel like it’s one of those connects i just. wld love to have !  )

sidney knox-khan, our maya hawke is looking for their foster family ( parents, siblings, etc ) who resemble ariela barer, iman meskini, madchen amick, santiago segura, herman tommeraas, bradley cooper / up to player and should be any age. applicants do not have to contact rachel to talk over details before applying.   (   sid never took their name, so first up - that’s a detail open to applicants ! basically. there’s a mother, a father, and their merry band of foster kids - probably… four… five? a nice amount. none of them have to be like one another. none of them have to fit a specific role. this is the family that took sidney in after her parents were murdered, and the fact of the matter is - there are a LOT of stories in which foster care became a hell for the protagonist, but that’s not sid’s story. she was ostracized in school. she had lost her only blood relations. her foster home became a safe haven, and the people within it became as close as could be to her. we stan one supportive household who still hold her whole heart, to this day.   )

sidney knox-khan, our maya hawke is looking for their close friends ( max. four ) who resemble virginia gardner, justice smith, sydney park / up to player and should be 21+. applicants do not have to contact rachel to talk over details before applying.   (   sid didn’t have ANY friends until she got to college, due completely to how #weird people began to find her. she eventually found her squad, but they’re basically. like every good horror movie group. her equivalent would be rany meeks from scream 1996, or noah foster from scream tv. she fits their archetype, but i wouldn’t say that the group MUST comprise of likeminded people. in fact, it’s more fun if they don’t. they’re not a group of jocks or cheerleaders or popular kids, but they are a sort of breakfast club. a merry band of b-listers who grouped together and have remained together for a real long time.   )

sidney knox-khan, our maya hawke is looking for their ex poly ship who resemble up to player and should be 21+. applicants do not have to contact rachel to talk over details before applying.   (   sidney made a bunch of… not entirely excellent choices, in the yrs following her parents deaths. that isn’t to say she acted out, or that she did anything that was too out of character for her. she really didn’t - but she did become a much more WEIRD version of who she had always been, and people pushed her away because of it. when others came along that seemed to be able tolerate who she had become, she clung to them - to almost extreme degrees. the relationship was a whirlwind if ever there was one, and perhaps wasn’t ‘true love’. maybe not even close. but they did seem to work right up until when they didn’t - and the end was quite messy, by all standards. sid did a good job of ending relationships on friendly terms, but this didn’t - all details aside from these are open for discussion !   )

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH. Ch. 2

NAJI _ MANAAN. POST_LEGACY_OF_THE_RAKATA.

"It's going to be a while until we see each other again, does it have to be immediatly?" Naji asks, smiling sweetly at the black-clad Sith Lord. She seems a tad stunned before offering her a surprised, but genuine smile in return. Unlike her also black clad companion, who simply seems to retreat further into her hood and respirator. Lana has been a strange addition to her list of contacts, primarily because she is of the opposite faction, but she's sweet, and Naji is going to be rather sad to see her go. The way she continued to assist with their missions, and the friendly composure she had that was so rare among Sith, she was sad she couldn't follow them underground. "I rather enjoyed this excursion."

Especially for something that's her fault to begin with. She hated the idea that Lana and Theron would have to uproot their lives and hide in the shadows for something she'd caused.

Well, Darth Amarillis' (Quinn, but she'd nearly had a fit when Naji had mentioned her second last name), actually. Naji had wanted to let Arkous and Darok live. The Darth had other ideas and cut them down quickly in a flash of red light. But Revan had risen, and going into hiding seperately was the only way to go it seemed until everything died down. She hoped that'd be soon, so she could stop thinking about it and finally dispose of the cult leader. Get back to life as planned, or as planned as it could be. Relax on the Polaris, enjoy what time she had left in the galaxy.

She was curious about the absence of the starch Imperial who followed the other woman around (and provided healing, though Tharan was leery of the man and Felix agreed wholeheartedly, provided that they were with her and she wasn't bleeding out on the ground), who the Darth had switched out for a tall and imposing Talz. However, prodding the Sith didn't seem like a smart decision right then, and the answer could wait until later. Or never. Never was a good option. Naji wasn't sure where she stood with the Wrath, but she'd rather actually be standing to figure out and answer that question.

"Unless you're planning a party, it'll definitely be a while. Not forever though." Theron responds, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms, "There's no way we're letting a cult get away with the whole galaxy in tow."

"Confident, Shan?" The scowling (Naji can't see it at the moment but the few times the Darth has been without her mask, she's always scowling) Sith remarks, a low hiss through her respirator as she chuckles ominously, though something seductive filtering into her voice. "I like that in a man."

Lana stifled a chuckle (well enough that Naji only just barely caught the quirking of the corner of her lips), and she herself rolled her eyes. The entire ordeal had just been one sided flirting on the Darth's side, though Theron seemed to be...oddly receptive if not also flustered when she did get to making these remarks. His signature wasn't easy to read, even harder to try and decode, but it was clear enough that while he wasn't comfortable with it, he also wasn't exactly hating it either. Naji couldn't figure why, he seemed like the least likely person to be attracted to a Sith. Also why her newfound companion had found solace in teasing the man, she wasn't sure. What had happened to the Imperial healer?"I-uh, I'll let you and Lana get to having your official debrief or...whatever." He pointedly gave her a look that said 'I'll talk to you outside', and once prompted that Lana didn't need her anymore, she followed the SIS agent outside the private suite.

"Look, I know this operation probably wasn't the smoothest you've ever been in, and for that, I'm sorry circumstances didn't work out the way they should've." Theron says, obviously about to begin a tangent that even she could predict. She'd rather cut him off before he begins rambling about how the mission could've gone. Possibilities were rarely if ever reality, and she would treat them as such.

"Theron, really. It was a couple of missions, and considering I came back with my mind and body intact is a miracle in itself. So maybe we had a few Imperial resources we didn't ask for, all's well that ends in you having to go underground." She shrugs, before frowning as she runs a hand through her hair realizing what she's just said, "Sorry, way too soon."

His face is a mask of general confusion before shaking his head, possibly hiding his own smile, "It happened. But uh, yeah. We survived for the most part. Just don't do anything stupid before I see you again?" he asks, holding out his hand for a handshake. She takes it, smiling wholeheartedly.

"I have Felix for that, and if worst comes to worst, you'll hear about it first." She says, shifting awkwardly as she lifts the hood on her robe again with nothing else to tell the SIS agent, "Well, if this is really goodbye, I don't want to hold you up anymore than I already have. Safe travels to you and Lana."

"You too, Barsen'thor." He nods with the last ghosts of a smile still on his face, before turning and heading a different direction than her. Naji sincerely did wonder what the galaxy had in store for the four of them (five, Jakarro, six, C2D4). The Revanites really were rising again, and instead of going after them, they were waiting and lying low. Something she figured the violent Emperor's Wrath wouldn't exactly enjoy the thought of waiting for so long. A few months, a few years until they'd come across their allies again. Where, when. Questions that wouldn't be easily forgotten.

A vacation of sorts, she figured. But not one she'd enjoy looking forward to the end of. As hectic as life became, a relaxing few weeks on the Polaris was exactly what the doctor had ordered. And a few glasses of brandy that at first she'd declined but quickly taken a liking to. Damned Tharan and his less than conventional healing ways. Finding Felix waiting just where she'd left him waiting, she grinned as she took his hand in hers, taking a few moments of looking out over the waters of Manaan before turning to him.

"Is it all over?" He asks, motioning for them to sit together on a bench before kissing her temple, "Are we going home?"

"We're going home, that's for sure. But it's not over Felix, in fact, it's just begun."

-

TRI'AMA_THE_FURY. POST_LEGACY_OF_THE_RAKATA.

The ship is empty once she returns, and it unsettles her in a way that shudders her down to her core. Except for Broonmark, it's dark and cold in the Fury as she goes about doing the pre-flight checks. Everyone else has been on leave, and calling them back is going to be difficult. Vette has been annoying her for a vacation for ages now, and cutting it short wasn't going to earn her any points with the small twi'lek.

He was on permanent leave.

She tries to force the thought out of her mind as she tries to retrace his steps. Tries not to remember how his hands had guided hers to the controls, to stay in the hyperlane. What all the colored buttons did and their odd functions. A learning process she'd had to cut short.

She's afraid he's going to walk through those doors again, appear out of the shadows. She's afraid if that happens, she won't be able to say no again.

"Tri'ama please, be reasonable!"

Unclipping her respirator from around her jaw, she tries to slow her increasing heart rate, focusing on anything but him. The cool waters of Manaan, as it tried to drown her. The strange teechnology, the even stranger Selkath the Barsen'thor had been able to understand.

"You know I'd do anything for you!"

It's too hot. But then it's too cold as she takes her hands off the controls once she manages to get the Fury into hyperspace en route to Dromound Kaas. It's too much to be in here, alone. Alone with her thoughts, alone with her fears. Terrified he will eventually finish his mission. Terrified the shadows hide more than her nightmares.

"I still love you."

Almost feeling his warm breath against her neck, she panics, lashing out with her saber before finding her Talz comrade behind her chair instead, his fur just barely brushing her exposed skin and one part near his chest nearly being singed off by her buzzing red blade. Putting her head down, she can't even get out a string of apologies, though they flood her mind as she grimaces, disigniting her saber. Unable to even rehang it on her belt, it clatters to the floor out of her shaky hands.

"Don't leave me like this."

"Stars, Broonmark. I'm sorry, are you alright?" she asks, threading a hand through her hair as she tries to avoid all four eyes that are surely trained on her by the Talz. "It wasn't intentional, I didn't know you were there."

He doesn't answer, no half sentence worth of grunts, but instead puts a slightly rough hand on her shoulder. Without even a word on her end, he pulls her in closer to him. For once, she feels a small shred of safety, knowing Broonmark never did have any ulterior motives for her. For once, it's just her and her protector.

"Tri'ama, please. You've loved me for years, and this is how it ends?" He asks, quiet as he tries his best to seem strong.  His face betrays him, his force signature even more. His mind is crying out for her, regret at the forefront of his mind, then sadness. It's too much, even though the words hang in between them, she bunches the cloth lounge clothes in her hands, trying to stay focused, "Am I not playing my part right? Is this the problem?"

"No, Malavai-Quinn. Your part was played, correctly. I-I can't do this anymore, Quinn." She says, trying to motion to everything, them, their relationship. All of it. Nothing she can say can even encompass what she's feeling at this very moment. How she feels about him, how her trust is about to snap, given this goes any further than it already has. It's too much, "I'll put it bluntly, I don't trust you."

"You...you said you were over that" He says, his face falling further into his melancholy, "You said you were willing to put that behind us. In favor of a new beginning."

"Every time I look into the shadows, you're there. I'm terrified to be alone with you these days, Quinn. It's too much for me. I can't continue to pretend everything is okay for the sake of a relationship that should've never been!" Her voice raises, words come tumbling out that she was never supposed to say. He's taken aback by the realization, before quipping back himself.

"You're scared of me. You're scared of something that happened years ago that I promised would never happen again." He's getting uncomfortably close to her again, enough to smell the cologne that seems to never truly get washed out of his clothes-or him. It stings her nose as she begins to get too hot, her heart rate just too fast. As she always is as she prods at his mind to go to sleep before she slips out of their bed to sleep in the crew quarters until morning. He tries to hug her, wrapping his arms around her before she can tell him to stop. Everything is too much, she can't even begin to process, to rationalize.

Quinn is entirely too close.

Quinn needs to get off her, now.

"Get. Off. Of. Me." She growls, almost using the force to get him away from her as her breathing grows faster and faster. What if he's hiding a knife somewhere in that jacket of his, waiting to strike as soon as she stops focusing on this, as soon as she turns her back? Waiting for her guard to drop to finally land the kill?

Baras is dead.

But her fear isn't. What happened on the transponder station wasn't easily forgotten, she doubted she would ever truly be able to accept that. Be able to accept that what happened wouldn't happen again. The one person she let into her heart, let know everything about her. Laughed with, cried with, made love with.

Betrayed.

Yes, it had been two and a half years. But every turn, he could be hiding in the shadows. He could be lying in wait everytime she crawled into bed with him. She's scared. That she couldn't say no before until she confided in Vette. And the way his desperate icy blue eyes bore into her, she's afraid she won't be able to go through with it.

The rubat crystal adorned ring still gleams in the light of their room. She uses the force to open the door before delicately pulling off the band, taking his hand one last time and putting it in his palm, closing his fingers over it. Looking up at him, she retracts her hand from his and tries not to let her watery eyes get the best of her. "Just go, Quinn. I'm sorry, but I can't."

Something finally breaks in him, his sad eyes turning into orbs of acceptance. He turns, leaving their shared room and she finally realeases a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Her finger feels...lighter, but her heart so much heavier now. Tears well up in her eyes as her surroundings blur.

It's too much.

"Business before pleasure, my lord. I've heard these liasions rarely last."

It's all too much.

Now, she isn't sure what to feel anymore as she tries not to cry into the surely bloodstained fur of her companion. Quinn's name still makes her feel a tinge of anxiety, as a shiver runs down her spine. Is that why she'd flirted with Theron? Because it made her feel better with something she couldn't have? That was what had lead her into this mess in the first place, playing with fire when she knew it wouldn't last.

Theron was nothing like Quinn, not nearly as uptight, but just as infuriating when trying to flirt with him. Maybe...maybe if she could just get past this fear of anyone, anyone to let into her heart again.

If it didn't bother her so much, leaving her mind open for the Barsen'thor to work together with her. Afraid that now that Theron knew her intentions, that he'd use it against her in the future.

But she doesn't want to let go.

[anchoredtether]

Still Got It

<– Inspired by honestlyprettychill’s beautiful Fault in Our Stars artwork –>

Title: His Driving is Comparable to a Disneyland Ride

Author: AnchoredTether

Rating: T [mild swearing, dark themes]

Pairings: Plance [Lance x Pidge]

Series: Still Got It

Chapter: 2/?

Summary: “Everyone is useful in some shape or form, at some point in their life, to an insurmountable number of people. Everyone’s existence affects the fabric of space and time whether they realize it or not, and this reality as we know it is affected by your very existence. So…” I waved a hand dismissively as if I just explained something rather simple. “Like I said… no one is useless.”

Lance was dumbstruck for a moment, his jaw slightly slacked and his eyebrows lowered. “Holy crow.” Then his bewilderment slowly turned into a wicked grin. “Aren’t you something else.”

"Okay I just have to warn you… riding in Red is an… experience."

"Red?" I had just made it down the last step with my oxygen tank which I insisted I carry. "You named your car after its color?"

Lance made a strange sound while he bit his lower lip. "Wwwwwell… sorta." He jerked his head towards the street where cars were parked along the side. "Mine's the Jeep."

I looked and although I didn't know cars all that well (Hunk was a bit of a nerd when it came to those kinds of things - he was a mechanic after all) but I did recognize the old, beat up Jeep Cherokee. Except it was a faded blue, not the cherry red I was looking for.

"Are you colorblind?" I knew reds and greens were easily confused for those who were colorblind (heck, Matt was slightly colorblind, I had to sometimes give him pointers on his wardrobe) but I had never heard of anyone confusing reds with blues. "Your car is blue."

"Yep."

"…soooo why do you call it Red?"

He let out a small laugh that held the hint of a snicker, as if he were trying to hold back his laughter. "So, the local ad for it said it was 'red.' But when I actually saw the car it was this hideous shade of orange, like when you grab the crayon you think is red but it's the 'red orange' one and then your picture is completely ruined. So I had my car painted and apparently red is a super expensive paint color so I went with blue instead. But I was already set on calling my car 'Red' so it stuck." He shrugged his shoulders, as if it made complete sense. "Besides, my cat's name is Blue so I couldn't name my car the same name."

"Your cat's name is Blue?" I let out a playful scoff. "I worry for your future children, Green and Yellow."

He laughed and the sound was music to my ears. When we reached his car he opened the passenger door for me, his hands offering once again to take my tank but I shooed him away as I pulled it in myself. He held up his hands defensively before closing the door and I thought it was the most endearing thing. He kept wanting to help me and normally I would have gotten more annoyed by his persistence, but despite his desire to constantly help he also allowed me to do it myself. Most guys would have insisted and grabbed the tank from me despite my protesting. Lance always offered a hand but also gave me the choice whether or not to take it.

That may have been part of the influencing factor to inviting him over.

When he got situated in his seat he turned to look at me, his blue eyes serious. "Have you ever been to Disneyland?"

"Yeah?"

"Been on the Indiana Jones ride?"

I didn't like where this was headed. "Yes?"

"My driving is like that. Kinda jerky and terrifying and you may fear for your life sometimes, but otherwise compleeeeetely safe," he said with a reassuring hand gesture.

While I wanted to believe him, I still made sure my seatbelt was tight and secure. He ignited the engine and the car purred to life. He hit on the radio and immediately started belting out to the song that played. It caught me off guard at first, especially when he jerked the car out onto the road, but as I watched him move his lips to the tune his energy was contagious as I formed a smile. I began to sing along with him, although not nearly as well, until I half yelped half screamed when Lance jerked the car to a stop at the red stop sign and it was so hard I thought we hit something.

"Sorry. I can't exactly push the brake gently," he said while pursing his lips together and making a popping sound. "I have no idea where we're going. Well I know we're going to your house, but I don't know where your house is."

"Oh! Right." Lance started to turn the car right but I quickly yelled, "Nonono! Straight! Go straight!" The car flung back on course and now I was starting to understand why he compared his driving to the Indiana Jones ride. I could start to feel my lunch work its way back up. "I said 'right' as in 'of course' or 'gotcha,' not the direction."

"Gotcha," he smirked. "Good thing no one was around to see that, right?"

"Right."

"You mean, of course."

"Right." Lance started singing again but I had to yell "RIGHT RIGHT RIGHT!!" when he almost missed the turn. "I meant the direction that time!!"

He let out a wheezing sound. "Just point with your fingers from now on."

~ ~ ~

I don't think my mom has ever been so ecstatic in her life.

Not only had I made a new friend (wasn't even sure to call him that yet), but it was a boy and I was the one to initiate inviting him to dinner. I was surprised my mom didn't accuse me with the 'who are you and what have you done with my daughter?' line. Honestly, I was still trying to grasp the fact I invited a stranger boy over for dinner.

I'd never hear the end of it from Matt.

Despite the dread and anxiety I felt crawling up my stomach at the thought of Lance meeting my family and my family reacting to me inviting Lance (and the feeling in my stomach wasn't just from his driving), seeing Shiro answering the door somehow made everything more bearable. The man was practically another brother of mine.

"Hey!" Shiro greeted us with a welcoming smile. "Lance, how's the leg?"

"Still kickin'! How's the arm?"

"Still hanging!" They both laughed and did the classic bro hand grab pull-in hug thing. I shook my head with a smile as I entered the house to see mom and Matt beaming with enough energy to rival the sun. I wanted to groan out loud but I tried to be on my best behavior, if not for Lance's sake, for Shiro's.

Oddly enough, the dinner discussion flowed more smoothly than I could imagine. My family only asked about Lance (and nothing too touchy concerning his leg or his cancer) and Shiro told some funny stories and my dad went on this long tangent about Godel's incompleteness theorems. It wasn't until I blurted the question that was gnawing my mind did the evening take a turn.

"So is your prosthetic trans-tibial or trans-femoral?"

"Katie!" My mother had a look that was a mix of shock and disappointment.

"Oh so that's your real name?" Lance asked in a muffled voice, his mouth full of food.

Mom rolled her eyes and I knew I was going to get a talk later. "She introduces herself as Pidge at the group therapy??"

"I figured it was a nickname," Lance shrugged, swallowing. "But to answer your question, I think trans-femoral. Does that mean my leg ends somewhere along my femur?" When I nodded (since my mouth was full) he continued, "Yeah they told me I have an AK which stands for 'above the knee.' Sounds like I've got a firearm for a leg, which is cool."

"Lance, sweetheart," my mom started, "You don't have to talk about your prosthetic if you don't want to. I'm sorry Katie brought it up."

"You don't have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable," my father added.

Lance frowned, shrugging once more. "It's fine. I'm fine. A month ago I probably wouldn't be, but… there's no point in avoiding it. It's a part of me now."

"That's the spirit!" Shiro said with a playful punch from his fake arm. "In time you'll hardly notice it. You're handling it better than I did - took me months to get used to it."

"Yeah but you lost your arm, your hand. Arguably you use that a lot more than your leg."

Shiro hummed. "Perhaps for more finite, dexterous movements. But unless you're vegging on the couch watching Netflix all day, you use your legs more."

"It's true," I pitched in. "Plus, a transfemoral amputee must use approximately eighty percent more energy to walk than a person with two whole legs. I'd say your adjustment is harder than Shiro's."

"Huh," Lance said, "I never thought of it that way…"

Matt side-eyed mom before he focused his attention on Lance. "What kind of hydraulics does your prosthetic use? Or does yours have a motor or microprocessor?"

"Uuuhhh…" Lance looked between all of us like we were speaking a different language. "I actually don't know any of that. I just do what the doctors tell me."

"You'd probably have to have some kind of microprocessing to keep the movements of the knee in sync with your left leg," I said, biting my lip as I thought. "Might even utilize myoelectric signals."

"How about I just show you my leg?" Lance suggested. My lips parted in an excited gasp but my mother cut me off before I could gush about how much I wanted to see the mechanics of his prosthetic.

"Absolutely not. Katie, I think it's time we served our guest dessert instead of examining him."

"It's fine, Mrs. Holt," he said with a lifted hand, "but I'll at least wait until we're done at the dinner table."

~ ~ ~

Despite the fact I never got to see his leg (whenever he tried to show me my mother interfered), we had an enjoyable time together. After dinner and dessert, Lance got to see the ugly side of my family as we played several rounds of Uno. Poor Shiro could never win at that game with his arm's lag. We played a few rounds of Taboo as well, something my father and brother were crazy good at. Lance was constantly surprised at how quickly they guessed the word when only a few clues were given. He had a nice energy about him - the way he smiled, the contagiousness of his laugh, the pleasant upbeat tone of his voice - all contributed to my inevitable falling for him.

When it was time for him to go, my mom sent him home with a bunch of leftovers and extra brownies. I walked with him out to his blue car named Red. The sun had already set but it was still pretty light out and everything was set into a hazy purple dusk. Crickets were chirping and a cool breeze graced the evening air.

"I hope my family wasn't too overwhelming," I said, almost an apology.

Lance snorted. "Your family, overwhelming? You should see mine."

I laughed but stopped short when I realized that his words could have been taken as an invitation. I idly wondered if he meant them that way, and if so, then we both had invited each other over to our families on the first day of knowing each other. Way to move quickly, Pidge.

"I'd like to see yours," I said, not even realizing how… cheesy that sounded. This was turning into some cheap romance straight out of a Twilight novel and I wanted to crawl into my bed and never see the light of day again. But at the same time… I meant it. "And your cat, who I hope isn't actually blue and you're just being colorblind again."

Lance offered me a smirk and it was a look I don't think I'd ever get tired of seeing. "How about next week after group therapy we have dinner at my place instead? You might want to bring earplugs, my family's loud."

"I'm sure they're fine," I scoffed, offering him a smile. "That… actually sounds like a good plan. Assuming you still want to come to group therapy."

"Are you kidding? I freakin' love Coran!" He chuckled. "And besides, I'd like to see you again. I know I already thanked your parents a dozen times, but seriously… thank you for inviting me over."

I felt my face grow hot and lungs tighten. I raised a hand to rub the back of my neck out of nervousness. "I… it's no problem, I mean… you're welcome." I finally gained the courage to lift my eyes to meet his gorgeous blues. The contact made me want to shy away once more but somehow I found myself entranced as my eyes stayed glued upon his irises. "I'm glad we were able to meet, since you were able to see Shiro again and all. It was kind of a neat coincidence."

I didn't think his smirk could get any more enticing but it did. "There is no such thing as coincidence, Katie." The way he said it was pure poetry and I almost converted to his philosophy on the spot.

I offered him a playful frown and my rebuttal: "There is no such thing as fate, Lance."

"We'll see about that."

[clarkeryan17writing-blog]

Lost and Confused

I think I am writing this as a way to remember what I am currently describing as a most painful journey, so I am looking at this as a little bit of cathartic reflectiveness. The newly qualified social worker in me recoils, as for the last four years we are taught the importance of reflective writing, yet I paid no head to it.  Often working under pressure and hoping that my near accuracies of events that have transpired are in fact, fact, rather than mere conjecture. However this will be interpreted, I am doing this for me, because right now I am struggling to make sense of this life. Quite simply, I am confused and if I am completely honest, totally lost.  

If I cast my mind back, the problems began back in May.  Some of the family were in attendance at my baby cousin’s holy communion.  My aunt had expressed that she had felt unwell when out celebrating for her younger daughter’s recent nuptials a couple of days prior to this event.  They had been out for dinner and as a fan of food (like most of my family are) my aunt tried something new, however her night ended early as she felt unwell.  My aunt blamed the food (as most of us do when we try something new) and put it down to experience, rather than something sordidly medical.   I wonder, was it then it began? Was it the food? Or is this just something I am fixated on. Would it have made a difference if she had been checked then? Or was it already too late.  Answers to these questions, I am destined to forever ponder over, without any answers. The joys of an over analytical mind and the curse of an anxiety led mess.

Anyways, I digress. Today my aunt was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer and I feel so fucking angry that I could quite easily walk away from everything I have built in the last four years and not even blink an eye.  The angel of death and I have danced together rhythmically over the years, with he or she systematically removing many of the people that I have loved and still love dearly to this day.  I have seen death, I have been moved and forever altered by it.  I have endured addiction and lost years as a result of loss, I have allowed it to consume every fibre of my being.  I have been consciously, unconscious, feeling nothing, yet everything.  I have shut myself down and shut others out to protect myself from feeling anything at all. However, becoming a social worker changed my perspective and allowed me to become a better human being, it allowed me to develop and understand my behaviours and look for resolution, rather than perpetual self-harm and self-loathing.  

As much as that built up resilience has allowed me to endure and face hardship.  Right now, I feel like a loose cannon, ready to go off.  I am off tangent and eerily numb.  I could easily lose myself in the past. Diagnosis, doesn’t always mean dying right?  I look at my other aunt, who is coming through treatment, and she is doing okay. This, I don’t know why, it… it just feels different and I am at a loss to understand why.  Why my aunts, why this one in particular.  She is goodness personified, not saying that my other aunt isn’t just the same.  But this aunt, God I love her.  She is always there when I need her.  She has picked me up more times than I have fallen and believe me when I say that is a whole lot, as I am somewhat accident prone.  How do I help her? Will she let me? I just love her, like wow… l am not ashamed to admit this, but right now I am crying.  The thought of this terrifying diagnosis being given to anyone. How do other families, partners and friends deal with this? Is it normal to want to drown in my own tears and lock out the world? How the hell will my aunt cope with this? FUCK! How is she feeling, do I text her? Do I call her? She lives like, right round the corner, do I go to her.  Right now, I don’t know if I could face her without breaking down.  I need to get my shit together and give myself a slap.  She needs me! My mum needs me, she is already a tear ridden mess. I have to shut down a little bit. I have to try to be strong and gulp down this overwhelming feeling to run away from it all.  Fight or Flight is a pain in my anxious ass.  

I guess we need to start on the day it all came to fruition.  The day that I was actually informed that there was something wrong. I knew I was going out with my mum and my aunt, to have lunch with my uncle, aunt and baby cousin.  Family is massive to me.  They are my world, I love them all so much, and I’d do anything for them. Anyways, I digress.  I was picked up and another one of my aunts was there. I was not informed of this and thought it strange.  There were a lot of looks and hushed talks, I tried to not read in to it, but I knew there was something off.  I asked my aunt to stop for coffee, as she was the driver that day, the car resounded no, however my aunt, being my aunt took me anyways.  She let me pay and then almost drove off without it, oh how we laughed. Even in my 30’s my mother would describe me as utterly spoiled and even in my 30’s, I am still considered the baby and as a result of that things are generally kept from me to “protect me”. Unbeknownst to me, everyone in that car knew my aunt was sick, apart from me.

That level of naivety caused me to make some very ill-fitting jokes that day, talk about foot in mouth.  I was getting bored of following my mother and two aunts around the shops, so I decided to go and take a seat in the small sitting area in between all the shops to watch the world go by.  My aunt came and sat down beside me.  On reflection I should have seen it coming, I could tell she was nervous and was staring at me with great intent.  I turned to her as I felt her eyes on me and the words “I need to tell you something” came out of her mouth.  The world in that moment froze, all of the surrounding noise, became eerily silent and she spoke again. “You know how they found a lump in my chest, well whatever that is, it is also in my blood and in my liver”. I remember shaking my head and trying to control my emotions as I was in a very public place, but I couldn’t. So I started to cry.  My aunt attempted to comfort me, but I couldn’t be around her in that moment, I didn’t want her to be hurt, so I said “I need to get some air”, this kind, loving woman wanted to come with me, however I told her I needed to be alone.  The pained expression on her face, is one I will never forget.  We talk about timing in life, how the timing has to be right. There would never be the right time to get that kind of news.

As I walked in to the crowd I found a seat looking out on to the water, I tried to get my emotions under control however, it just wasn’t happening.  All I could do was cry, fear was consuming me.  Was she going to die?  I saw this couple in front of me attempting to take a selfie, to obtain the beautiful view in the background and there was me sobbing like an absolute mess. I offered to take their picture as they were struggling to get the angle right.  After I took their picture, the man turned to me and said “I hope that whatever it is that has made you cry, you are okay”.  I thanked him.  That moment restored my faith in people and the kindness that a mere stranger can show you. Thank you, whoever you were.  Out the corner of my eye, I spotted my baby cousin and my uncle.  My little cousin ran up and hugged me, I held her a little tighter as I needed to be anchored to the ground in that moment.  My uncle grabbed me and asked if I was okay, I think the look in my eyes said it all.  My other aunt came over and took him away, whilst my sick aunt and mother came to me. I watched my aunt break my uncle’s heart with the news.  The look on his face thereafter mirrored mines, saying it all.

Instead of going for lunch that day, we all sat at a table in a daze. I don’t think anyone, apart from my baby cousin, who was completely oblivious, ate. The journey home was a sombre one, with my aunt becoming extremely fatigued. There had been no formal diagnosis on this day, but something said to me that this would not end well.   I had a bad feeling. I am thankful for my friends over the next week as they helped keep my head above the water.  The fear of the unknown made me feel uneasy and unhinged, yet I just have to keep going.

 A week later my aunt was rushed in to hospital for her very first visit, she felt like she couldn’t breathe… That trip to the hospital confirmed the family’s worst fears that we were indeed dealing with the big C.  Yet again it had invited itself in to my family, affecting another one of my mother’s sisters.  To hear that she had been taken in to hospital and then to get the news it was cancer and that it was pretty bad.  I didn’t know what to do, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, I was incredibly angry. So I went to my little cousin’s grave (that’s a whole other story) and sat there. I had switched off my phone, I needed to gather my strength, and I needed a minute to process this news before having to face my mother. When I finally got to her, she was utterly inconsolable, she was unable to formulate a sentence, her anxiety was in full melt down mode and all I could do was try to comfort her, which turned out to be an unrealistic task. This was her big sister, her best friend, her walking buddy… the list was endless.  You see my family, my mother and I.  We have endured loss and lots of it.  I guess the thought of actually getting close to someone is always frightening, as I know just how painful it is to lose those who you love.  But here we were again, facing the prospect of loss and not really knowing what to say or do.  So we went a drive, it was the most unpleasant car ride of my life, my mum presumed that my aunt could die at any moment with all the feedback we were getting and the irrationality of it all was in full effect.  Music is my greatest release and I don’t know why but Andra Day, Rise Up was totally over played today.  “You’re broken down and tired, of livin’ life on a merry-go-round and you can’t find a fighter, but I see it in you, so we gon’ walk it out”.  Outstanding opening lyrics, my aunt is a fighter.  I know she can fight this.  Please just give her a chance.  Whatever the outcome of this situation, I know this song will forever move me to tears.  My aunt did not die today on the 25th of June, 2017.  I am thankful, as I am not ready to say goodbye just yet.  

I doubt very much that I am going to sleep tonight, I am sitting here wondering how my cousins are, how my uncle is.  Will my mum be okay, how will this affect my family?  Will I survive this one? Please let her have more time, I need more time. I sent her a message just there; Hi, I don’t know if you’ll have your phone or not. I guess I am kind of hoping that you do. I just want you to know that I love you so, so much. You are and always will be my favourite. I’ll see you soon, with an obscene amount of kisses and emoji’s. My aunt never responded, however she read it at 02:07 hours.  The joys of WhatsApp I wonder what is going through her head right now.  I’ll be fucked if I could explain what is going through mines.

My aunt has to remain in the hospital to undergo tests, we are still awaiting the prognosis from her diagnosis.  The wait is just infuriating, test after test. To determine, how long she has to live. Is it even accurate? Anyways, at this point she is stable. I will take that today.

 It’s the 27/06/17 today, I am finally getting to see my aunt today.  I am heading to the hospital with my mum to visit.  I text her to see if she needed anything.  Her response had me in tears; Hi C, think I have everything. Maybe pick up your uncle, because he won’t ask you. Paper hankies please. That’s all. I’ll probably cry. X.  I wrote back about me being a snottery mess and that she shouldn’t worry about crying. I stated that I was writing a report that day for work and she was full of support as always. She is one of my greatest cheerleaders in life.  I am thankful for the small gestures she makes, even whilst enduring what she is. It is the unknown that is the worst.  She just wants to know, we all do.  I still can’t believe that this is happening. I am afraid, but I am appearing to be strong.

So I am just home from visiting her.  There were lots of tears tonight.  My aunt was visibly in pain, however she refuses to engage in taking regular medication for the fear of becoming addicted.  The strength that she is showing is absolutely incredible.  I feel like I can’t breathe tonight, I doubt that I am going to sleep.  There is a group family chat, where we are getting updates about my aunt’s condition now. I never thought I’d see the day that this would happen.  We are such a big family, that it is understandable.  It just doesn’t feel right.

I haven’t had the desire to write much the last few days, I have flung myself in to work.  I feel like if I keep myself busy, my mind busy that I will be able to compartmentalise all of my feelings.  The family are still receiving updates. I have been texting on and off with my aunt.  I cooked meals for my uncle and got in trouble for it.  Apparently I’m doing too much, I just want to help, anyway that I can.  Because let’s be honest I feel completely and utterly useless right now.  In this uselessness, I feel like I just want to block it all out.  I just want to drink, or escape like I used to.  I wonder is it that I am so used to hurting myself, that it feels like nothing, but when I think of hurting those around me again, I know I need to stick to reality right now.  How to escape, without actually escaping.  I am not sleeping again, I don’t think this is helping and when I do sleep, I have to have the light on.  I stopped sleeping with the light on years ago, and now.  Now I need it again, I can’t be alone in the dark with these feelings… you know what I mean? My phone is on loud and vibrate, every time it beeps, buzzes or makes a sound, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. What is wrong with me? She is still here, she’s in hospital, in the best place. My irrationality is in full swing. I feel like I need some help to sleep, or I need to just run, head first in to a brick wall.  Sleep is not coming, pain is.

It’s the 29/07/17 today, my aunt has been getting some trouble with her eye. She went to the opticians and she was told that there was a lump behind her eye that was causing her sight problems.  It transpires that the cancer is now behind her eye.  Why is this happening? It feels like it all going at an exponential rate.  She was fine a minute ago and now it is everywhere. I feel so fucking angry that this is happening to her.  It is stripping everything away from her, she can’t even drive her car anymore.  I wish I was smarter, I wish there was a way that I could cure her and all of the others who are suffering from this horrendous disease.  It’s just so debilitating and to hear her so deflated is… it’s just so fucking heart-breaking.  My heart goes out to all of those who are subject or touched by this disease, it really consumes and controls lives.  I admire those who have fight, like my other aunt.  My mum’s youngest sister.  Who went through an invasive surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy!!!  She is doing incredibly well, her fight is not yet over and she is making an amazing steps to, hopefully recovery? I guess that is just another waiting game.  My other aunt, not so much. How can they both be at such differing ends of the spectrum? I guess you try to take away your own feelings as much as possible, but I am scared.  I am scared for both of them and the future, the time that they have left.

Today is the 3rd of July, 2017.  I am going up to my aunt’s house today.   Have you ever spent your whole life around someone, yet never really noticed things about them.  Is that what taking people for granted looks like?  My aunt has the most incredible blue eyes, like wow.  They are so beautiful.  I blurted it out, like out of nowhere. Who does that? Clearly I do.  My aunt and my mum just looked at me and laughed. I was taking pictures today and my aunt said that I had to calm down, she wasn’t dead yet.  I just looked at her and apologised.  I guess trying to commit everything to memory all at once, is never a good idea.  Dick move 101 today.  I did, however manage to get a cracking picture of my mum and my aunt today.  I love it. My aunt gets her prognosis in 4 days. The 7th of July and I am away to a festival that weekend.  I told my aunt that I wouldn’t go and she told me that under no circumstances would I be missing it.  How can I just switch off from this for a full weekend and is it fair that I do go? My aunt would literally kick my arse if I don’t go… My head feels like it might burst.  It feels strange to think that in four days’ time, my aunt will find out how long she has left on this earth… I cannot begin to imagine what is going through her head.   She is strength personified and I know she is more worried about everyone else’s reaction, rather than dying herself.  That beautiful spirit, that kind of person, you just don’t come by them that often in this lifetime.  Four days and my family’s world will be forever altered.

I went to the festival, sure I seen a lot of bands, I drank a lot of alcohol, yet nothing took away the pain.  The fear of the unknown.  I sent my aunt some selfies as I had promised a picture a day and we exchanged some chat over the weekend.  I wanted to ask her what the script was, but I daren’t.  I am a coward. Right now I am sitting in my friend’s house, avoiding going home. Today is the 10/07/17, today is the day that I find out how long my aunt has to live. I don’t want to go home and burst this bubble I have right now, you know that little fantasy land that you live in and pretend that everything is okay.  It is far from it.  Please let it be years, because any less would be just ridiculous, a complete travesty to a life that has not yet fully lived.  Wish me luck…

So I went straight home to my mums.  The look on her face said it all to be honest.  Her eyes were a clear indication that all was not well.  It transpires that my aunt has 3-6 months to live, providing that the upcoming treatment she has works.  (Chemotherapy and Radiotherapy).  The news, that single moment has just taken the wind right out of me. I have to go and face her today, how can I face her… My mum stated that there had been a message sent out on the Friday (the first day of my festival) to all of our family apart from me, to say that she had 3-6 months to live.  Part of that message referred to me not being told, until after my festival, as she wanted me to have a good time.  This woman literally kills me.  She knew I would just come home, I feel like I should have been at home. Was I If I selfish to try to have some fun?  From my mums house you can see my aunt’s house, and as we were talking.  The woman that has just been given a short time to live, has decided she is going out for a walk.  I am currently watching her, alongside my uncle, walking together along the road, slowly but surely and I cannot stop the steady stream of tears as they run from my eyes.  Such strength, such beauty, such courage.  I know many of you who will read this, will say I am bias, well of course I am.  She is amazing.  I am proud to be her family.

Okay, so after receiving this news, I avoided some more and decided I would go and get some stuff to cook meals for them both.  I also picked up some empire biscuits that I knew she and my uncle enjoyed. I am going round to see her now.  I feel sick, I must try to keep it together.  Needless to say that did not happen and there were tears, snotters and tantrums.  For the first time in my life, I left my phone in my car and spent nearly three hours with my aunt and uncle.  I left in the end, because my aunt is a stubborn woman and she wouldn’t take her morphine whilst I was there.  She was in pain and she could no longer mask it.  Fuck you cancer, honestly, fuck you.  My aunt said this tonight and my heart is in one million pieces. “If I make it to Christmas, we will go out for dinner.  Me, you, your mum and my uncle.  We will make it really special”.  I said well we better invite your kids along then, because then it will be extra special. (My cousins didn’t spend Christmas with their mum and step dad, they spent the 1st of January together that was their tradition). My aunt agreed and smiled.  Please let her make Christmas.  Please give her more time.  Is that selfishness? Potentially inflicting more pain on someone, who is already suffering… wanting more time, when their body is in so much pain. I feel conflicted right now, I am so angry, I am sad, I am lost.  Time is a funny one, you spend your life consumed by it, measuring your life by it. But when you need more of it, it just doesn’t seem to work in your favour.  I am trying to not drown my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle right now, but Jack Daniels could honestly be a friend of mines.  My coping mechanisms are truly fucked up.  Because if I am honest, I am living on little sleep and 100% anxiety.

My mind is somewhere I don’t even want to go, and that is saying something. I really am going to lose her.  She is going to die and I don’t think there is anything in this world that I wouldn’t trade right now to stop this from happening.  Sleep won’t come tonight. It is 05:00 hours, and I am back at work today (11/07/17).  All that keeps going on in my head is the same loop…How on earth will my cousins and uncle cope with this shit, if I can’t even get my head around it.  My mum, well I know she has me and I will do everything in my power to help her.  I know T, DJ and Bazza have each other, I know I have my family, the ones that I am close to, and I have them.  But some of them are really shitty and have a fucked up interpretation of what that word actually means.  I fear writing right now, as I know that I am not making sense, I understand this.  I am just thinking out loud.  My aunt seems to have accepted her fate, she is okay with the time she has left.  My aunt has decided to pursue the treatment that could prolong her life from 3-6 months. What if this treatment isn’t successful, does that mean it will happen quicker? Will she die sooner? There are so many questions, yet no one seems to be able to provide my family with any solid answers. Is it because they don’t even know? I am a whole new level of fucked up today, time to put my game face on and do what I do best… WING IT.

It’s the 13/07/17 my aunt has been rushed back in to hospital, again.  She is in a lot of pain. Damn this emotional rollercoaster, I literally had just been told that there had been some pain management, finally and then this.  What sort of sick, twisted game does cancer play with its victims?  I don’t know how much more she can take of this, she is strong, but she is tired.  Please pray for my aunt. I just want to make her pain stop, I would just like to make all of their pain stop.  I can’t do anything, I am powerless.  In my job, I provide advice, support and guidance in the hope that I can help change someone’s life, and I can’t do anything for my own family, I have to watch on as cancer ravages my Aunt and eventually, well it is going to kill her, it’s not fucking fair.  Work and personal life, the things you shouldn’t blur, yet I cannot stop comparing my roles.  My poor aunt. She is exhausted with it all.  I would very much like now to be sitting in Costa with her buying her a latte, or be in a shopping centre being dragged around every shop without her buying a single thing, than thinking about visiting her in a hospital.  As the days go on, I am less convinced that she has long to go.  How do I convey this to those who have faith, am I faithless or am I being realistic?  I hope that my aunt is getting some proper pain relief tonight.  I worry about her so much.  She is a worries, I guess I got it from her.

 I sent my aunt a text today 14/07/17 “Miss you Auntie Joan the Moan”.  My mum’s nickname for her, I subsequently got in trouble as my mother is the only erson that is allowed to call her that.  My aunt is pretty sick.  She has to have a calcium infusion? Not sure what that is all about, you’d think with my extensive medical knowledge thanks to Grey’s Anatomy, I’d have this down.  I don’t. I will find out more when I am allowed to visit.

 In order to help my mum take her mind off of things I decided today on the 15/07/17 I’d take my mum out for some lunch.  With my aunt being in hospital and her not wanting visitors at this time, my mum feels very anxious and worried.  So I am doing my best to keep her anchored, whilst inside I am freaking out.  I really should have taken up acting when I had the chance.  I am playing a blinder of a performance in life right now.  Frances McDormand eat your heart out.  Whilst sitting at lunch, we received a text stating that my uncle had went up to the hospital to visit and then after that, we were asked to go up. We had just ordered lunch and my mum was frantic.  I spoke to the lady in the Ettrick, where we have many family lunches and she was very understanding of our situation.  So I paid for the drinks and we left to go to the hospital.  Thank you to the staff at the Ettrick for being so understanding. I just had to get my mum to her sister. When we got there… well, let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.  My aunt was standing with drains coming out of her, her legs shaking, her body exhausted and her breathing laboured.  I just wanted to run out of that room.  I had to turn around and get it together as my cousin and uncle were there.  I don’t want them to see me sad. My mum ushered them out and stated that they should go, so that we could have some time.  My aunt stated to us how much pain she was in and I could see my mum starting to get upset… this whole situation is just horrendous.  I pleaded with her to sit or lie down, as her legs would cave in any minute with how exhausted she was.  After much argument, as my aunt is a stubborn woman, my mum and I managed to sit her down and she struggled to get entirely comfortable, however she was sitting and her legs were getting a rest.  I felt overwhelmed and decided to use my best tactics to get out of that room as quickly as possible.  I suggested a coffee run.  As per usual my mum and aunt argued about who would pay.  My mum won.  In my head I wanted to give my mum some alone time with her sister, but I also knew I needed to break down alone.  Away from the prying eyes of my family.

 I left the room and my head was spinning and before I knew it I was crying, out loud in the corridor. This lady appeared from nowhere and grabbed me.  This woman was in a hospital gown, she had a bald head and was attached to a drip. She was fighting her own battle, yet she stopped to comfort me.  The lady stated that my aunt seemed like she was a lovely woman, however sometimes with cancer, it just spreads so quickly that there is no way to stop it.  I understood her words, I felt like she was telling me that my aunt didn’t have long left.  I sobbed my heart out again to a perfect stranger, and I felt guilty for it. Thank you for taking the time to comfort me in my time of need.  I hope that you’re still winning your battle and eventually that you become cancer free.

 When I returned to the room, my aunt and mother were deep in conversation.  We sat and spoke for a couple of hours.  My aunt was getting tired and believe me she was not backwards at coming forward.  She told us it was time to leave.  My mum pleaded with her to take medication to help her sleep, my aunt said that she would… I knew that she would not.  I told her that I would see her the next day, as I was driving my other aunt up to see her. She stated that this would be fine. I am losing her, I can’t believe I am losing her.  Leaving her room tonight with my mum, I literally couldn’t stop the tears.  This time it was a nurse that hugged me, she stated that it was all happening extremely quickly and that we should be prepared.  My mum just looked at her and nodded.  I took comfort in her embrace.  Thank you to the nurse in ward 2A at the QEUH, Glasgow for taking the time to be there for me.  

 The drive home was full of questions from my mum, about what she meant and I couldn’t answer her.  I guess right now, I don’t think that my aunt will go through the treatment.  I don’t think she is strong enough to endure it.  I don’t think we have much time with her left.  

 It’s the 16/07/17, I get to see my wonderful aunt again today.  This makes me smile.  I picked up my aunt and up we went.  My aunt Maymay asked how my Auntie Mazza was doing, and well I stated that it was best that she seen for herself.  I explained that it had been quite upsetting.  When we got there, I heard my aunt speaking to someone, so I presumed that there would have been visitors.  There wasn’t.  I didn’t question my aunt on who she was speaking to, but it scared me.  I am not going to lie.  We were sitting talking for a while and my brave Auntie Mazza burst in to tears, so then my other aunt burst in to tears and I was scared and I didn’t know what to do… so I texted my mum.  My mum called straight away and asked to be put on the phone to my Auntie. My Auntie was like to you text your mum, I was like I did.  I was worried.  She smiled and spoke with my mum.  My aunt wasn’t afraid of dying, she was afraid of the impact it would have on her family, her dying.  We all cried… I think the reality of the situation became very clear.  I noticed that my Auntie had holy socks on, she was mortified and demanded that I change them for her, as well as this she told me to text her husband and give him in to trouble for her wearing said holy socks.  His response was a belter “Well tell your aunt, if she didn’t put holy socks in the drawer, this would not have happened at all”.  We eventually laughed.  I asked if my Auntie needed anything from the shop, as I wanted to give her and my aunt May some time.  I walked to the shop, taking my time.  When I returned, they both appeared to be more settled.  We got our marching orders about 2 hours later, my Auntie needed to rest. Cancer is taking its toll massively on her fragile body.

 It’s the 17th of July 2017 and my aunt is undergoing more tests.  She is being moved to the Beatson to be fitted for her Radiotherapy mask. I am not sure how I feel about the upcoming treatment now, her body is tired.  She is going through so much.  I text her to wish her luck.  She thanked me.  I then later that day text her to say; “Hope they are treating you well at the Casa del Gartnavel (Beatson).  I love you so much Auntie Mazza, I know you know.  But I just want to keep telling you because I do”.  She responded “Aaaaaaaawh. Thanks.x  … Bless this woman.  She is just so loved.  I don’t really know what to think right now… I don’t want to live in a world where she doesn’t exist.  This world will be a darker place without her light in it.  I can’t stop thinking that everything was fine a minute ago.

 It’s the 19/07/17 my Aunt is getting put through yet another procedure.  I text her to say that I hoped it wasn’t too sore.  My Aunt informed me that she was now back in the QEUH, and well that whole situation of her being moved from one hospital to another has just left me utterly perplexed.  I am too angry to even talk about it.  Basically, the Beatson cannot do anything for her as she is still too unwell. The really should have known this before sending her anywhere else.  I think hospitals need to do better at communicating.  My aunt and all of those other patients who are undergoing treatment, should be treated with more dignity and respect.  It is after all in their governing standards. I have a migraine tonight, I’ve just taken some medication.  I feel sleepy, but I am afraid to sleep.  I was texting my Auntie there she said “Oh no.  Nothing worse. Just have an early night.  Sleep well and don’t you worry about me… how I could possibly not… I need to sleep.

 I sent a message to her today 20/07/17… STAY STRONG… I got some love hearts back.  How can I possibly ask her to stay strong when she gets weaker and weaker every day.  I don’t know how to do this anymore.  I don’t know how to be strong.  I am just so angry.  She won’t be receiving anymore treatment.  It is likely that Palliative Care will now be implemented.  I swear like yesterday, all was fine.  How can this actually be happening? I don’t want to accept this. I cried in the toilet at work today.  I had a moment of weakness.  A client, whose mother is dying, told me that I didn’t know how she was feeling, that I couldn’t possibly understand.  People seem to believe that social workers are just robots and that we do not feel.  I can assure you that we do.

 It’s the 21/07/17 and we are going up to the hospital to see my aunt today.  My aunt is finally up to seeing people.  My mum just really wants to see her sister.  We walked in and well as you could probably imagine she was lying in her bed, weak, sleepy and has laboured breathing.  There are so many things that I want to say, and I am running out of time. I wonder does she know how thankful I am for her.  For the times that she ensured that I had a childhood, when my mother was unable to do so due to agoraphobia.  Does she know that her support was unwavering and really appreciated throughout my life? She was more than just my Auntie. I wonder if she knows just how much I love her and how much I look up to her.  I wonder if she knows that her relationship with my uncle, apart from Johnny and June Cash, is my favourite love story, and that I hope one day I meet a girl, who makes me feel like my uncle does for my aunt.  So many things, so little time.  I wrote her a letter.  I just haven’t given it to her.  I wonder if I should.  I don’t want her to be sad.  We cried when we left the hospital today.  There are no words.

 It is the 23/07/17 and I just really need to see my aunt.  I just need to hug her.  I got permission to go and see her.  She is in and out of it tonight.  When she was with us (my cousin and I), she was talking about my childhood and just how accident prone I was.  She was making me laugh and we had a few moments together.  I lay my head beside her at one point and just held her hand, as the tears silently rolled from my face.  She said to me, I don’t want people to see me like this… I don’t want them to be staring at me.  I told her I understood.  We just lay there for another little while.  My big cousin was in and out.  I was thankful for that little moment I got with my aunt, just me and her. When it was time to leave, my aunt was taking her pill and began to choke, I ran to the toilet to get the sick bowl just in case.  She was more worried about everyone else in the room and their reactions.  She was like “I’m fine”.  I looked in her eyes, those incredible blue eyes and left.  I have a feeling this will be the last time I see my Auntie and it’s breaking my heart.  Sleep will not come tonight, I can feel it already…

 24/07/17…The palliative care team have been in contact and my Auntie will be moved to the hospice this week.  I feel sick to my stomach.  Currently, she is in and out of it, as she describes herself as permanently exhausted. I just want to be there for her, but she doesn’t want to see anyone.  My mum is devastated by this…  

 My aunt celebrated her wedding anniversary today… she made it for that.  She is a trooper.  She still does not want any visitors.  The more the days go on, the more I am aware that Sunday the 23/07/17 has to be the last time I’ll have got to see her alive.  I am broken today, I don’t think I can take this pain anymore.  I don’t have any words.

 My mum text me today 28/07/17 to say that my aunt had perked up and she was asking for some diet coke (her favourite soft drink).  My immediate thought was, oh wow this is excellent and then the feeling of dread has overcome me.  This has to be the surge…  The big come back before the finale.  I did learn about this on Greys (Mark Sloan scene, just before he died.  Shonda Rhymes gets me every time.  All the feels).  I told my mum and she told me I was being ridiculous… I then told her to google the symptoms.  My mum now understands and has apologised to me… She knows this to be a true reflection of the situation and well she is just playing the waiting game now. We all are. I took her for her shopping tonight and left to go to a friend’s house… I feel so uneasy.  My poor mum is so lost and I wish there was something more I could do for her.  My mum isn’t just losing her big sister, she is losing her best friend.

 We just all got a message there from my cousin to tell us that my aunt only has a few more hours in the land of the living.  I was right it was the surge.  I feel like someone has just shot me in the heart.  I don’t know what to do with myself… I sat in my friends for a couple of hours before going to my mums.  Every time the phone goes, we both expect the worst, however for the most part my aunt appears to be holding on… Such a stubborn, strong woman.  My uncle is there playing her favourite music to her on his guitar (she gave him a wee clap of the hands after one of his performances, God I love that woman) and my cousins are with her, telling her how loved she is.  I cannot imagine who they are feeling right now.  I have been with people when they have died, it can be very intense and extremely taxing emotionally.  I think people need to think of the impact it can have on them when they make a decision like that, to spend those final moments with someone.  I speak from experience when I say it can be very damaging mentally, but not everyone is the same and my experiences are professionally as well as personally.

 It is now the 29/07/17… still no news, it is 12:17 hours and I am not asleep…  I keep thinking about her, I wonder if she is in pain.  I don’t want her to be suffering anymore.  I hope my cousins and my uncle are okay…  I wish I could be there with them at this time, however I am respecting my Aunts wishes.  She wouldn’t want me or anyone else to see her like that.  When my little cousin died, I didn’t get to see him. I think if I did, I wouldn’t be here today.  I understand my aunts need to protect people, and for them to remember her the way she was/is.  Not really sure what tense is appropriate right now.

 It’s now 09:00 hours, I have been up and down so many times that I am not sure if I have actually slept… My aunt is still hanging on in there. What a stubborn woman she is.  She should let go now, its okay Auntie Mazza, I know you’re ready, we aren’t, and we never will be.  I can’t even begin to imagine how my cousins and uncle are, they’ve been awake this entire time…  I wish there was something I could do… Common theme of this writing “I wish”… My biggest wish is that none of this was happening.

 It’s just after 11am, you died today.  I can’t begin to tell you how much I miss you already.  I hope that you are at peace now.  I have been invited to a viewing tonight, but I can’t do it…  I will seek solace in the bottom of an empty bottle, because feeling this at all once, is all too encompassing and I just can’t cope. I will attend the viewing tomorrow.   I can’t face this right now, the reality of it all.  I know who to go to, what friends to seek support from and who to avoid.  That might sound harsh, however, I need to not be in control tonight, I need to let go.  I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to pretend, just for one more day that this isn’t real, and that she isn’t gone. Because reality might just kill me right now.  I don’t mean to disappoint you Auntie Mazza, but right now.  I don’t want to feel anymore.

 It’s the 30/07/17.  I have woke up, and I cannot begin to tell you how stupid I was last night and how drunk I got.  Alcohol is not a solution folks.  Holy shit it is not.  I am feeling all kinds of fear, amidst that of the overwhelming grief.  I totally fucked it last night, lost yet another handbag and its contents.  I came home and watched videos of my aunt, crying my eyes out.  I cried myself to sleep last night, alone.  I actually really need to get it together.  I have to pick up my mother shortly and go and see my aunt for the very last time.  I am all kinds of scared.  I have seen death before, I have seen a dead body before, professionally and personally. It is hard.  It is accepting that this person isn’t there anymore, that they aren’t just going to wake up and be like… surprise, fooled you all.  Because this isn’t the movies and immortality, well it just doesn’t exist.  I am so disgustingly hungover, I honestly couldn’t hate myself anymore.  I cannot believe that I used to use alcohol as a coping mechanism… I was younger back then, so I guess my old ass can’t handle the sesh anymore.  I am avoiding again.  I am going to see my aunt now, for the very last time.  How did this actually happen… I am crying again.

 I just got back from seeing my Aunt…  She looked incredibly peaceful and it was as if a smile was on her face.  I am not sure if I am functioning or not. I don’t even know if I am hungover anymore.  I am… numb, I guess.  I walked in to the hospice and we were directed to where she was.  My Uncles family were there to pay their respects, so we allowed them to go in first.  My mum was agitated and I was just trying to not pass out.  I saw my uncle’s daughter and granddaughter they were incredibly upset when they were coming out, I just bowed my head.  I couldn’t look at them.  I knew it would soon by my turn.  The door opened and my mum walked in first, she burst in to tears and well, that was me. I started to have a panic attack and I was rooted to the ground, my body shaking and the tears, well they were streaming from my face.  In that moment it all became real.  My big cousins came out and held me, they said that we would do it together and that it was all going to be okay.  Was I not the one that was supposed to be doing that for them?  When the door opened my aunt was lying there on the bed, looking as beautiful as ever, looking like she was just asleep.  I wanted nothing more in that moment for her to wake up and scold me for, well… anything really.  But, she didn’t, otherwise I’d be writing about a zombie apocalypse or something.

 I was guided to the seat by her bed and I watched as my mother kissed her sister and held her for the last time.  It was the most beautiful and heart breaking thing to watch all at once.  My eldest big cousin said to me that she was cold to the touch but not worry.  Immediately my inner monologue was going wild.  “Do I hold her hand or not” Panic set in…  After a while I held my aunts hand and I cried.  My big cousin held me.  I know I am one of the youngest and I appreciate that they showed me support and love.  I know my aunt would have expected that of them.  We all shared stories and we laughed and we cried.  My aunt was an extraordinary human being, with such poise and flare.  She carried herself in such a way that it was hard to not love everything about her.  I miss her voice, I miss the way she said my name.  She and my little cousin, who died tragically at the age of 17 said my name in such a way that no one else could.  It’s funny to think I will never hear that again.  I digress…  When it came time to leave, I didn’t think I would be able to leave her… I wasn’t sure I was ready, but my mum was adamant it was time to go.  I took one last look at the body lying there on the bed, with the yellow flower in her hands and I said, I’ll never forget you for as long as I live.  I kissed her on the cheek for the last time and I turned and walked out of the door.

 I think I took the time to write this as an outlet, but also so that people could read about how much my aunt meant to me.  She was like a second mother.  I am so privileged to have had her in my life.  To know her was to love her and to love her is to miss her.  Cancer rips families apart, it forever alters those who survive it and it is something I hope that we find a cure to one day.  To all those who have lost loved ones, my heart goes out to you, I hope that you find strength in the days that come and that you never lose faith.  For those who are fighting it, keep fighting and stay strong.  For those whose battle may be coming to an end, may your days be filled with no pain and your final wishes be granted.  Life is a gift, every day I wake up and remind myself of that fact. I am blessed beyond measure, I get that. Unfortunately, my anxiety kind of doesn’t always let me get the job done, and I am continuously working on that. Not all things work for all people, find what keeps your mind busy and go from there.  I am not sure if I will write anymore, as my head and heart are hurting too much right now.  Marion Elizabeth Halley, I love you, no words could or can convey just how much.  There is a massive void in my heart, memories of you I will forever treasure.  May you be at peace now, wherever you are.

[pongpalace]

A Fucking Cliché

Written for Day 7 of @nurseydexweek: Future NurseyDex. Technically a sequel to Stupid Christmas Christmas Gift Giving Traditions but can be read on it's own, just know that Christmas is a "a myth invented by evil capitalists in order to make people enter unwillingly into a social contract in which they’ll always be miserable because it’s a cycle that never ends" but Nursey's okay with being the lifetime social contract of gift giving with Dex. Completely unbeta’d and I know nothing about English as a discipline. 

Also on ao3

Dex has had the box since before Christmas.

He knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Nursey, almost as soon as they got their shit together in their last year at Samwell and did something about the sexual tension that, according to Chowder, was threatening to choke the team. Moving in together after graduation into the little apartment in Boston had only cemented that. Nothing made Dex happier than coming home from work to find Nursey there on their couch smelling of coffee and full of stories about customers and coworkers or with a progress report on his dissertation (those were his favourite days; Nursey looked his best when his eyes were bright and his cheeks flushed as he told Dex about his most recent breakthrough.) A ring in a box on their fourth Christmas as a couple seemed like a natural progression of their relationship, even if College sweethearts was an overdone, clichéd trope.

Then Nursey comes home from work one day on a tangent about Christmas, capitalism, and the social construct of gift giving as part of lifetime contract that has Dex panicking until Nursey clarifies; “I’m okay with being in a social contract with you until I die,” and Dex is able to breath easy again, knowing that they're on the same page.

Dex means to give Nursey the ring that Christmas Eve but he gets distracted by Nursey waking him up with breakfast in bed on their first day of shared vacation and then they're travelling to spend the holidays with family and asking Nursey to be in a lifetime socially constructed contract with him gets pushed to the side in favour of eating their parents’ home cooking and catching up with relatives and he never finds the perfect moment he imagined when the ring first caught his eye so it stays wrapped in a sock at the bottom of Dex's suitcase the whole time they're with their families.

New Year's comes and they go to Time's Square after dinner with Nursey's moms and dad to watch the ball drop. Dex has the ring in his pocket, having put it there when he shakes it out what is his last pair of clean socks, forgetting it was there and almost losing it down the drain. He briefly considers getting down on one knee during the countdown but it's so crowded that he can't move from where he's plastered against Nursey's back, his chin resting on his shoulder to watch the screen. He spent the whole hour leading up to midnight worried that Nursey could feel the outline of the ring in Dex's pocket (he's wearing the skinny jeans Dex knew Nursey loves seeing him in) but even as Nursey grinds back against when Dex a little too innocently when someone pushed past them, he gives no indication of feeling anything.

They chant along with the crowd when the 60 second countdown flashes on the screen; Dex whispering the numbers between pressing his lips to the spot just under Nursey's ear that makes him laugh. They hit zero laughing loudly when Nursey's aggressive elbow hits nothing and only Dex’s arms around his waist kept him from falling on the icy ground.

Their first kiss of the New Year is interrupted when the people around them start clapping and cheering in a way that's different from the normal New Year's celebratory shouts. They pull apart to see a man on one knee putting a ring onto a woman who has happy tears streaming down her face as she nods vigorously.

The ring in Dex's pocket feels like it's on fire now and his cheeks heat up as he considered shouldering people out of the way so he has room to get to his knee.

“Man, what a cliché,” Nursey says, grinning as he rolls his eyes. He tucks his hand into Dex's mitten and pulls him away from the couple, now in a passionate embrace.  The ring looks really good on the woman's finger, Dex notes. Probably not as good as the silver band in his pocket but he's weirdly relieved he hadn't asked. If Nursey is chirping strangers about the unoriginality of a New York New Year’s Eve proposal, Dex know he'd never live the cliché down.

They go back to Boston and the ring finds a home in Dex's toolbox, one of the only places that he is 100% sure Nursey won't go into for fear of messing up whatever organizational system he thinks Dex has. Dex can't keep a toolbox organized to save his life, but he's not complaining about the rumour someone started at Samwell about him being intense about his tools if it keeps Nursey out of his hiding place.

Dex thinks about where the ring is every time Nursey sticks his cold toes under Dex’s thigh when they’re home from work together, but it’s never a good time to run and get the ring so he just stays there, rolling his eyes because it’s expected of him at this point, but enjoying that Nursey would rather be close to him than use the throw blanket they keep on the back of the couch. The closeness is important to Dex, even after all this time.

January turns into February quickly and March and April pass just as fast and the ring doesn’t move from the toolbox. In May, Nursey gets another step closer to becoming “Dr. Nurse,” and Dex couldn’t be prouder as he sits with their families to watch Nursey cross the stage and get the degree that’ll put a M and A behind his name. After talking the decision through like adults, they decide that staying in Boston is the best choice for them; UMass has a good PhD English program and the Vice-Chief Technology Officer position is open at the start-up Dex joined right out of Samwell. He happily takes it when it's offered now that he knows they’ll be staying in the area for a while yet and with the pay increase, he and Nursey are able to upgrade out of their small apartment and into one a more centrally located between their jobs. The second bedroom is supposed to be an office space for both of them, but Dex finds he doesn't mind when the bookshelves start to overflow with what Nursey needs for his research and the desk gets messy with notes in Nursey's handwriting because asking Nursey about his work is easy when it's all laid out like that. Dex has always been attracted to competence and Nursey never looks better than when he's confidently walking Dex through his thesis statement again because Dex has a hard time wrapping his head around some of the terms.

With his master’s finished, Nursey quits the coffee shop and teaches summer courses that’ll eventually go towards his PhD teaching requirements. Dex thought he’d miss Nursey’s stories about the people at the coffee shop, but it turns out that he’s just happy to just listen to Nursey’s stories, doesn’t matter if they’re about ridiculous coffeeshop coworkers or undergrad students who have a lot of say for a 100-level class.

It’s during one of those stories in July, that Dex realizes the cliché perfect moment he’s been waiting for to ask Nursey to marry him has always been there. Cliché or not, Dex wants to spend the rest of his life with Nursey and he thinks a socially constructed contract is the best way to show that so he waits for Nursey to finish his story before excusing himself to dig around the toolbox for the ring. It’s as shiny as ever even after banging around there during the move and when he comes back into the living room and gets down on one knee between in front of Nursey's spot on the couch, they’re both grinning.

“Finally,” Nursey says before Dex can even say anything.

“Shut up,” Dex grumbles. He takes Nursey’s left hand in his right, running his hand over his knuckles. Nursey’s smile widens and he squeezes Dex’s hand tight. It helps soothe the butterflies that have suddenly sprung up in Dex's stomach.

“Derek Malik Nurse,” Dex starts.

“Oh my god,” Nursey laughs at his full name. “You’re such a cliché.”

“I'm not!" Dex protests. "I didn't ask you at Christmas when I got the ring!” Dex is pretty sure that he isn't supposed to glare while proposing so he concentrates on smoothing out his expression. Nursey's face softens into one of Dex's favourite smiles and Dex's forehead smoothes out completely.

“You've had a ring since Christmas?” Nursey asks. He unfolds himself from the cross legged position that he'd been sitting in while he told Dex about his day, and sits with his feet on the ground so that his knees are on either side of Dex. He presses a kiss to Dex's forehead when Dex answers his question with a nod so Dex feels the huff of laughter.

“Such a fucking cliché,” Nursey repeats. Dex groans and drops his head onto Nursey's thigh.

“Nurse, I'm trying to ask you to marry me, can you just-” Dex breaks off when Nursey grabs his chin and makes him look up at him. Nursey's smiling but his eyes are serious.

“Yeah Will,” he says softly. “I told you: there's no one I'd rather be in a social contract with until I die.” He makes a happy sound when Dex surges forward to press their lips together.

Looking back, Dex’ll realize that he never actually said the words to ask Nursey to marry him, but like the fucking cliché that they are, words weren't needed to agree that they just needed each other to be happy.

[jamisonpro]

“It” (2017): My Viewing Experience and Why I’m Glad Cinemas Still Exist

I finally got around to seeing It, close to a month after it came out -- and it’s just as good as many have reported. 

As a twenty year old, I haven’t been watching horror movies for very long, and the first Conjuring is actually responsible for hooking me on the genre. Since, I’ve consumed horror ravenously, and as much as I enjoy getting spooked, I also consider myself pretty desensitized at this point. Of course jump scares can be effective to even the most cynical viewer, but I found Pennywise and the accompanying horrors genuinely unsettling (the opening scene of the movie was particularly horrifying, along with the portrayal of most adults in the film -- but I’m not here to spoil the movie). This movie actually freaked me out like few other horror movies have recently. Usually too, the films that are most effective are the totally subversive, and completely focused on tone and tension (a la It Follows, Goodnight Mommy, The Witch, etc.) -- slow burns and the like.  

It was unique, in that it actually held to a lot of conventions while simultaneously subverting small cliches that in turn make the conventional techniques far, far more effective. Little things like having a door creep open, only for the monster to appear from another angle. This happens in almost every encounter in the film, and it totally keeps the viewer on their toes -- you end up just as clueless as the characters you follow. This is also probably greatly attributable to the cinematographer as well. 

But the subject of this writing is to not praise the already well-received movie further, instead I want to focus on the experience of seeing the movie, in a packed, crowded theater. In fact, I’ve seen it twice in the past two days, once in Times Square in NYC, and once in the suburbs of New Jersey. These two movie going experiences could not be more different. It is worth noting that both showings had a number of children who looked to be under ten, under twelve at best, brought by their parents. I would just like to say that these parents are reprehensible and seeing this film at that age would’ve totally fucked me up -- just my two cents, but if you wanna emotionally and mentally scar your children, take them to this hard R, gore-filled, sailor-mouthed, fright-fest. It’s glorious, but it is not a kids movie, do not let the age of the protagonists fool you.

First, the New Jersey viewing, my second time seeing It, this time with family. The Regal theater was made up of recliners, grouped in pairs and the screen was small. The whole theater probably fit three dozen viewers, max. I had already seen the film, so I knew what to expect but it was overall still pretty scary and engaging. However, the audience did not seem to share the sentiment. Reactions to some of Finn Wolfhard’s incredible lines were muted if not totally absent, and the same could be said for the jump scares. Perhaps it was due to individuals like the person next to me, who was on her phone for about half the movie. (Side tangent: if you can’t focus on one thing for two hours at a time, please don’t waste your money to see a movie and affect other viewers’ experience.) Overall, based on the reactions of people walking out, the audience enjoyed the movie, there were just no violent reactions in the midst of viewing it. Good experience, but made mediocre looking by my viewing in NYC. 

To follow, with the non-chronological, non-linear account of my viewing experiences, is my first viewing in NYC, this time with a date. The theater in this case was huge, with probably at least 150 people packed into standard theater seats. The seats were worn back so that putting up the arm rest was more inconvenient than anything else. So already, far less comfortable than recliners. However, this audience was engaged in a way I don’t see very often. 

To put things in context, I grew up watching movies in Los Angeles, where the movie watching culture is ingrained early, and is taken seriously. You’ve got to have real nerve to disrupt a movie with a phone or talking, or to sit in a seat that isn’t the one you chose when buying your ticket.

This sounds strict, but it elevates the movie watching experience in a way that is hard to articulate -- it has to be experienced. Sure, there are the odd assholes in the bunch, but it is far more consistent than anywhere else I’ve watched movies. However, the audience here was engaged. As in, those cheesy Paranormal Activity trailers where they put an infrared camera in the theater to catch the totally played up reactions of the audience to make it look “scary”. Except, these reactions were genuine. I was in total disbelief when, the woman next to my date and I screamed so loud at one of the jump scares, that she freaked us out worse than the considerably scary movie in front of us. This continued throughout the whole film, scares illicited truly fearful reactions, and the amazing comedic writing landed every time, triggering belly laughs from what sounded like every person in the theater. The creepy, lecherous adults in the movie prompted groans, and other cringing sounds, very appropriately. 

To be clear, this wasn’t obnoxious or disruptive. Everything felt appropriate and justified, because the movie was always that scary, or that funny, or that creepy. This wasn’t someone playing up their reactions, trying to be annoying, it was everyone genuinely emoting and sharing the experience.

As side commentary on the experience, seeing with a date or close friend will significantly improve the experience. There’s just something about holding hands or just being generally close to another person and feeling them mirror and parallel your reactions that just adds a lot to the viewing experience. Though I could be conflating the experience of generally being around a person you’re into (romantically or otherwise) , and watching a movie with a person you’re into. I guess your mileage my vary. 

Today, there is some justified discussion as to whether movie theaters are becoming obsolete. Home TVs are getting larger and flatter, surround systems are getting better and easier to install, and it’s easier than ever to set up a home projection system. However, for the forseeable future it won’t be realistic for most people to have the scale of a real movie theater in their own home but even more importantly, you cannot recreate the communal experience of watching movies in your home. It is both the best and worst part of seeing movies -- other people. They can make or break a watching experience, as I’ve recounted here.

It’s the experience of being in a room with a bunch of total strangers, but you are all experiencing the exact same reactions and emotions. All of these things are felt simultaneously without any exchange of looks, words, or touch. And then everyone leaves, unlikely to interact even in the lit halls of the movie theater. Everyone goes their separate ways, after sharing such a harrowing experience. Even if you see these people again, you won’t recognize each other.  Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a disposable experience, especially with a movie as fantastic as It. There’s a nigh imperceptible bond formed between you and those who just happened to come to the theater at the same time as you. There’s something oddly beautiful about that.