#i love physiologically tormenting characters

[pawtisserie-0022]

Some PASWG based art bcs I can't be fucked to do anything more complex rn lmao

Dw I'll get back to drawing phycological horrors soon, I just need to torment Alfred first because it's funny, also expect more PASWG esque art

[lelianasbong]

Can't stop thinking about how Wyll and Astarion's physiology was forcibly and irrevocably altered by their abusers into something nominally monstrous, how they both ask the player to be their mirror when they're unable or unwilling to look at themselves. How they desperately want to be what you see in them. Walk with me.

"They say that anyone who bathes in the River of Blood emerges as one born anew. [Being a devil] is a lot like that, I imagine. I feel the weight of these horns on my head, curling upwards like a mammoth's tusks. I feel these ridges snaking down my neck, not to mention a few bumps and prongs in unmentionable places. But I haven't seen my reflection just yet."

"Be my mirror. What do you see?"

"I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. I don't know [what color they were before]. I can't remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I've lost."

"And what do you see, exactly?"

How they want their bodies to feel like their own again. As far as monstrous magical transformations go, Wyll deals with the fallout of his over the course of the game; Astarion dealt with his in the past (undead) and fears it happening again (illithid).

[Wyll burns in the fires of Avernus. The lightning storms of Dis strike his flesh. His soul passes through each layer of the Hells - gaining their essence, and their torment.]

"Just look at me! I did what was right and Mizora made me pay for it."

"In truth, I don't feel in a festive mood, and I didn't want to cast a grey cloud over the night. I'm a devil. I love the people from the grove but I unsettle them deep down, as I seem to unsettle everyone nowadays. You don't want a devil at your party. Claws will pop the balloons, you see. And the sweetcakes don't taste half as good as raw eggs with this blasted forked tongue."

"I'll have to take your word for it [the horns have character]. I've been avoiding my own reflection."

"A man looks in, a devil looks out. I might never get used to it."

"And to think how much time I've spent wishing I could rip them off. (...) Shit. I'm being insensitive. Sorry. They just take some getting used to."

"Hm. I'm still me, I guess. Sort of."

And we have Astarion, who's been there. Who knows.

"I remember how it hurt, when I turned into a vampire. My body writhed and warped while I was utterly helpless. The grip of death owned my heart as it beat its last. I - I don't want to turn into anything else. I can't do that again. I can't watch my body be taken over."

"Just don't ask me to sacrifice my body. It hasn't been mine for very long."

[lorei-writes]

HC: If he were to be a parent - Chevalier

Heavens, have mercy. It is late at night, and of all things, THIS is what rots my brain? I should be offended. It's just too fun to torment certain characters.

Content Warnings: all things pregnancy & parenthood related

Chevalier

>>Pregnancy

At first he is very nonchalant about trying for a child. Then the anxiety strikes.

Chevalier solves issues with knowledge and logic. Granted, he has not read much on child-rearing and the specifics of pregnancy before, but there is always time to learn! Limited time. And there is a lot to learn. He reads extensively. Of course, he does it because that's what would be in the best interest of his future child, and by extension, the kingdom. He upholds that he is not anxious at all.

That being said, once things happen, he is prepared.

He has thought of the possibility of the morning sickness before his wife even considered it. Now they sleep with a bucket on one side of the bed, and with sword on the other. (One may be on the ground, while the other is not, though). If no servant is immediately available, he will go and empty it himself. He never complains about it.

It is hard to sleep comfortably? He read about this pillow. Aching back? Back rubs. Mood swings? Well, he's at a loss when it comes to that, he just has to survive.

The thing is, Chevalier doesn't suddenly turn extremely sweet. He is very methodical and mildly (to very) awkward in his care. Surely, he might have learnt everything there was to learn about the physiology of things, but it does not make him any more prepared for soothing his crying wife. But he tries regardless. Even if he doesn't understand it at all. He doesn't think he can even understand it, he just has to endure and try not to make things worse.

On that note: no simpletons. Occasional fools. Simpletons make for tears or shouting, and in the end, it wouldn't be good to upset the mother of his child.

The one thing he is concerned about, though, is that children need to be loved, and well. Chevalier does know he is capable of loving, he has empirically tested that much. But he also knows it may be too little if he does not show it properly. He may even cause harm to the kingdom if he is a poor father. And he knows he does not have the out of letting castle staff do all the parenting.

He is calm during the delivery. (Or at least stays unaware of his own feelings. Roughly until he hears pained screaming).

He doesn't know what he feels when he first sees his child. But he feels something, so it should be fine, no? He wants to protect them. Chevalier is not sure whether that's love, but it'll have to do for now. (The reality of things is that he can tell what he wants to do, but at the same time gets fairly lots in all the tangled feelings. Good luck, Chevalier. It'll take you a couple days to adapt).

>>Parenthood

How is he supposed to hold this Little Monkey? Monkey is not too mean a nickname, is it?

He is afraid he may hurt them, but he tries regardless. Clavis is not allowed in the room while it happens, because he laughs loud enough for the baby to stay awake at best, and cry at worst.

That being said, Chevalier is fairly good at calming the baby down. Mostly because he is able to stay calm, even in dire situations. (For example, when Clavis almost chokes on his own laughter).

The crib is in their room. Close to the bed. On his side. Assassins still are a concern. (Even if nobody believed that killing his child would hurt him particularly much, it was certain it'd hurt his wife, and that, in turn, would pain him).

It only makes sense he wakes up at night.

Chevalier will change the diaper. There is no servant readily available in the room. Finding one, waking them up, telling them what to do, and having them change the diaper for him would be too much hassle. (And too much crying).

It makes him even harder to wake up in the morning. Even so, he never complains about the baby.

Overall, he is not extremely affectionate. He will soothe the baby, hold them, lull them to sleep, and tend to their needs, but he won't be playing peek-a-boo or tickling them for no reason (there can be reasons).

But he does grow softer around them. Eventually, his movements aren't even awkward.

>> Later Life

He does call the child by their name. However, the nickname Monkey stayed. Oddly enough, it somehow sounds affectionate when he says it.

Chevalier is the one in charge of enforcing bedtime. He hardly ever misses out on it.

The reason why may be unexpected, though. Chevalier is busy during the majority of the day. He cannot allow himself to be distracted then, so he had to disappoint their child a fair number of times when he just couldn't stop his work to play. (Stung double hard, considering that the little one would have to sneak out to see him at those times).

At night, however? He can spend some time with them.

Chevalier is the one to tell their child bedtime stories. It's... not that much different from reading, considering that he just brings back what he remembers from books. The little one tends to demand cuddles while at it. Often they fall asleep on his chest. Chevalier always takes longer to leave then. (Even though the bed is objectively too short for him and it's not exactly comfortable).

He is a bit challenged by toddler defiance. Err... It caught him mildly off guard. Chevalier needs his wife there, but they do manage somehow.

He stopped skipping breakfasts when he saw that it causes the Little Monkey to try to skip breakfasts too. (They NEED to eat so that they can grow).

He helps them in their studies. He would get annoyed at first (Chevalier remembers the topics as much easier than they appear to his child), but he learns to be more patient. Slowly. They're just a child. And they are bright. They just need a little more time. (And his memory IS non-standard).

Chevalier is always stunned by sudden displays of affection. The handmade gifts he received from Little Monkey may be useless... but they are far from worthless.

Part 2

--

Tag List: @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @cilokgoang

[a-noone]

Look, in some ways, A/B/O makes no sense, and particularly makes no sense in Star Trek.

In the first instance, the "Alpha Male" theory has been completely debunked. There aren't Alphas and Betas, there are parents and children. The wolf pack is family, and they love each other.

In Star Trek, if you want MPreg, there's magic, science, and transgender people.

Q could just snap his fingers and impregnate Picard. Hell, that sounds like something that could have been a canon TNG episode. Troi got magical-preggers. The Q need to repopulate after the war. Right?

You can 100% have Spock pregnant with Uhura's baby, if that's your ship. T4T is always an option.

Or in AOS in particular, because of the diminished number of Vulcans, maybe McCoy figures out a way to recombine Spock's DNA into fully Vulcan embryos, and then Kirk and McCoy carry them in temporary uteruses.

You want a fuck or die story where someone goes into heat? There's Pon Farr. It's the OG fuck or die.

You need knotting in your story, for some reason? Just make some stuff up about Vulcan D. Or have Odo use his shapeshifting to torment his little Ferengi boyfriend. Or maybe Julian Bashir has some weird augment features down there, IDK.

But in A/B/O lies the potential for the queerest stories ever told, because there are more dimensions of gender to be queer with.

Just decide that omegas can be gay for omegas, and the alphas can be gay for alphas. In a lot of ways, male/female is the secondary gender and has less to do with procreation than alpha/omega status.

Gimme a pair of sword-fighting lesbian omegas on the lamb from their oppressive alien government, and Kirk/Spock who are a bonded pair of gay alphas, commiserate with them. That sounds like quality content.

Or write a mutual pining story of Omega!Kirk and Omega!McCoy each of whom thinks they're the only one.

And what about intersex A/B/O, huh? Nature abhors monotony. What about a character who's physiologically an alpha, but has omega hormones? You could theoretically be double intersex in an A/B/O setting and I think that's great.

[the-little-knight]

Love your pizzatower au so far! But I wanna know, how evil can your Pizzahead get?

Well, it depends on who he's being evil towards, really!!!!

Pizzahead, in general, is usually in on bribery, blackmail, torment, and murder. The Pizzaface mech is occasionally brought out in between all this as well. And after being rebuilt, it is built moreso with offense in mind rather than just plain torment..

And like I said, he's MORE than willing to physiologically mess with whoever he wants to get whatever he wants... (I'm horrible at explaining how evil characters are lmfaoaoa)

[mackachu1212]

@violetenjoyer

This probably won’t be the most organized and well written because I'm better at explaining through casual conversation and better at storytelling through more formal writing. But this is explaining a character so it might not be super formal or it will change tones randomly. 👍

Content warning for mentions of trauma, sh, eds, and drug use

A little info I wrote for Fritz’s art fight page:

“A kind guy who lives with his friend and “platonic buddy”, Walter after being in a drinking and driving accident, unable to support himself after witnessing his dead friends and his mental health declining. He is willing to try and take care of himself and Walter to make him happy. He decided to un-associate himself with his family's last name and shorten his birth name. He typically hates it when people call him “Friedrich”; you are lucky if he lets you call him that.” 

(Violet you can call him that)

So uh

Fritz is German/American and his family isn’t so great. His American father was verbally abusive whenever he was around and his mother did somewhat love Fritz, but tended to be physically and even physiologically abusive towards him. He was a well behaved child at home and tried to let out his energy outside the house

They expected him to participate in sports and be a straight A student (despite not caring enough to make sure he gets the support to do so), but that never was for him. He ended up quitting football when he was a junior and his grades started going from high A's to B’s and C’s. But he started to feel happier despite his home life not being the best. 

But of course some days were worse than others. Some of the football boys (immature little shits) would occasionally tease him about his weight and the fact he kept to himself majority of the time. This was one of the big reasons why he quit, but they wouldn’t leave him alone until the next year. He did unfortunately result in hurting himself if things were horrible for him that day. 

He had a really close friend while he was in high school though. Damian. They met for the first time during their freshman year while they were watching a game. Damian decided to sit next to him and after that they were inseparable.

(Until, of course, Damian dies 👍)

Fritz had an eating disorder for a long while, resulting in pre tormenting about his weight. He’s still a pretty strong guy and he is tall👍👍👍👍 (6’1) 

Fritz is Aromantic Asexual but tends to be very cuddly with people he’s close to. He doesn’t see being friendly and “overly” platonic as something that shouldn’t be shared between friends. 

(If y’all ever see art from me of Walter and Fritz being super platonic THEY ARE FRIENDS NOT DATING 🙏🙏🙏)

Ok uh pre main lore lore time 

Before the incidents, Fritz never really talked to Walter. He knew who he was, but never bothered talking to him more often because he seemed like he preferred no one talking to him anyways. He occasionally asked about him to people who knew more about him (main gang), and they even didnt really know too much. Damian has Walter’s number for the purpose of asking him questions for a class they are in and gives it to Fritz just in case he “needs help or somethin’.” (this stuff is important later I guess). 

Damian introduces Fritz to some of the other people he talks to (that being Amia, Jessie, and Rose), and they grow to be friends. This gives him an obvious reason to be concerned once they begin to go missing.

Fritz can’t take the fact they all went missing within the span of a few days. He tries not to assume the worst, but he can’t help but think something bad happened to them. He remember’s the gang's plan to clean up a little abandoned restaurant for a secret and special date for Amia and Rose and plans on looking there first. But before he travels there, he calls Walter to at least have someone know where he’s going so if there was a chance that something happened to him, someone could try and help. 

Quote: “If I dont call back in like… 30 minutes, maybe assume something happened and come look for me? Hahahah…”

He finds the building and begins to search, only to hear laughing from behind a door. The sound of his friends. He finds someone standing. He calls out. 

“Oh, is that you? You found us just in time. We are about to play a game.” A voice that sounds like Amia’s, but something is off. It's too dark to see, but once she turns around, there's an off feeling to her presence. She looks braindead. 

“You’re not Amia.” 

“You’re a smart lad.” a different voice tells him.

Fritz is forced to see the aftermath of SKREEN’s actions to his friends. He has to escape. Fritz ends up getting hurt on his way out, being covered in dust, blood, and other mystery substances, but makes it out in one piece. 

(random off topic thing important for the next part. My boy. He does some not so legal stuff. At the time hes 17, but even before then he would drink and erm… eat NORMAL brownie)

Anyways

Fritz is desprate to get away and forget everything he saw, he does something really, REALLY dumb (drinks and drives 👍). He begins to hallucinate his dead friends in the car due to hysteria and begins to lose control due to the alcohol. He ends up crashing out of drunkenness and fear.

Walter begins to grow concerned. It’s been longer than 30 minutes since Fritz last called. He goes out to search for him, ending up finding Fritz in his totaled car. 

Thank god Walter knows CPR and how to treat wounds ammiright?

Fritz, once somewhat conscious, hears Walter mention a hospital and totally freaks out and begs not to go because he knows he will get in trouble. 

Walter takes him to his house instead. 

And yeah that's basically all I can think of right now for important lore. If you have more questions about him or other characters ask me and I'll happily awnser!!

[palash-12-22-blogs]

Cinephiles and Movies

Cinephiles have been around for decades. When cinema first started, cinephiles came along with them. It’s like when you buy one pack of chips, and get a soda for free (I know, a very weird analogy, but my brain isn’t the best of places while I am writing this bit for my article.). movies have been around for a very long time. We love them, we see glimpses of our daily lives in them. We relish them with all our being. They are a form of escape from our very real realities. What can be better than that? To be in another world… a very different, much better world than the one each one of us currently inhabits. A world where everything works out your way… a world where you are the main character, and the very fact is accepted by all who inhabit this imagined world of yours.

Truth is, this compares to not even a fraction of the real pleasure it gives us watching movies. And watching them in theatres is the best. After all, theatres have been created for that very purpose: a day off from our daily hectic lives, just to enjoy the life of a character in a form of media which is on average 90-130 minutes long, play out in front of our very eyes. Quite the dreamy life, isn’t it? The ones those characters live… their own world, where they are the stars, nobody else there to steal the limelight… and even if there is some competition, the entire situation is set up to favour the side which we all want to see winning in the end. After all, that’s how it has always worked out, right?

Well…. Not… really.

In recent times, movies have started to shift focus from depicting an absolutely optimistic picture of their reality to a more realistic-yet-positive picture of the world they have created. There isn’t the usual trope of overly positive characters, nor every situation being light. Instead, we get to witness dark and brooding moments too, moments when the main character is kicked even when he is down. Movies of today have started to make character development kind of a big deal. How is the character going to evolve in the face of the most horrible of adversities? What will be the change that we see? Is this change something which correlates to the world we see around us? That’s what makes the movie worth watching... according to me.

There are some movies where the protagonist, or sometimes the deuteragonist, undergoes his/her “villain arc”. It basically means the goody hero now wants to forsake all his principles that kept him in line, and become a man driven by desire and emotions. There are also horror films, where the main actors in question are subjected to an environment where they are constantly terrified and a dark entity/force follows them and torments them. At least that’s the general trope. There are psychological thrillers as well, which explore the similar theme of horror, but of the psychological type. The horror is present, but there is no physical manifestation of it as such; it’s all in the mind of the person experiencing it, and of course, the viewers; a.k.a us, see all this unfold, along with the physical manifestation of the psychic creature that is tormenting our protagonist. Its kind of fun, in a sense, seeing the thrill… and it’s also terrifying… the very concept of something which we can’t see and yet it torments us is a chilling one, no doubt. That’s what makes these kinds of movies great to watch; they employ the crux of their story in a beautiful way, giving justice to the film/show which has been made.

There are superhero films as well… I like them more than other genres… I mean… they are supes, who doesn’t like a human with enhanced physiology and a badass repertoire of powers? You have to be living under a rock to not like these kinds of movies. I mean… they are just pure awesome! There is a main character, the “good” one (the definition of good for a hero has changed over the year. Now it’s the man who does may/may not do good but always has good intentions behind his actions. There are other things as well, but I am no expert here. Not my department.) and there is a villain; the hero foils the villain’s plans and does traditional hero stuff. That’s all there has been to it… but there are movies based solely on the hero’s perspective too; his origin story; how he came to be the way he is, what did he face to develop this kind of personality and sense of altruism in him. Some heroes don’t have this sense of altruism… there is an ulterior motive behind their actions too, albeit not a very self-centred one. Every movie has its own perks, and something to tell. Some movies… hate to admit it, but they are a waste of time. If you keep on repeating the same tropes over and over again, people lose interest, and if you oversaturate a concept, it’s all the worse.

Its getting tougher to make good movies now-a-days. People don’t get ideas easily, and there is hellish competition in terms of ingenuity and good ideas. If somebody strikes upon an idea, either a movie has already been made on it, or it’s already being made, or it can also be that another group of people are making a similar movie based on the same idea you struck upon. It’s like a battlefield out there. You have to do something big to make an impact, or you are buried six feet under the piling competition. It’s harder to make original good movies due to a lot of them being similar in idea, so many focus on making their movies better than the ones they are getting the idea from. It has worked till now; take the latest film twisters for example. The sequel to the 1995 box office hit Twister, the movie initially got a lot of earnings, riding on the brand fame, but the movie itself is a nice one; all the elements of a disaster film are there; there is plenty of thrill and excitement watching the chasers as work, and the impact of tornadoes on peoples’ lives has been shown in a nice manner. There are other such examples as well; I won’t mention them in order to keep my blog short and within acceptable limits.

I have always been fascinated with movies; they show something which everybody wants in their lives. The fascination soon turns to an obsession; we want to be those characters in our own lives. I have thought that this is maybe due to the very good acting on behalf of the actor who plays the role. They do an awesome job at it. Personally, I like actors who can pull off the most hard of roles, like there is William Dafoe from the Raimi Spider-Man trilogy, RDJ from the Iron-man trilogy and the Avengers series of films, Cillian Murphy from Peaky Blinders, Oppenheimer, 28 days later, and many other names which deserve to be mentioned, but I don’t have the mental memory to remember all those at this moment (I know. The human brain sucks.)

I would like to end on the positive note that movies are a great pastime for true cinema lovers, and the best way to watch movies is by going to a cinema hall. Trust me, nothing beats watching a movie in a cinema hall, not even watching them from the comforts of your home. I will take a cinema hall over OTT anytime and anywhere. Movies are meant to be watched in theatres, the place where there is the most immersion, and a place where movies are truly able to shine.

[sullustangin]

Trope Stuff I Don’t Like

This post is like “chocolate vs vanilla vs Gotcha, I hate ice cream” :  it doesn’t matter.

Enemies to Lovers

Let’s be clear; it’s one thing where it’s two people caught on the opposite sides of a war that happen to fall in love.  They’re not personally enemies; it’s politics and an accident of fate. I’m fine with that. Rivals on different teams -- it’s sportball, we can get over wearing different jerseys.  Enemies to lovers can work when it isn’t too personal and the matters of difference are not high stakes or completely insurmountable.   

However, if it’s “enemies to lovers” where Person A was abused, raped, mutilated, tormented, persecuted, prosecuted, or relentlessly pursued by by Person B, and Person B does not does not suffer consequences for those actions or does not have experiences that cardinally change their views or character, that’s not love on Person A’s part -- that’s Stockholm Syndrome.  It’s particularly galling when Person A just magically forgives them or finds some rational as to why they deserved Person B’s actions; that’s a battered partner’s story, not a love story.  Nor is it ok when Person B rapes/tortures/harms/traumatizes Person A, which causes Person C to be the comfort for Person A and then it’s happily ever after for A and C.  All of that turns me off.  Any redemption arc has to be well-considered and well-written.  Any healing arc has to be equally well-considered and well-written.  Both of them are very, very challenging. 

Smart Characters Turn Dumb if They Aren’t Lawful/Obvious

I see this particularly in neutral/chaotic characters.  Lawful characters are pretty easy to write -- they have a set code of conduct that complies with the society they belong to.  They are orderly, and any mistakes they make are due to their own internal systems and their stringent adherence to that.  That makes sense -- there’s a sequence of decision making that is easy to see, because it fits with the general world view, whether they are good, neutral, or evil.

Neutral/chaotic characters can be more impulsive, and it’s really easy to fall into the trap of just making them do stuff for the laugh or comedy relief.  However, most characters do have internal systems of priorities they go by; they’re not just as straight-forward  or instantly accessible as a lawful character’s.  Neutrals abide by the laws most of the time, but their personal views do matter as well.  Chaotics don’t care about what a society says is right; they do the right thing because they personally feel it.  It’s more work to write those internal systems or the thought process, because they are so individualistic.  In the hands of a fan, a chaotic character can be reduced to an inept, impulsive dumbass, and a neutral character becomes wishy-washy.  That strips them of intellect and many skills they canonically have, often in order to raise up a favored canon character or an OC.  I like chaotic characters, and neutrals fascinate me, so seeing that reduction bugs me.

People Age But They Never Mature; alternatively, Children Are Just Very Short Adults

I acknowledge that not every adult acts like an adult all the time; they can be as petty and selfish as young children that are still learning about sharing and not calling people names.  However, younger authors sometimes write a character in their 30s or 40s in the exact same fashion as they  write their teenage child or their younger counterpart (if there’s a de-aging or time leap involved).  It doesn’t work, unless it’s purposefully dysfunctional person/dynamic. 

The inverse is also true; older authors miss the mark when their youth is so far away (or they’ve chosen to forget or reframe so much in rose-tinted glass) that they can’t be sympathetic, and everyone under the age of 25 is a brat.  Alternatively, everyone acts like a mature adult, even the 5-year-old, who now has a very advanced agenda and endgoal for his personal character arc. 

Real life 5-year-olds still eat crayons and go to the ER for sticking stuff up their nose. Real life 5-year-olds can also give court-accepted testimony about how their father threw their mother through a wall. Characters need nuance, and they also have to grow.

If you’re writing a longer series or different snapshots throughout the character’s life, there should be some salient, persistent characteristics about them that don’t change (unless they have a tragic/catastrophic event occur that changes those cardinal features).  They’re not as cynical or tired when they’re young.  They don’t know everything, and they don’t know they don’t know everything when they’re young. At the same time, time wears on a person, and experiences informs them; they do change, for better or for worse. Time can soften, and time can harden.

Age and the Sex Thing (something less serious than the others)

Tagging on from “People age but they never mature,” I see some problematic physiology in stories written by younger authors that have not had .. erm.. intimate or extensive contact with older adults. Folks, the early 20s body is much more resilient and quicker to recover than the 25+, 30+, or 40+ body. 

Whenever I read a story wherein the male lead in his late 20s or even older is constantly having a hard-on because of their romantic interest -- the narration mentions the event regularly when these characters interact, even if it’s an a VERY public space and the exchange is not sexual in nature-- I can guess that the reader is not yet that age. The same goes for when a female character is just ready to go like magic in any place, any position, no foreplay.  Can it happen like that for adults outside of their early 20s?  Yes, but it’s not a consistent or dependable event. The human body changes as it ages; more effort is required to get up the mountain as.  Even for people in their early 20s, sex just doesn’t magically happen, nor is it perfect for both partners by default. 

(Caveat:  PWP and smut fics can toss this out the window, especially when it’s just about getting two characters into bed -- people like fantasy sex where there aren’t complications or problems or consequences. Go for it, have fun. But if you’re writing a more serious fic or a slowburn that happens to have sex in it, please don’t make me think “yet another wild boner appears” every chapter. )

[memoriesofthefuckingbullshit]

I’d like to preface this with a personal note:

I do not want to write these posts. I absolutely hate that there is a need for it and it’s been chewing me up. It’s taken me the better part of a month to round up all the evidence (I had to be sure and double-check my sources) and to put this together, in bits and pieces so as to not overwhelm my own mental health. 

I loved the Underfell Fangame community. I briefly met Mania at ATLANTALE early 2018, before I even knew about the project. I became a patreon supporter because he seemed to genuinely love the community and Undertale and the game he was working on. I joined the Underfell community in March and made a second home there. 

I considered him a friend. Looked up to him as a fellow creator, game developer. A fellow community admin. And I thought it was really cool the way he did the whole community server events Ink vs. Error stuff. I loved the concept and have been passionately involved in it since its start over a year ago. I’m closely involved in the development of the comic series based on these server events, called Memories of the Multiverse War and have spent countless hours dedicated to expanding the world our comic takes place inside the Doodlesphere.

I have since learned much is a horrific farce. And I’m really unhappy about it. 

But if I don’t do or say something before I go I could never live with myself. 

There are so many victims already. And more than a few look up to me like their big sib. 

There are good ways to make the audience cry.

This is not one of them.

It hurts me knowing the other Event Masters put their heart and soul into creating fun content, intended for people to enjoy, while Mania twists their work into ways to torment people, and even drags them to emulate his behavior. How much more will get swept under the rug, if I don’t speak up? 

It boils down to: 

Mania knowingly emotionally abuses server members, most of whom are children between the ages of 13-19. 

He shows no remorse for it. 

Our Mental Health is a Joke to Him Part 1*  (xFrisk debacle; please take trigger warnings seriously) 

Our Mental Health is a Joke to Him Part 2  (Fallout from the xFrisk debacle)

Ink Was Never Going to Die  (He just liked fucking with us)

No, He Really Hasn’t Changed, And Won’t Be Anytime Soon*  (xPapyrus introduction, and all this matters)

*If this much reading overwhelms you, prioritize this post and starred pages above.

Important:

Event Masters are not the ones at fault here. They’re just doing as they’re told to play out the story Mania calls for, and probably do not even realize the impact their actions have on people since they’re told it’s all just for pretend. When they are aware, they’re under threat by Mania to keep quiet.

Abuse through role play is particularly insidious. Yes, the server events are a form of role play, by definition. Pretending to be a character, or otherwise assuming the role of as a way to interact with others is fundamentally role play. 

In terms of power balance, the server events are more like a D&D campaign than traditional online roleplay. We even have “Event Masters” to parallel the “Dungeon Master” who has nigh god-like power over what happens in the dice-based roleplaying game. 

There are dozens of articles about proper DM etiquette, and how to tell a uniquely engaging story to invoke high emotions in effective ways:

There's no shame in manipulating your players' emotions, because that's part of your job as a storyteller. But, like anything else, it requires a deft hand. Be mindful of how your players react, and be careful not to go too far. If anyone at the table starts to feel uncomfortable about the situation you're presenting, it can quickly start to take people out of the game. Be mindful of your players' limits, and give them the option of saying when something isn't going over well with them. But once you start to get the hang of it, you can turn a night of goofy dice-rolling over drinks into a tense situation, or provide a moving, emotionally honest moment for your characters.

In short: It was mere storytelling until the moment the characters reacted to and responded to the players. At that point, it is role playing and the concept of consent comes into play, because real people with real feelings are part of the story, which, curiously, is canonically enforced: 

And it’s it’s our fault for taking hurtful things that characters say and do personally?

Jerking player emotions around for laughs isn’t just an asshole thing to do; it’s straight up bad storytelling. 

There is no excuse for choosing abuse.

End of story.

I am hesitant to come forward with this, as I do not have evidence compiled other than the threat itself, and considering the nature of the issue there are privacy concerns regarding the victims. He has a tendency to target 17-19 year old girls, as a 28-year old. This was sent to me while playing minecraft while in server voice chat on June 16th, 2019. 

I’m including it because this is a perfect example of how he’ll backtrack and play upsetting things off like a joke. The threat has since been deleted so I’m glad I grabbed a screenshot while it existed. He has a habit of deleting things that could be used as evidence. 

hahahahahahaa no sir you do not get to drop a threat like that on someone and then play it off like a joke, particularly when “if you didn’t hear it doesn’t matter” 

It does matter. 

They matter.

All those kids are important. They matter and so do their feelings and all the grief they’ve experienced at your hands. The event may be more like a D&D campaign setting, in terms of balance of power, but this article does a great job breaking down the cycle of online roleplay abuse. 

Here’s an excerpt:  

Some people roleplay to heal their wounds, others play for fun or to escape. Any way you cut it, a good chunk of roleplayers have personal investment in their roleplay.

The human brain is a curious silly fickle sort of thing, a person who is capable of empathizing can empathize with anything that has human traits, be it a brave little toaster, a cartoon dog, a character in a book,crying at a movie, or screaming at the little man on playing sports ball on the television. People feel empathic sadness from witnessing sadness of others,people can feel empathic excitement by watching sports, in some cases to the point of violent outbreaks after their favorite sportsball team wins the big game.

Human beings are capable of immersing ourselves in the situation of others, and we are capable of feeling a wide variety of emotions as we endure the human experience of whatever we immerse ourselves in. This experience of emotional stimulation is not just a flaw in emotions or an inability to tell in character from out of character. Feeling this way does not make someone insane, weak, or flawed.

It is, in fact, a physiological chemical reaction in the human body. It’s chemistry, it’s oxytocin, it’s cortisol, it’s adrenaline, it’s dopamine, it’s serotonin, it’s estrogen, it’s testosterone, and who knows what else. When things happen in online roleplay we really feel it. (This is why consent is so important.)

In both roleplay and interpersonal interactions in online communities, and the feelings we feel when engaged in these things are real,are chemical, and they are not in our head.

Online community narcissists engage in their own flavor potentially insidious psychological abuse and manipulation, and it can cause real life distress, depression, anxiety, all in a situation where people are trying to escape, to relax, to have fun, and to heal wounds.

More importantly, this serves to validate the feelings of that the narcissist’s victims, be it ex-roleplay partner or a storyteller silenced.

You are not overreacting to a video game. Your pain is valid. The people you are interacting with on the other side of the screen are real; you are having real interpersonal interaction. The emotions you are experiencing are real chemical reactions in your body not a personal flaw. You are not crazy or stupid.

It is okay to cry about stupid online drama. It is okay to talk to your therapist if you have one. Know that even if you feel isolated and alone, even if you think everyone hates you. The truth is that outside of the narcissist’s circle, there is going to be people who do not even know of you let alone hate you, who do not care or believe the bullshit the narcissist tried to feed them.

—Credit to @zanpyr​. Thank you for this wonderful article.

Now. All of you, on the server, who’ve been subjected to all this fucking bullshit over the months or years you’ve been in the community: It’s not your fault. Your feelings and heartache are valid. You matter, and you deserve better than how we’re made to feel through this series of fucking bullshit. You’re not weak for caring about these characters; caring about characters is WHY we loved Undertale so much. You’re not stupid for getting hurt by someone you trusted and considered a friend. You can get through this and you’re gonna grow up and do great, okay? 

And any other adults who’ve been emotionally manipulated too: It’s not your fault. You’re no more at fault than the kids for falling for his tricks because guess what: you’re human and you have empathy. Those aren’t bad things. 

I know from personal experience that online interactions can be clinically traumatic, as in, diagnosable trauma response symptoms that should be taken seriously. I’ve already been talking people through their thoughts and feelings about this stuff and I recommend you do the same. Sorting out all the self-blame from guilt-tripping is important and if you have signs of trauma related to this event, please please please seek treatment even if it seems silly to be that affected by “a fucking discord event.” Gaslighting from any source messes with your perception of reality and doubting your ability to perceive the world can have lasting effects that topple like a domino effect. 

Once you’ve developed trauma response symptoms, you become more vulnerable to developing further symptoms by more common disturbing events. Don’t do like I did and let it go untreated for over a decade of accumulating traumas and Traumas. Many of you are already suffering with depression, anxiety, and existing trauma. The sooner you seek treatment the better. 

Outside Sources:

Quoted/Linked in Article: 

How To Manipulate Your Players (Into Having Emotions)

Wikipedia  - Gaslighting 

Abuse Through Online Roleplay 

Adventures In Random Roleplay: Safety/Consent Tools in Gaming

Additional Reading:

Lovebombing, Gaslighting, Benching, and Ghosting

Three of the Easiest Ways to Manipulate Someone

Gaslighting Definition, Techniques, and Signs of Being Gaslighted

Emotional Abuse in Non-Romantic Relationships

Signs an Abuser is Twisting Your Reality

Trauma: Big “T” and little “t”

20 Tips For Becoming A Better DM: Lessons Learned At The Table

One final addendum: 

As vindictive as I may feel after slogging through so many horrific conversations, I absolutely do not condone any attempts to actively harass him. Hold him accountable for his actions but do not send him hatemail, threats, or any other shit like that. He’s a fucked up human being but he’s still a human being and this whole effort has been to call attention to how much online interactions affect our mental mental health. Don’t do that shit to anyone, even if you think they deserve it. And don’t be a flying monkey, please.

Okay, that’s it. 

Stay safe everyone. 

[bookburnt]

a primer course on T.MA for my mutuals who followed me from other blogs and would like to know what the fuck i’m talking about!  (hi, guys.  love you.)  GONNA BE SPOILER-HEAVY IN HERE.

First off, big ups to the T.MA wiki, which you can consult on anything here, but this post is intended to serve as a very basic overview of the concepts relevant to this blog without forcing y'all to go into wiki levels of detail.  The first part of this post is some general TMA terms and concepts, and the second part is some characters who have been relevant to Gerry's story specifically.  If you're here for a better understanding of Gerry’s arc and don't care so much about the worldbuilding, scroll down to where I start talking about “who’s...?” and that should help you out.

what’s a “Leitner?”  A Leitner is a book but spooky.  They make bad things happen and, optionally, give you weird powers.  They're usually tied to one of the fourteen(ish) Entities, which I will get into in a bit.  Gerard hates these goddamn books, and has a knack for finding them and destroying them.  His mother, Mary Keay, ran an antique bookstore that did serious business in them.

what’s an “avatar?” An avatar is a (former?) human working closely with one of the Entities. Over time, the influence of their Entity changes them, often granting them certain powers in exchange for a psychological and physiological need to serve their Entity.

what are these “Entities?” / what’s this “Hunt?”  Put as simply as possible, the Entities are, like... fear elementals.  There are roughly 14 different entities, though the boundaries between them aren’t clearly drawn in all circumstances.  As follows, a quick overview:

The Eye. Fear of being surveiled.  The need to know the answers to questions that may destroy you.  The Eye is tied to the Magnus Institute. Its avatars can have the ability to magically Know things, understand all languages, and compel others to answer any questions they ask.  Gerry was tied to the Eye and had some capacity for Knowing stuff, but wasn’t fully its avatar - or if he was, he refused to feed it, which must have hastened his death.

The Desolation.  Fire, but without the warm fuzzy bits.  Pure unhinged destruction.  Desolation avatars can and will set you on fire with their minds.  Gerry’s extensive burn scars are the result of fucking around with a Desolation cultist and finding out.   (The cultist also fucked around with Gerry and found out.  He’s not around anymore.)  

The Hunt.  Being tracked by something that won't stop until it kills you.  The thrill of the chase.  Hunt avatars are capable of killing other avatars, even those who would otherwise be unkillable.  The possibility of Gerry being tied to the Hunt is never discussed in canon, but I’ve got my theories.  (That last phrase is a link to a post discussing those theories, it just isn't showing up like a link on desktop for some reason.)

The End.  Death and dying.  Manifestations of the End often involve disruptions of the natural processes of life and death.  For instance, the fucked-up necromancy book that Gerry got trapped in after dying was an outcropping of the End.

The Corruption.  Bugs, disease, rot, etc.  The Corruption's avatars may spread disease wherever they go, or they might just be chock full of worms.  Potential of controlling a worm army.

The Flesh.  The inherent weirdness of existing in a body.  Cannibalism. Flesh avatars may be hulking, twisted parodies of the human form.  They might steal your bones, turn you inside out, eat you, or all of the above.

The Distortion.  The inherent weirdness of existing in a mind.  Doors that shouldn't be there.  Getting lost.  Being unable to trust your own thoughts.  Distortion avatars look, well, distorted when seen in reflections or through glass.  Will probably try to get you to go through a door that wasn't there before.  You won't like what's on the other side.

The Slaughter.  War.  Violence.  Man's inhumanity to man.  The Slaughter often manifests in groups as well as in individuals, so you could get an episode of mass hysteria where an entire small town turns to butchering one another, or you could get an office assistant who just aches to do murder.

The Web.  Spiders.  Being controlled by external forces.  Can operate in extremely subtle ways.  Can also just be an unkillable spider who wants you to have a bad time.

The Vast.  Really big things.  Heights.  Your own terrifying insignificance on the cosmic scale.

The Buried.  Claustrophobia.  Being buried alive.

The Lonely.  Being completely alone.  Like, completely alone, and never coming back.

The Dark. What it says on the tin.

The Stranger.  Something that's not quite right.  A joke that you're not in on.  Clowns and/or mannequins that might kill you and take your skin.

BONUS: The Extinction. While the other 14 fears have been established for a while (the most recent is the Flesh, which only really came into its own with the advent of mass meat farming), the Extinction is a nascent entity born of anxiety around the idea of the human race destroying itself, and/or being replaced by something else. The boundaries of what constitutes an Extinction manifestation, rather than just a warping of one of the other fears, are unclear.

what’s a “ritual?”  Rituals are ways the Entities’ followers and avatars try to influence the world, usually with the end goal of making our world somewhere their Entity can live and feast full-time instead of just sporadically popping in.

what’s the “fearpocalypse?”  The only successful ritual to date, as of the end of S4.  Possibly the only successful ritual ever, given that it ended the world as we know it and let all 14 fears fully through the gate to fuck everything all the way up.  The sky is full of eyeballs now and that's not even the biggest problem.  This happened a while after Gerry’s death, but I have a verse where, due to his previous ties to the End and the general befuckening, Gerry is brought back to have a bad time with everyone else.

who’s Mary Keay?  Gerard's mother, founder and proprietor of Pinhole Books.  Had ambitions of starting a dynasty of supernatural power, starting with her only son Gerard, who ended up having other ideas.  Flayed herself in a ritual to make herself “beyond death” via the fucked-up necromancy book mentioned earlier.  Gerard was primed to take the fall for her seeming murder, but was let go after the book disappeared from evidence and several key witnesses retracted their testimony.  Despite the ritual being incomplete, Mary remained tethered to the world of the living for five years before Gertrude Robinson finally wrapped that up.

who’s Gertrude Robinson?  Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, and a stone-cold BAMF with a habit of sacrificing those close to her for (her idea of) the greater good.  The late Eric Delano asked her to look after his son Gerry, so naturally she let him live in torment with his abuser’s revenant for five fucking years, then swooped in when he was truly desperate.  She got rid of Mary Keay for good, and got Gerard to travel the world with her attempting to prevent various apocalyptic rituals.  The two would often pose as mother and son to strangers.         Being tied to the Eye, Gertrude seemed to be aware of Gerard’s impending death.  After he passed away, she bound him into that fucked-up necromancy book and left him behind.  (More on that here.) Gertrude was shot to death about a year later while trying to burn the Magnus Institute down and thereby prevent its head, Elias Bouchard, from doing anything apocalyptic.  (Tragically, she did not succeed.  SEE:  “fearpocalypse.”)

who’s Eric Delano?  Gerry’s father.  Died too early to ever really get to know Gerry, despite the sacrifices he made to restructure his life for fatherhood.  (We don’t need to go into the why of it here, but he did have to gouge his eyes out to try to be a stay-at-home dad.  And he did it.  We stan.)  Unfortunately, he’d fallen in love with Mary Keay, who used him to produce an heir for her planned empire, then murdered him with a pair of garden shears and bound him into that fucked-up necromancy book.  She later passed his page off to Gertrude Robinson, who spoke with him.  In that conversation, he asked her to look after Gerry and begged her to burn his page, as being bound into the book was a world of suffering. 

who’s Jurgen Leitner?  A rich, reclusive Norwegian who thought it would be cool and smart to start a library explicitly for corralling forces beyond human comprehension.  (He was wrong, and also stupid.)  Collected spooky books and put his name in them, giving them their common name.  Gerard hates this guy, associating him with the books that dominated his mother’s mind and indirectly ruined his life.  He hunted Leitner down and nearly beat him to death for personal reasons.  Upon meeting Leitner, he came away with the impression that this was just a scared old man, and couldn’t possibly be actually responsible for Jurgen Leitner’s library.  Ultimately, he chose to spare Leitner's life.  Unless we're talking about my canon-divergent Hunter!Gerry au, in which case he did not.

        Anyways, hope this has been helpful.  There's... a lot going on in TMA, but hopefully I've hit the parts that are most relevant to my writing here.  If you have any questions about canon, please feel free to ask!

[wunderlass]

Time of Your Life

For Candy & Milkshakes, though angstier than this event was meant to be. Hastily betaed by @queenrikki - my haste, not hers.

It’s a good day in a long string of good days. Truth be told, Max Evans doesn’t have bad days.

The afternoon sun has burned the fog away from San Francisco Bay, so when he sits out on his apartment balcony with his notepad and mug of tea there’s a blue sky overhead and a distant view of the hills rising up behind Sausalito. One day they might be able to afford a better view—actual water, or the San Francisco shoreline—but then Liz always teases that they need to move to Poet’s Corner, where the houses are low and trees obscure the view. 

She knows Max’s dream is to live in a Victorian, and they’ll probably have to leave Berkeley to get it. It’s another thing she teases him about: like him writing by hand instead of on a laptop. She calls him her old-fashioned gentlemen, but he’s learned how to ballroom dance with her so it seems to be old-fashioned in a way she likes.

He can take her teasing with ease. Anything to bring a smile to her face, to coax sparkling laughter from her like champagne.

This balcony has turned out to be a productive area for him. He’s written two novels on it since they moved in, and sold one of them. He’s not setting the bestseller’s list alight but it’s a steady income to supplement Liz’s paycheck, especially with how simply they live. It goes a long way at the farmer’s market, where he heads in the morning to pick up produce for dinner. Liz likes to refer to him as her house husband, with the way he does all the cooking and taking care of the apartment, though she glows with pride whenever she reads the reviews for his books.

He’s not capturing the feeling of home in his writing he’s been striving to since he was a teenager. But he’s working on it. The day he can say he’s been able to suspend how he feels about Liz in ink is the day he’ll have succeeded. For now, he keeps trying, pushing his characters through tests and troubles he’s never really faced in his life, leaving them chasing the home he managed to secure for himself so long ago.

His mug is empty, so he heads inside to set the kettle boiling for a refill. A pot of chili simmers away on the stove—his father-in-law’s recipe, solemnly handed over on their wedding day. Arturo had been worried that with them being so young when they married, they weren’t capable of taking care of themselves or each other. This was his way of making sure Liz didn’t starve while they tried to live on student grants, barista wages, and the occasional sale of a poem. Max had gradually persuaded Arturo to hand over many recipes in the decade since, but this remains a staple. 

Even if it’s far smaller than what they could afford back in Roswell, Max likes their apartment. Sure, it’s a 1950’s box, but the balcony makes up for the lack of indoor charm. Liz is all the charm he needs. He’s lined the walls in cheap IKEA bookcases, all of them filled to the brim and overflowing, and it feels all the cozier for it. They don’t need more than they have, and he’d rather spend their money on the things that count. Things like traveling: where books haven’t swallowed wall space, Liz has insisted on photo frames of their adventures, right back to that original road trip after senior year. Six weeks across the US, cataloged through Polaroids and an old disposable film camera, followed by other journeys: Canada, Mexico, Europe. 

Liz’s face smiles at him from one the of Polaroid images, right next to his own, her arms curled around him with the Grand Canyon in the background. It was when he’d first started trying to grow out facial hair, abandoning his razor when they left Roswell behind, and the fuzzy results made him cringe when he looked back at them, but Liz loves this photo. It had been the first one taken after he told her the truth: who he really was.

She’d accepted him, no questions. Well…there had been many questions, but that was Liz, rattling them off a million miles an hour trying to understand his physiology. None of his answers changed how she felt about him. Nor did they stop her accepting his spur-of-the-moment proposal on their way back to Roswell at the end of summer.

Nobody had approved—Rosa was the most vocal opponent, but even she’d come to the wedding in the end.  Approval didn’t matter. Max had loved Liz his entire life and would love her forever. And because of that time he’d got a little carried away and accidentally forged a handprint bond with her when they were first becoming intimate, he knew she felt the same way. 

Their wedding photo takes pride of place over the fireplace. Maria Deluca took it, by way of a gift. Rosa found Liz a vintage beaded gown in a thrift store, an ivory that goes so well with her skin tone. She doesn’t wear a veil and her hair is in a simple twist, curls escaping from it to frame her face and neck. Next to her, Max is in a borrowed grey suit, his hair much shorter than he wears it nowadays, slicked back with gel and hope. His facial hair had grown in enough by that point that it didn’t look like the desperate attempts of a teenage boy, though to his own eyes now he looks drowned in the suit. Doesn’t matter. What’s clear from the photo is how happy they both were. That hasn’t diminished at all; not through three degrees, six half-drafted novels, and eighteen countries.

The kettle comes to a rolling boil and clicks off. Max goes through the motions of brewing his tea. This break has really been to allow his mind to work through a sticky plot point, one that wouldn’t be solved staring at a blank page.

A comment by a reviewer in a prestigious newspaper column recently suggested that Max’s writing is callow because he gives his character happy endings. He doesn’t see the problem—why take readers on a journey alongside characters, have them grow to love them like friends, and reward them with nothing at the end of it? Liz told him to pay the review no mind and to write what he wants. But this time, he’s been contemplating ending on a tragic note. What if there is no happy ending to be found? If he wants to be one of the greats, maybe he needs to consider showing that sometimes struggles are futile.

The break has cleared his mind. That’s not the right path at all. He writes to give people hope. He writes, however unsuccessfully, to provide a lifeline to people who need it, a shining beacon of everything that life, love and happiness can be.

On that note, he hears the turn of the key in the door. His own shining beacon is home.

~

The morning birds wake him, their timing ever cruel. The moment before he’d see Liz again.

In truth, Max doesn’t know what Liz Ortecho looks like anymore. He carries the memory of her face in crystal clarity within his minds’ eye, but that’s the face of a teenage girl who left Roswell ten years ago and never looked back. What changes time has brought to her, Max doesn’t know. Social media has its temptations but he’s resisted them, in the knowledge that he doesn’t have the right to seek her out.

Not when the memory of her face is tangled up in the blank face of her sister, twisted together by his own guilt.

Despite this, in his dreams he’s begun seeing a Liz that doesn’t exist, living a life with a version of himself that doesn’t exist either. A simple, happy life, the kind of life Max hoped for as a foolish teenager. Where his dreams have always been vague jumbles of shapes and sound, fleeting with the morning, over the last few weeks they’ve become sharp and clear. 

He sees Liz, in the kind of detail he never thought himself capable of imagining. He watches them share a life: he’s been able to do more than look at her at night, sharing casual, affectionate touches, kisses and caresses. Tumble into bed with her with all the accrued intimacy of a decade together, knowing her body as well as his own.

Other details linger from his dreams, making them feel as tangible as the real world. He knows how the pot of chili is going to taste. He’s never been to California, or seen the ocean, but somehow he’s able to construct an entire cityscape from nothing, the memory of salt and fog on his skin and in his lungs. If he was still writing his imagination’s sudden uptick in activity would be a boon, but he hasn’t felt the urge to put pen to paper for months.

He should be asking the question why now?, but he knows why. This is a fresh form of his guilt, tormenting him with what might have been. A decade ago they’d been making plans to leave Roswell together and go on that roadtrip. This is his imagination throwing in his face all that might have been, with barely over a month to go until the anniversary of that night.

He wants to return to sleep, hoping that even if time has moved on in that other world, he’ll still be mid-kiss with Liz. It’s another way his imagination is excelling itself in fleshing out the details of how she feels, tastes, of the noises she makes. And because he wants it so badly, he’s locked out, condemned to wakefulness.

Instead he gives up, getting up and going through the motions of another day.

Those motions bring him to the Crashdown at lunchtime, nursing a coffee he won’t drink. Arturo is too busy to talk to, but Max won’t ask about Liz this time. The words feel too heavy when it’s so close to that day.  

He doesn’t order any food but he swears he can taste chili as he leaves. He wonders if Arturo would have been the amenable father-in-law he seems to be during the night.

All Max wants is to make it through the day until he is tired enough to go home and sleep. He doesn’t want to have to wear the mask that helps him pretend he is fine. And yet, here Isobel is outside the Crashdown, making a beeline for him.

The mask goes on. He wonders if she will ever notice.

“That’s weird,” Isobel says as she approaches. “I haven’t been here in ages, but today of all days…” She drifts off, shakes her head.

“What do you want, Isobel?” He sounds as tired as he feels, even to his own ears.

“Lovely to see you too. Maybe I just wanted to say hello to my brother in passing since he never seems to go anywhere or do anything these days?”

Max flinches. He’s been going out less and less, turning down the invitations he’s always accepted out of obligation, out of the need to pretend that his world hasn’t shrunk to a little patch of gray disinterest. “I’ve been busy.”

“No you haven’t. And I need your help as a volunteer to decorate the school reunion.”

Now Max really regrets getting out of bed. “I don’t remember volunteering.”

“I’m organizing it, of course you’re helping me.” But she’s distracted, her gaze flicking back to the Crashdown behind him. She absently plays with the wedding band on her finger. He’s never seen her do that before. “Do you remember Liz Ortecho?”

Max stiffens. He hasn’t mentioned her name in years. Isobel definitely hasn’t. “Of course I do,” he says between gritted teeth.

“I had the weirdest dream a few nights ago. She was in it.” Max doesn’t ask for more details, but Isobel volunteers them anyway. “I wasn’t married, but you were. To her.”

Max holds his breath.

“It was so vivid,” she continues. “Like, you weren’t even here in Roswell anymore, but I was. Alone. I didn’t like it.” She shakes her head, as if shaking the feeling away. “As if you’d ever abandon me like that.” She smiles at him and it’s all he can do to force a smile in return.

She’s right. He wouldn’t. Even if it meant giving up Liz.

When he continues on his way, climbing into his cruiser for an uneventful tour of the city, he isn’t unduly concerned about the similarity of his dream to Isobel’s. If it was anyone else, sure, but they have the twin connection. They’ve never spoken about their dreams before, but is it so strange for their dreams to blend together at night?

This new dimension should make him feel guilty. In this dream reality he is forcing Isobel to be lonely, abandoned in Roswell—though why his imagination doesn’t have her finding Noah, he doesn’t know. But these are only dreams. In the daylight, she has Noah. She has Max and Michael, and she is loved. Max doesn’t have that.

If he has to chase it at twilight, he will, Isobel be damned.

~

There are no bookshelves in the bedroom. Liz’s rule, although it doesn’t stop Max’s nightstand being stacked with a precarious pile of them, each bisected by receipts and ticket stubs and whatever else was to hand when he needed a bookmark. Liz’s nightstand is neater, even if it’s not exactly neat: she has her own disheveled collection of papers; the case for her mouthguard; baby wipes; lube.

He’s propped up against the headboard reading while she brushes her teeth in the en-suite. He gets glimpses of her as she paces: hair tied up in a loose bun, a camisole and pajama pants that speak more to comfort than enticing him. Not that it takes much to entice him, and knowing Liz is comfortable around him only adds to that effect.

He waits for her to finish spitting and rinsing, flicking off the overhead light so she’s lit only by the glow of the bedside lamp. She clambers into the bed beside him, burrows into his side. He can read like this, with her head resting on his shoulder, as they first discovered on the senior year road trip. Something about him being awake and reading helps soothe her to sleep. They’ve never figured out why, but it’s the same for Max, who struggles to sleep any other way these days. The times she’s gone off to conferences to present her research, he’s had to return to Roswell to spend time with Isobel, because being alone in their home without Liz’s presence is the opposite of soothing. They have a rhythm and being without her throws it off.

“Max,” Liz murmurs into his chest.

Evidently tonight she doesn’t intend on going straight to sleep.

“Hmmm?” He closes his book, marking his place with a fridge magnet they bought in Mexico City, and places it on the nightstand.

“Do you ever wonder about starting a family?”

She must be able to hear his heart pounding. He’s wondered. Of course he’s wondered. 

“We don’t know if that’s possible,” he says gently. It’s why he’s never dared raise the subject before.

“I think it’ll work,” she replies, raising her head so she’s looking at him. Big brown eyes, glowing in the lamplight. “I’ve looked at our DNA and there’s no reason to think it won’t.”

He chuckles. He can’t help it; of course Liz has done the research before coming to him. “Is that so?”

“I think if we can conceive, then the pregnancy should be viable. Conceiving may be the hardest part.” Her expression turns playful. “But also the most fun.”

He can’t argue with that.

~

Max’s mood is more sour than usual. He’s felt fragile since he woke up, like he’s on the verge of a meltdown: he doesn’t know if he wants to cry, or throw things, but being around his brother isn’t the best way to find out which it will be.

If only he’d not been taking the first step towards creating a family with Liz when he woke up.

Michael hasn’t been arrested for a few weeks and it’s making Max concerned. Even Isobel has commented that he seems to be preoccupied, going to the Pony less (because it turns out Isobel keeps tabs on Michael too). 

When he emerges, it’s not as bad as it could be. He’s not in the drunk tank. He isn’t being ticketed. No, he seeks Max out, something that hasn’t happened in years.

His voluntary presence in the sheriff’s office draws stares from everyone when he saunters past the front desk. 

“You don’t have any outstanding warrants,” Max tells him when Michael reaches his desk.

“I know. If I did, I wouldn’t be here,” Michael replies, like he’s talking to an idiot.

“Then why are you here?”

Cam’s out patrolling and the Sheriff is in her personal office so they actually have privacy. Nevertheless, Michael lowers his voice to barely above a whisper.

“You wouldn’t happen to have been having weird dreams?”

The pencil in Max’s hand snaps in two.

“What have you done?”

~

Liz is sleeping in this morning. It’s the weekend and without an alarm set, she will doze for hours. It’s always tempting to stay curled up with her, but Max gets restless too easily, so he’s up making pancakes. Hopefully the smell will entice Liz to emerge from her cocoon.

He plates up and sits himself down at their tiny dining table. It’s next to the kitchen wall, right below a set of photos from their youths: Liz and Rosa’s quinceaneras, Max and Isobel with the family dog, Max and Isobel and Michael out in the desert the year before they graduated high school. Michael has a guitar in his hand and a smile on his face. It’s a rare photo of him, and a rare example of him smiling. Possibly the last time Max ever saw him this way.

All Max knows is that something happened to Michael at the end of high school, something that left his hand mangled and his hope in tatters. He turned his back on humanity, preaching to his siblings that there was nothing good to be found on Earth, and sought comfort at the bottom of bottles of whiskey and acetone. The two only seemed to curdle his bitterness and there was nothing Max could do or say to reach him. No, Michael had taken Max’s happiness with Liz as a personal affront and walked away from him.

Max hasn’t seen Michael for a few years: not since he was arrested for credit card fraud. The charges were shaky but Michael had nobody to bail him out or pay for a decent lawyer, so off to the state penitentiary he went. Isobel visits him in there sometimes, but Max isn’t welcome. Michael’s sentence keeps getting extended because he can’t stay out of fights, though he’s managed to evade suspicion of being an alien. Probably because people don’t know he’s from Roswell and don’t associate him with the legend. 

Liz pads into the living room wearing one of Max’s t-shirts, which hits her at mid-thigh. “Those smell amazing.”

She hasn’t brushed her teeth yet so kisses his forehead rather than his mouth, not that Max cares. She grabs her plate and sits opposite him, digging in with relish.

“I’ve been thinking,” he ventures. “We could get a dog. You know, if the baby thing doesn’t work out. I know it’s not the same, but a dog would be nice.”

Max likes dogs, and they always like him. He thinks he wants a dog even if the baby thing does work out.

Liz smiles sympathetically and covers her hand with her own. “It’s going to work out. One way or the other.”

~

“What do you mean ‘alternate universe’?”

Michael sighs. “It’s complicated if you aren’t already into multiverse theory and—” 

“I don’t need the physics explaining to me,” Max cuts in. “I need you to explain why you think I’m experiencing one when I sleep.”

Michael holds his hands up sheepishly. “So I may have been collecting spaceship pieces in my trailer, and I may have recently been experimenting a little with quantum mechanics using subpar equipment.”

“In your airstream.”

“Yeah.”

“And you started having these dreams yourself?”

Michael shoves his hands into his pockets. “Can’t say they were much fun.”

“No. You’re in prison there.”

“Anyway, I’m working on untangling it all so it’ll go back to normal real soon.”

That’s the last thing Max wants. “No,” he says, too sharply and too quickly. Michael’s puzzled frown demands more of a response. “No more experimenting. If this is bad as it gets, I can live with it. I don’t want you making it worse.”

Nor does he want his nights with Liz snatched away from him. Not now he knows how real they are. It’s not his reality, but it’s one he’ll willingly disappear into for as long as he can.

“I know what I’m doing,” Michael protests.

“Clearly you don’t. Leave it alone.”

All Max needs is time. Time with Liz. Time in the life he should have had.

~

Max hasn’t felt the twin connection to Isobel for years. Somewhere along the way they’d stopped using it, long before Max left Roswell.

It comes screaming back at the most inconvenient time. Liz is unwrapping a trio of pregnancy tests, ready to find out if their first month of baby-making was successful or not.

And Max is on his knees, groaning with the surge of pain that runs through his head.

Liz is in front of him immediately. “Max! Max, are you okay?”

“Isobel,” he pants out, and Liz scrambles for the phone, dialing his parents.

It doesn’t take long to get an answer. Isobel has been hospitalized. It’s unclear why: his mother is hysterical, in a way he’s never heard her become. But Max is booking flights back to Roswell, ready to find out what’s going on. 

Liz can’t come with him. She has to stay and work—her project is at a delicate stage.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he tells her.

“I won’t use the tests until you return,” she promises.

~

Isobel is waiting for him outside the Crashdown. There are dark circles under her eyes and she holds her left hand like it’s heavy, rubbing at her wedding ring.

“Did you see it?” she asks. “When you were dreaming?”

“What happened?” When he woke up, he was still on his way to Roswell, having only just said goodbye to Liz.

“I couldn’t bear it,” she says. “No Noah, no Michael, no you. What a horrible reality.”

Max can’t agree. “So the other Isobel—”

“It wasn’t the other Isobel. It was me. She put a mask on her loneliness and went on like it wasn’t killing her, so I made her do something about it. To bring you back.”

He staggers back, as if she’s actually punched him rather than done it verbally. “What?” He shakes his head. “We can’t influence—”

Isobel squares her shoulder. “I can. My powers are mental. I found a way.”

How does Max even begin to explain what Isobel is interrupting? “That’s not our world, Isobel. We have different lives—we can’t interfere in them. You have a good life here. You should focus on that.”

“What good does that do me if the other one haunts me when I’m awake?”

“How can you say that? We aren’t killers in that reality. Isn’t that better?”

He’s never been able to figure out why, what the little differences were that made all the difference. No camping trip when they were fourteen meant Isobel didn’t have blackouts, and for some reason that meant Rosa Ortecho never died. Isobel’s loneliness seems like a small price to pay for that, compared to a universe where Max is a killer and still has to bear his guilt alone.

“No,” Isobel insists. “I hate it. If I have to keep going back there, I’m going to do everything I can to keep you in Roswell with me. Even if I have to get inside your head and make you stay. I can’t cope alone, Max. Not when I know what I could have had.”

~

“Isobel’s okay,” Max says to Liz down the phone. “Sedated. She didn’t mean to harm herself, they think it was accidental.”

“That’s good. Though she can’t have been doing all that well—”

“No, I know. Mom and dad haven’t noticed anything, but…” It’s Isobel, and it’s his mother. Neither are very emotionally available people.

“Stay as long as she needs you,” Liz urges.

“I need you.”

“I need you too. But you’ve always been good about me running off to help Rosa. It’s your turn.”

~

Max knows what he needs to do, for the sake of the other Max. But even hearing her voice over the phone is like a hit of opium. As much as the other Max relishes any form of contact with his Liz, it’s nothing to what Max feels in this reality. He’s been denied her for years and every morsel, every scrap she throws his way, is a slow drip of what he needs through his veins.

How can he give her up?

~

Isobel isn’t responsive in the hospital. He sits with her a while, holds her hand, strokes her hair, but she doesn’t wake up.

Does she dream of her life in the other Roswell, where she has a husband and her family around her?

~

Seeing Isobel persuades him. In both realities she’s not in a good way, and only one person seems to know how to fix it. 

Michael is hard to pin down, even if he supposedly lives and works in the same place, so Max leaves him a voicemail.

“Do what you need to do to make the dreams stop, Michael. For Isobel’s sake.”

~

“Max?” Liz’s voice is soft, happy. “I know I said I wouldn’t use the tests—and I haven’t!—but you should know I’ve been feeling kind of nauseated today. And yesterday. And the day before that.”

“And you’re excited about that?” he teases, but he can feel a bubble of happiness rising within his own chest. “Isn’t it a little early—”

“Not necessarily.”

He pauses. “Take the test, Liz. There’s no point waiting until I come home.”

“Okay. I’ll call you back when I know.”

It feels wrong, sitting outside Isobel’s room, almost vibrating with happiness, but he can’t help it. He has a good feeling about this.

~

He’s wrenched awake. It’s the middle of the night and there’s no reason for him to be awake, but he is, and he feels adrift, like he’s been cut off from something.

His phone blinks on the nightstand. A message from Michael.

Fixed it.

Liz is gone. The other universe is lost to him.

~

He hadn’t thought it possible for this universe to feel more barren to him until this morning. The desert dust is ash under his boots, the rolling emptiness around his home a valid reflection of what he feels inside.

He’s on a later shift, doing traffic stops on the highway, and he knows despite the Sheriff’s best efforts they’ll probably have unwelcome company park up with them. First, he has to go to the warehouse the school reunion is being held in and lug boxes and tables around for Isobel.

Her dark circles are gone. The spring in her step has returned. 

He made the right choice.

Later, on the dark highway armed with a torch and his weariness, he indicates for a car with Colorado plates and a broken light to pull over. Gets hit with a mouthful of fire.

And then there she is.

“Liz.”

[mouazkhaled]

A Hidden Life, written and directed by Terrence Malick is yet another marvelous gem in this unforgettable year in cinematic achievements. However, this statement wouldn’t be fair for this particular movie, as its without a doubt one of the best in the 20 years of the 21st century. Malick is an extremely unique and visionary director, a deduction that can be quickly made even after watching only one of his pictures. I have seen only two, this and Tree of Life. Tree of life is also hailed by critics as one of the greatest achievements in this century, but that was not apparent to me when I watched it on my small laptop screen in 2012; So it must be mentioned that Malick’s style is meditative and poetic, something that can feel like an extremely challenging yoga class, its slow, can be “boring”, yet to some who adore it, can be their favorite training style. However, there are two specific differences that must be made regarding this particular picture. First, the story is more concise and focused. Few tangible characters in a limited life span with a particular story and very well specified impacts and messages; this (along with flawless performances and mesmerizing cinematography) made this 3 hours picture much more captivating, especially in comparison with the longest this year, the Irishman (yep, it was too long to me). Secondly, A Hidden Life is an important human story that by itself is a much-needed testament about the unsung heroes of history.

A Hidden life is an epic, its very hard to justly praise its alluring cinematography, genius editing, intimate storytelling, heavy monologues, and its impeccable performances. Much can be said and studied but will focus here (especially for personal attachments) to the story itself.

The film follows the life of an Austrian farmer that defiantly chose not to join the Nazi army during WWII. It follows the simple yet precious life that he had with his loving wife, his beautiful 3 little girls, their wheat fields, their barns and farms and cattle in the heaven-like Austrian countryside, their small warm house, and the cherished memories of their lives. Malick undeniably was intensely passionate about drawing the life that was. Yes, there were the hardships of the farmer's life, but (specifically the first act) didn’t leave anything up its sleeves in portraying the warmness and the wholesomeness of this life. The clear cut contrast between the heavenly old days and horrors of what comes after is a dangerous tool if handled by immatures, as it can easily be drawn in a tedious and pretentious sea of melodrama. But in the hands of an experienced poet such as Terrence Malick, here, this contrast is nothing short of enchanting. This creates an extreme in the emotional, which highlights the endless sacrifices and their holiness; sacrifices that the farmer had to make so he can hold onto his humanity and identity.

The second act excruciatingly draws the evading Nazi Germany into this farmer’s peaceful little village. Malick tells the stories of the physical and ideological occupation of Nazism. Soldiers wander within the village taking volunteers and ensuring their constant presence, and with that, the notions of national socialism start to make their ways into the minds of everyone surrounding the farmer. Malick goes the extra mile with his emotional realism in affirming that people didn’t show embracement of Nazi ideology, but were chained with the fear of tyranny, which enslaved them and tore out their sanities. This act throws the farmer and his family in a sea of discrimination and evil that creates utter solitude stretching his adamant decision not to join the army to the extreme. He finally yields and intends to join as a medical asset to avoid participation in the killing, but one thing stands in his path, which is the imposed pledge of allegiance to Hitler, which he considers as the ultimate abandonment of what makes him free.

The third act, the most terrifying and torturing, acts as the utter darkness of life after the farmer’s separation from his family. It follows the physical and physiological torment of imprisonment of the farmer as he was considered a “traitor” and the social isolation that surrounded the wife along with this act’s more apparent hardships of the village life. This is the longest act in the film and has particular parts that absolutely broke me personally and brought me back to memories that actually should not be forgotten. As I was protesting against the Syrian regime, I was (as millions of Syrians) imprisoned. It was less than a month, during which some but not much affected me physically. However, two particular memories came back to me while watching the third act, one of the “ceremony of greeting” to the prison (which is basically to be severely hit and humiliated by tens of soldiers along your long slow path to your cell), especially when the movie used what can be described as virtual reality scene where the viewer was made to be the one who is receiving the punches and the kicks of the ruthless prison torturer. The second memory elevated this movie for me to a new level, which is of an imprisoned defected soldier who was bleeding after his long torture session, and his screams. In Syria, thousands of soldiers had defected the regime’s army after it started shooting at demonstrators killing tens of thousands of them. These soldiers and their stories are not as documented or known as the other tragedies in my country, because the regime made it a quest to silently eliminate these cracks in its steely structure. The few known stories resemble the zenith of human bravery and goodness that can ever be imagined, and they are hidden from us. Thus, I finally understood the title of the movie, A Hidden life, not of the farmer’s from his surroundings, but from the recorded history; from us.

A certain element that threw me off for a while was the messiah complex leitmotif. The movie focused for a while on the pure Christian spirituality of the farmer and his wife, but also highlighted the inevitable doubt that can wrap the heart and shake the beliefs even of the most devoted theists in such an environment. In my opinion that was an essential part of this emotional story, but what I am hesitant in embracing is that the farmer was portrayed by others (and maybe by Malick himself) as a parallel to Jesus and the biblical story, which is undoubtedly the richest and the most emotional, and it might be justified in such a theme, but there is a certain addiction to it that I didn’t appreciate. However, this remains to be a small and easily negligible part of this magical picture.

A Hidden Life tells a story with an obvious end, but the little details are what matter because they enlighten the weight of the sacrifice on one hand, and attache it to the very meaning of humanity in the other. Malick is saying as we all should that this hidden life simply shouldn’t be hidden, it should be known and celebrated and followed, it’s a debt that must be repaid to those who endured it, and a promise that we need to keep to ourselves as a whole species. A hidden life is a true story, in particular with this farmer, and generally with millions of others throughout the human history of battles against tyranny, thus, Malick’s picture is nothing short of one of the most important pieces of art, that must be sought and experienced by everyone.

“The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs”. -George Eliot

[oracleofmania]

Shit It

@brittalundin

In Britta Lundin’s disastrous YA novel Ship It, readers see how a ravenous fandom can devastate a creator’s vision while destroying the show itself in order to gain a modicum of their goals (those goals being their fetishistic homosexual ship become canon), even when it is at odds with the creator. The author flukily achieves this with the shown symbolic perspective of Claire Strupke, the protagonist, and the unseen view of Jamie, the creator of Demon Heart. 

At the start of the novel, Claire is given a humble, relatable background of a small town lonely girl who nerds out over her favorite TV show, Demon Heart, a generic, Supernatural-esque production about a demon hunter and his tumultuous relationship with a helpful demon. Naturally, since the two have presumed chemistry with each other, it leads to Claire shipping them. To elaborate, shipping is the act of pairing two characters together in a relationship, usually due to various factors such as on-screen chemistry, similar personalities, fulfilling a kink, etc. With shipping in mind, this calls into question Claire’s reasons for even enjoying the show. The book unintentionally portrays her reason as wanting the protagonists Smokey and Heart to end up in a homoerotic relationship rather than the plot of Demon Heart. The author only furthers this assertion with her vague descriptions of the episodes and the plot, with the details of some only being highlighted because Claire wrote fanfiction on it,  and more emphasis on the ship. Symbolically, with Claire acting as the fandom, it shows the emphasis the fandom puts on the relationships they create instead of appreciating the content already created for them. Claire continues to exemplify the concept of fandom as she drags those outside the fandom into her imaginings with innocuous comments as demonstrated with this exchange with Kyle Cunningham ( a normie by the book’s standards):

“So Kyle does, apparently, ‘Why do they look like they’re about to kiss?’ 

Andrea snorts and punches him. ‘Be nice,’ she says.

‘I’m serious that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever seen,’......

It’s too much. I suppress a snort, then I catch Kyle’s eye and the dumb expression

On his face makes me really belly laugh. Andrea leans away from me, confused 

and a little afraid, but Kyle just gets mad. ‘What?’ he demands. ‘What’s so 

Funny?’

‘You know there are people out there who think we’re crazy? That we see stuff 

that’s 

Not there, that the show’s never gonna make it cannon. But I just wanna state for 

The record that Kyle Cunningham. Kyle Freaking Cunningham sees it. We’re not 

Crazy.’” (13-14)

This wild reaction to Kyle’s comment, albeit a demeaning comment, shows that Claire/the fandom presents readers with her self-fulfilling sense of reality; naturally, the feeling she presents at the start carries on throughout her perspective and the novel.   

After the introduction, the conflict of the novel is presented. While at a convention, Claire asks the Demon Heart panel if her ship is canon. The event brings the creator, Jamie, directly into the perverse side of his show’s fanbase. This question is fetishistic and not in good faith for the LGBT+ community, since throughout the novel the author (whether intentionally or not) has Claire lust over the idea of her ship reminiscent to a fujoshi (a Japanese derogatory term used to describe women who enjoy male x male relationships for the sexual value/’sinfulness’ aspect). The author accomplishes this by starting off the novel with Claire’s fanfiction of Smokey and Heart, the lead characters, fornicating with one another. Lundin continues to further this characteristic by revealing more of Claire’s provocative fanfiction and have her go on a one-woman mission to get her ship cannon despite the protests of her love interest, Tess, and the insistence of it not being canon by Jamie and an actor of the show. She continues this crusade, getting more and more radical with each act, such as making Q&A panel attendees “silenced” (233), to trying to teach one of the actors about shipping so she can have him on her side, and so on until she does something completely reprehensible. In chapters forty and forty-three, she hijacks the creator’s twitter and threatens to post a photo of Jamie “wearing a Spider-man costume...smiling sheepishly at the camera,” (282-283). All these events occur and yet Claire triumphantly declares all of her efforts in the name of progress. Her excuse mimics real-life fanbases. Many members scream about the representation of minorities and other under-represented demographics in media, all as a Trojan horse to get their ship cannon for whatever reason they have. If the ship is shot down by the creator, the once beloved maker of their ship is now a villain that actively works against the community that loves their work, or worse. Yet there are some who do honest work for the community; an in-book example of this would be Tess. 

Tess is a young queer black woman who represents the positive side of the fandom. While she enjoys the show Demon Heart, she also has the ability to understand that her ships will most likely never be canon, and the representation she desires will most likely never arrive in Demon Heart; she even understands that the fandom life is taboo and tries to keep it separate from her social life. Yet, the author and Claire find the balance between interests abhorrent and not true to herself. So naturally, Claire, upon meeting her friends, believes that they are not up to snuff, even confusing their names with “Jillian/Augusta” (241). Eventually, this leads to her outing Tess to her friends, causing possible social ruin, something a black queer woman cannot have. But it toxically works out in the end and Tess ends up supporting Claire in her crusade against Jamie and his creative endeavors despite it going against her own morals.

On that note, from the creator’s perspective, the entire novel is a horror story. Jamie spends hours on end trying to craft a show he wants only for executives to shoot him down and force him to make it “NCIS not Mad Men,” (271) while having to work with actors that barely fit his vision only to learn that his creative child is sinking ratings-wise and may not even get a season two. Therefore, he goes out on a con run in attempts to get ratings up so he can continue doing what he wanted to do, only to have this interrupted by a teen girl asking about a relationship that is obvious fan conjecture. So he shoots it down along with an actor, but this only causes the PR department to get mad and harm his show even more. Now he’s forced to take this girl along with him and all the while she badgers him and even stalks him over something he does not want happening. Then, she finally snaps and does something illegal and instead of getting the repercussions she deserves in her stead he is the one getting the flak. The one actor on his side has turned on him and he is still not sure if he has another season after the hard-earned season two. If he were to give in to the demands of the audience he would be indulging in some sinful sexual fantasy that was never a part of his dream. Yet he gets cast as a villain for standing his ground and finally snapping after weeks of physiological torment. Jamie suffers while Claire flourishes, thus showing that the personification of the fandom presented by the author is nothing more than a self-fulfilling antagonistic group that turns on creators when their vision does not fit what the fandom wants. 

[fortunatelylori]

1) I’ve been really enjoying all the anons and your responses on the potential kidnapping of Sansa. I’d like to add something else that may be significant. There is one scene in the dragonpit, when Jon stares for a long, long time at Pod and Bronn that really struck me. Jon seems really suspicious, and on the walk to the dragon pit, he could have been in earshot of Bronn telling Tyrion he was okay with setting up the meeting because he was bringing two traitors heads to Cersei.

2) I’m wondering if this means something for season 8. I don’t know whether Jon will no longer trust Brienne and Pod to guard Sansa because he saw Pod with Bronn or whether Bronn will manage to get important Winterfell intel from Pod during their drink. Kit had joked that Jon doesn’t like Brienne. Could Jon move Sansa somewhere or even fake kidnap her away like Bael the Bard and put her in danger accidentally?

3) Also, I’m not sure how all this plays out with the broken tower scene that I’m sure is coming as Rose of Red Lake and others have speculated. I think the broken tower scene will fulfill the HOTU prophesy “From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire.” I also think the description of Sansa turning into a wolf with bat wings (similar to dragon wings) is foreshadowing something going down at the broken tower with a dragon.

4) Finally, I really hope and I see some signs of it in the show that Cersei and Sansa may come to a grudging respect at the end, although I still think Cersei will die. If Cersei loses her baby, Sansa will be the last “child” she semi-raised left to her. The show has given some little indications that Cersei likes or at least hates Sansa less than anyone outside her family. For example, Shae says this at the Blackwater. I would love to know what you think. Thanks for your great posts.

Hey, nonnie!

This kidnapping plot has really taken over my blog. lol Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It seems I have found my niche! :)))))

I have to say I didn’t notice this particular visual cue of Jon looking at Pod and Bronn suspiciously. I always assumed that for one, Jon is trying to figure out how Brienne and Pod got there and whether Sansa is with them. I don’t think he’d like Sansa to be there because he’d be worried for her so he’s looking out to see exactly what Brienne and Pod do. I also think Jon is just generally concerned and for good reason. He’s about to walk into the Lion’s den and have a meeting with the people that are directly responsible for most of the pain and tragedy that has befallen his family. This place is not a happy place for Jon and I doubt he would have ever set foot in it if D*ny hadn’t practically whisked him away without so much as a warning. 

My immediate reaction would be that we’re reading too much into it particularly since the whole Bronn/Pod exchange was supposedly done to explain Bronn’s absence from the talks in the Dragonpit, which has to do with the fact that Lena and Jerome can’t be on the set at the same time. However, nor am I willing to just dismiss it off hand because this show operates so much with foreshadowing and seemingly unimportant details making a play later on that there’s always a chance that this could actually amount to more than I thought previously. 

Could Jon be suspicious of Brienne? He could and there would be reason for him to be … The thing with Brienne is that she commits the same mistake when judging other people that others might commit in regards to her. She is suspicious and angry that Jon keeps Davos and Mel in his council because of their role in Stannis’ campaign and Renly’s murder. She fails to see that in the conflict of Stannis vs. Renly, Renly was the usurper and Stannis was actually in the right to go to war with him. Of course, Stannis ends up killing Renly in a dishonorable way but Brienne has a very black and white view of the whole conflict and one that is tilted unjustifiably in Renly’s favor because of her own personal feelings for him. What she doesn’t seem to take into account is that other people might have the same sort of reservations about her. She is, after all, buddies with Jaime Lannister, the man that went to war with Robb Stark and she walks around carrying half of Ned Stark’s sword, a sword that was melted and reforged on the orders of Tywin Lannister. We know that Brienne’s intentions are honest and that her relationship with Jaime is based on Jaime’s good traits but people, Jon included, could be excused for doubting that. There’s a reason why, in the books, Brienne is almost executed by Lady Stoneheart and she now has been commissioned to lure Jaime to his death. This is a relationship that has positive effects for both Jaime and Brienne personally but affects Brienne negatively in terms of her relationship with the actual people she wants to protect. So I could see Jon being suspicious of Brienne. 

However, could that result in Jon fake kidnapping Sansa a la Bael the Bard? No, I don’t think so. For one, I don’t think the Bael the Bard story will feature in the show. To my recollection, there’s been no mention of it so far and while they could bring it up in season 8, I don’t see any reason why they should. The other important aspect would be that in order to fake kidnap Sansa, Jon would actually have to forcefully take Sansa away (since she would object to it and also point out that Brienne can be trusted). Considering Jon’s character and his knowledge of everything Sansa has been through, do you see Jon Snow putting Sansa through the traumatic experience of an albeit fake kidnapping? Because I don’t. For one, he would never hurt Sansa in that way and for two, he respects her too much to do something against her will. I mean not only does he stop himself from hurting Theon but he also tolerates Littlefinger around Winterfell even though he doesn’t like or trust him. He talks to Sansa about it and then leaves it up to her, to decide what to do with Littlefinger. He never steps over her or robs her of agency. Which is a testament to how much he respects her and her decisions. I don’t see that changing. 

However, I agree completely that the Broken Tower will play a big role in season 8. They’ve made sure to bring it back into play time and time again, most recently at the end of season 5 so it will definitely be a place to watch out for in season 8. People, myself included, have speculated that this is where the Jonsa reveal will happen and that in a parallel to Jaime/Cersei in the 1st season, someone will see Jon and Sansa kissing or engaging in other extra-curricular activities. The main suspects so far seem to be Jorah and Tyrion. I think either way, that would play nicely into your HOTU prophesy speculation as well as the foreshadowing of Sansa with bat wings. 

As for Sansa and Cersei’s meeting … I have to say I’m not at all comfortable with people attributing this mother/daughter relationship to Cersei and Sansa. I understand that people see the toxicity of it but they also seem to give Cersei far too much credit in relation to her feelings for Sansa. Cersei abused, tormented, bullied and physiologically scarred Sansa. She’s the evil step-mother from hell and her feelings for Sansa are not maternal. She disguises her true intentions under a veneer of motherly love, much in the way that Cinderella’s evil step-mother does, but Cersei’s continued fascination and torment of Sansa stems from her narcissism, as does everything having to do with Cersei, and also from her desire to exert power over people. Her narcissism is triggered by the fact that she probably recognizes something of her younger self in Sansa but that’s not really a good thing because Cersei is also riddled with self-loathing for having been born a girl at the mercy of the patriarchy.  Her bulling is explained rather easily because she feels she has no control over her own life, where her son is stepping away from her influence and her father is still treating her as a broodmare, but she can always satisfy her ego by hurting and tormenting Sansa who is powerless to stop her. So grudging respect is not what I want out of the Sansa/Cersei interaction. Cersei is a fascinating character but she’s not worthy of anyone’s respect. She’s bitter, she’s cruel, she always picks on the weakest prey, she’s lonely and isolated and she lashes out in the worst ways possible. I want Sansa to succeed over Cersei by being the exact opposite of Cersei, not gain some sort of misguided respect for the woman that orchestrated Ned’s death, bullied and humiliated her, endorsed the murder of her brother, was involved in the almost killing of her other brother and, not to mention, in this scenario, kidnaps her in order to make her pay for the supposed murder of her psychopathic  son. 

Thanks for the ask!

[handeaux]

More Than Bumps On Your Head: Cincinnati’s Famed Phrenologist

For most of two decades in the 1880s and 1890s, Cincinnati had our own resident phrenologist and it turns out he was somewhat famous. Among the heads whose bumps he analyzed were Sarah Bernhardt, Mark Twain, Lilly Langtry, Henry Ward Beecher and other celebrities of the era.

Today, we think of phrenology as a classic pseudoscience, concerned with reading personality through the contours of the head. But Beall was a true believer, and had his own definition, which he outlined in an advertisement in the Cincinnati Post [30 July 1886]:

“Phrenology means mental science, and includes all systematized knowledge pertaining to character and intelligence. As an art, it enables us to read the mind by the diameter of the head, or the distance upward, forward and backward from the ear, taking into account the temperament, quality of the organization, &c., &c. It is not, as many suppose, a science of cranial ‘hills and hollows,’ but a subject of infinite dignity and practical value.”

Born just outside Cincinnati in Lockland, Beall invested years in the study of phrenology, but he was a lifelong seeker of essential truths in many fields. He achieved certification from the American Institute of Phrenology in New York, then moved back to the Cincinnati area and enrolled at the Medical College of Ohio, while simultaneously studying theology on the side. His investigations resulted in an explosively controversial critique of religion. The Cincinnati Enquirer predicted a stormy reception:

“Edgar C. Beall, the well-known phrenologist of this city, has written a book called ‘The Brain and the Bible,’ which is the latest addition to the infidel literature of the day and at the same time is an exposition of the principles and philosophy of phrenology applied to religion. The book is written in good, terse, clear English, and will, doubtless, be the cause of much comment and controversy.”

Beall summarizes his controversial “infidel” thesis in the book’s final chapter:

“In opposing Christianity, therefore, as a religious system, we denounce simply its pernicious doctrines and absurd dogmas which are contradicted by science and plainly inimical to the highest happiness of mankind. Among these are chiefly the existence of a personal God and a personal Devil, the fall of man, the scheme of salvation by faith, and endless torment to those who reject Christ as a divine savior.”

Despite his controversial writings and association with known agnostics, Beall remained popular in Cincinnati. He regularly lectured on phrenology to packed auditoriums and the newspapers hired him to provide character studies of people in the news, locally and nationally.

These newspaper analyses indicate the fundamental weakness of phrenology – it is a classic example of the fallacy known as “post hoc, ergo propter hoc.” In other words, because some factor existed before a particular result, that factor must be the cause of the result. Beall knew quite a bit about the people he analyzed – Admiral George Dewey, George B. “Boss” Cox, Rabbi Isaac M. Wise – and so his “phrenographs” essentially reinforced popular opinion.

In addition to phrenology, Beall was a lifelong advocate of hygiene. Today, we think of hygiene as basic cleanliness. Back in the day, hygiene covered a lot of behaviors including diet, exercise, clothing and even mental and moral habits.

Beall took his commitment to “moral fiber” literally, devising his own recipe for whole wheat bread and persuading the Cincinnati Women’s Exchange to make and sell loaves using his recipe. The Cincinnati Post [6 October 1898] was a fan:

“All the mineral richness is in this bread. The brand gives mechanical aid to the chemical process of digestion. It gives the teeth a purpose in life and excites the stomach to action. This bread is designed to prevent the use of the tons of purgative pills used by Cincinnatians.”

This interest in hygiene led Beall to write another controversial book. For once, Cincinnati’s prudery had nothing to do with it. By 1900, Beall had moved to New York City to assume editorship of The Phrenological Journal, official publication of the Phrenological Institute. In 1905, he published a volume titled “The Life Sexual: A Study of the Philosophy, Physiology, Science, Art, and Hygiene of Love.” In other words, Beall published a sex manual, although a sex manual of its time, with lots of advice about good habits and very few revelations about the actual mechanics involved. Still, it was salacious enough to get banned by the Post Office. Theodore Schroeder, in a 1911 book supporting freedom of the press, specifically highlights the censorship of Beall’s book as an ill-considered act:

“I have read much of this book and can not for the life of me conceive why it should be deemed offensive, because the book is written in a refined style and is instructive. The opening chapter is devoted to a strong criticism of ‘The Ban upon Sexual Science,’ and maybe therein lies the cause of complaint.”

Interestingly, Beall never married, although his “Life Sexual” book was emphatic in support of marriage:

“Considered from the most practical point of view, for the majority of men, marriage is by all means to be preferred. Men who remain unmarried, but who are unable to resist the fascinations of the opposite sex, are almost certain to suffer at least from irregularity in their associations with women.”

Perhaps it was to offer some researcher an opportunity to solve this conundrum that Beall made his final and greatest contribution to phrenology – his own brain. A few years before he died, Beall telephoned the medical school of Cornell University and informed the doctors there that he had willed his body to be dissected and studied for scientific research. “When you get it,” he told the faculty, “pay particular attention to a study of my brain.”

The body arrived at Cornell’s medical campus in New York City after Beall’s death in 1930. According to the Omaha World Herald [29 January 1930], “His is said to have been a very abnormal brain.”

[okimargarvez]

OMISSION

Original title: Omissione.

Prompt: Luke’s thought, Scratch’s death, fear, guilt feelings.

Warning: post 13x1.

Genre: angst, drama, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 9 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💑😘😈🐶⚰.

Song mentioned: Cambio casa, Tiziano Ferro.

This story is dedicated to my  sister of delirium @theshamelessmanatee ❤ ❤ (because we both love the dark side of Luke)

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

OMISSION

By cutting Samson's hair, Dalila deprived him of strength and power. Perhaps it is for this reason that I went to shorten them after the case of Scratch and before Stephen's funeral. I know this is a nonsense, perversions of my mind, but I can't get rid of that thought, it's constantly tormenting me.

And I've never talked to anyone, not even with her.

After Prentiss announced a nice obligatory holiday, something happened that I would never have dreamed of in any way, even if I had wanted it for a long time. I was taking my stuff, not much stuff actually, since my desk was the emptiest of the room. I saw a shadow appear behind my shoulders, sweetly contours so familiar. I raised my head slowly, even feared that it would ultimately prove to be just the product of a lost mind. Instead she was there for real, wearing that dress so dark and almost long for her standards.

-Luke.- I heard called my name. Her expression was strange, indecipherable. I didn't replicate anything, limiting myself to staring her. -It's been was a horrible week and I wanted to know if your proposal was still valid.- she had to noticed my surprise, almost disorientation, because she was quick to explain herself better. -I mean... that.... you want to be my shoulder to cry on... this.- I nodded emphatically. I would never have let such an opportunity escape me. -Well- she said solemnly, before making a big sigh. There was something else. But she kept silent, so I finished packing and we towards the elevators, but then she changed her mind and we went down the stairs. There weren't a few floors, but the only thing that had accompanied us along the whole way was the sound of our steps, especially her heels. We arrived at the parking lot.

I didn't know what she wanted to tell me. -Do you want a ride?- I asked her, hoping to unlock the situation.

-Yes.- she replied, her delicate voice verged more cracks than usual. We walked toward my car. I opened the door for her; she didn't protest, she even gave me a -Thanks.- combined with a brief hint of a sad smile. But when it was time to leave, while I was putting in motion, she laid her hand on mine, making me inevitably jolt. - I'm going to say one of my... bullshit- she announced. But she changed her mind again. -It's better if I tell you when we arrive.- it was been the final verdict. And so, I had to face a, albeit brief, harrowing journey, asking me what she was about to tell me, that woman who until a short time before always behaved in distant way with me.

She opened her mouth only to give me the right coordinates to reach her apartment. I parked and turned towards her. The moment had arrived; but no, not yet. She also turned in my direction and again I saw that same expression that it had printed in her face when she appeared in front of my desk. -Would you like to come up for a moment?- I had never dared to imagine such a proposal, not on her part, not even in the most driven fantasies. But regardless of how it was going to end, I had to know the reason for this waiting. I nodded and found a parking space close enough. We walked far, but much less than usual. She arrived in front of the few steps that separated us from the real entrance and got stuck, almost dazed, then shook her head and went on, making a sign to follow her. A few flights of stairs later we found ourselves in front of a door; she took out the keys and opened it, letting me go first. What I could see inside corresponded perfectly with what anyone would have imagined seeing her work station. I haven't issued comments, not verbal at least. -Luke.- again to hear her say my name instead of Newbie, it seemed bizarre. -I'm about to say something stupid, very stupid. But with all that has happened to the team, lately, we should perhaps learn that we can not know when the Grim Reaper's will visit us, so we must have the courage to risk and put yourself out there... and life is the best answer to the death.- she was completely delirious, in that way that always tore me a smile, whether I wanted it or not. -And this to say... Kiss me, Luke. Unless I have misinterpreted any signal from you, the fact that you stare at me often and...- total shock. At first, I thought it was a joke, but then I had to realize how serious she was. -At most it will be just another madness that I do, I'm used to it, even if it will do more harm than the others...- I couldn't even say a word. Seeing such a reaction on my part, she came to the conclusion that she was wrong, that I don't like her. -Here, as I guessed.- a sad smile that killed me. -You can tell it to others, if they can get a laugh from this... we all need it... - always mutism on my part - Now I'll open the gate, so you can go...- she turned to the door.

A monosyllable. -No.- and my hand tightened her wrist, stopping her. And then dragging her on my chest. -No, Penelope, I'm not going anywhere.- I felt that the lump in my throat had melted. -You too, you should know something.- I whispered bringing her face very close to mine. -If we start kissing, I don't think I'll be able to stop there. I think it's correct to warn you. Do you accept the risk?- it was the pure truth. At a time like this, emotionally shaken by too many feelings and just returned from the funeral of a colleague and friend, it wouldn't be easy to curb the impulses once they have been triggered.

-You mean...- I nodded. She blushed. But then he consented. I took her face in my hands and at the same time she put hers on my neck. We stared ourselves a bit. -It's terribly wrong, what we're about to do, isn't it?- she said in a low voice, risking to ruin everything.

I gave her reason. -Yes, it's completely wrong, but also so fucking right.- and that was enough for us to start kissing, without going through the various stages, jumping the mold to go straight to the point. And as I had predicted, my hands had ended first on her lower back and then on her breasts, fondling avidly and traveling frantically from one point to another. Even she hadn't been for less. To an outside observer we might looked like two crazy lovers who took advantage of the few minutes allowed them to let off steam. And reality wasn't so different.

I knew, and I thought she knew it too, that all our actions were dictated by the desperate need to feel alive in the face of the disappearance of a loved one; it was simply a mechanism set in motion by nature to safeguard the existence of the species. No, it's not true. It had been the reason we had found the courage to admit mutual interest, but surely there was something even before. For me it wasn't just fuck.

The room was filled with our muffled breaths and freely expressed moans.

We didn't take any breaks. Probably both of us were afraid that a minimum moment of lucidity would stop us. For months, for a whole year I had kept everything inside and now that she had broken the banks, there was no way to keep the water inside. Without stopping kissing, we began to walk slowly, her backwards, guided by me, she blindly entrusting herself to my direction. I had no idea where her bed was, the fact is that I found it immediately, attracted like a magnet. I pushed the blankets aside and made her lie down, then I got into too. I knew she was cold, I felt it too, even though we were sweating profusely.

We were both still dressed. We looked at each other for a second, maybe less.

I didn't want her to think that I didn't want to see her naked. But at that moment I couldn't even manage to survive foreplay or undress. I had to get inside her right away. And so, the only garment that reached the floor were her panties. Then I kissed her forehead, so she would understand that it was not just a physical act. And slipping into her was the fairest thing I've done since I joined the team. To hear her whisper and sometimes scream my name, which before this day had seemed almost a taboo, unpronounceable, had been like touching paradise.

I let myself go to absurd thoughts. If only I had known her before, before Cullen. I wanted to be her first time and I wanted she had been mine. That we had met as teenagers. That we had been married for years. It did not seem right to me that some other man had had her before me, or that I had been with other women. We were, we're so perfect, together.

While I reached the top, I held her tight and we remained like that, embraced, for a lot of time, as if we were suspended in a place devoid of chronologies and spatial coordinates.

And only then was the time for the caresses, the kisses on the skin, the clothes that disappeared one by one. I looked at her for a long time, doing her an X-ray and licked my lips.

-This doesn't disgust you?- she asked, trying to hide herself as she could. I shook my head strongly.

-No. You can see for yourself, you have proof of it here, in front of you. Don't think it's just a physiological factor.- and before she had time to reply, I ended up inside her again. -I love you.- I whispered, after having dressed and back to the heat, under the covers. My arm around her shoulders, her head resting on my chest.

She understood that it wasn't a post-coital declaration, but a sincere one. She nodded, her eyes bright.

-I love you too, Luke.- and she started crying, drenching my shirt. -Why he had to die?- she asked between sobs, I don't think about me, but about the world. I thought she was referring to Stephen, but the situation was much more complex, as I would have learned later. -Why the world must be so horrible, the human being capable only of destroying?- other rhetorical questions, before the words became incomprehensible. I hugged her and stroked her back until she calmed down.

But the matter wouldn't have ended there.

 We had six weeks of vacation in front of us and we fully exploited them to do everything we hadn't done before, to get to know each other better. We had told each other about our childhood, the whole past and so I nearly came to know some things that were consistent with her personality, but they had left me floored.

They had shot her, about ten years ago. A madman who no longer infested this land from that same moment, fortunately.

And she had shot a man, to save Reid. And she went to see him in prison. Even had been present on the day of its execution. -I couldn't accept that he had to die. He was bad, a killer, I know it, but... he was a human being who had made so many bad decisions. Life imprisonment would have been more correct. Nobody deserves to die like that, not even the worst of the worst criminals in the universe.- I remember she had told me this, trying to explain how she could feel pity (or compassion) for someone who had tried to kill one of her friends and herself. Nobody, not even Scratch, was what I thought.

Two different things had happened, almost simultaneously, in reaction to this revelation.

Firstly, extreme amazement prevailed. -Penelope, you have such a big heart...- to which she had answered shrugging, as if she belittles herself. Only "in public" she behaved exaggeratedly, with absurd phrases and double-entendre. In the private sector she was very reserved and insecure. Dios, how much I love her for this! But then a different emotion had taken over. Fear, indeed, pure terror. And during the last week before I got back to work I had heard the same phrase continuously, her voice warping into an evil grin.

Nobody deserves to die like that, not even the worst of the worst criminals in the universe.

The problem is that to this was added the face of Scratch, Peter Lewis while he asked me for help. When Hotch asked me if I wanted to kill Cullen, a good agent would have answered a clear no, because I swore to defend my country... but the truth was another and I clearly confessed it to him. Yes, I want to kill him. But I couldn't do it. I didn't even have the satisfaction of seeing him suffer in recognizing me and seeing that I had won and he, lost. What I had won, then, this is another story.

 I always had nightmares. Since I was a child, my mind has imagined everything, really horrible things, forbidden to children under 14 years. When Cullen opened my partner in two, Phil, who was undercover, new sequences were added. At least three nights out of four I relived that scene, changing point of view, subjective. Sometimes I was myself, motionless, paralyzed by horror, as I tried to extract the weapon and do what I had been trained for: don't lose my temper and evaluate the options. But there was only one word in the head, almost a self-imposed order: to shoot. Or I became Phil, I was the one who was almost quartered, and I felt all the pain, so strong as to make me lose consciousness, I looked at my partner standing there a few feet and I wondered why he did nothing. But the worst perspective was Cullen's; entering inside him and moving the scalpel into that body with the face covered, the hands getting dirty with blood and other material, feeling nothing, absolutely nothing: neither pleasure, nor repulsion. And then the imaginary veil disappeared, and I realized I'm back to myself.

This is the only part of my life, of me, which I haven't yet been able to talk to Penelope. Things were going so well, among us. She smiled often and each of her smiles was balm for my wounds, concrete and emotional. But after she confessed that thing to Baylor, I couldn't be peaceful in her company. When we detached from an intense kiss, it happened that in place of her sweet and graceful features I saw the edgy one of Scratch, or alternatively that of Cullen. So I had pulled away almost terrified and she couldn't understand why I was behaving like that.

 Crises have worsened more and more, becoming unmanageable.

Once I was about to begin the speech, but Penelope anticipated me.

-Luke, there's a problem.- I swallowed and tried (in vain) to take her hand with mine. -You regret for that night, I'm right?- I shook my head as I gradually came to understand what I had induced her to think with my attitude. -You always run away after we kissed and... we haven't made sex for a week, Luke.- she was right, when I started to have those nightmares where I was useless / quartered / ripper almost at the same time, with a frenetic vision passing from an from one point of view to the other, I had decided that it would be better to spend the night at my house, before I combined something horrible, while I sleepwalking, or say something else just nasty. -If you repented, please tell me. I see that you're not happy, no more.- she was about to cry, but she tried hard to keep from doing it.

I shook my head so badly that it hurt my neck. -No, no, no, NO!- I shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders not even some dark force was trying to take her away from me. Maybe it was really like that. -I... I can't do it.- with my fear of seeing that expression disappointed, I helped to fuel her convictions.

-No, you can. Whatever it's, Luke. It will not cancel this month together, the love you gave me. I'm so happy to have had the chance to discover how good it's to be loved by you. Your wife will be a lucky woman. If I hadn't been so stupid before... but it doesn't matter.- she looked down at her shoes and I realized that she was ready to leave even if this was her home and technically the intruder was me.

-Yes, it matters, Penelope!- my scream has seemed to me that of a hunted animal, wounded, of a calf ripped from its mother. -I'm not sorry about us, fuck!- the dirty word has had the power to make her eyes fall back into mine. -I'm just scared, I'm terrified at the idea of ​​losing you. Because I'm a monster, Penelope, I'm not so different from the madmen which we hunt.- she was bleached, not understanding where I wanted to go. By now I had started, and I would have finished too. -I'm a killer.- I was the one who didn't hold the gaze.

But she had misunderstood, again, in good faith. -I, too, had run the risk to kill a man. It's your job, you do it only if there's no alternative.- she tried to console me, stroking my cheeks, on which, only at that moment I realized, tears were flowing.

-No...- a moan. -I don't talk about the ones I killed while I was on duty or in the war, even though this didn't help my conscience or my mental balance.- I had to tell her this, she had the right to know, even if this had led her to leave me. -I wanted to kill Daniel Cullen. If there hadn't been Reid in that room, if Cullen hadn't lost his personality because of Scratch... I would have killed him, as he killed me.- this last detail I had never confessed in any of the psychiatric sessions that the FBI forced me to frequented after the incident, but not even to myself. -I took him while he was getting ripped apart my partner. I had horrible nightmares, after that and I still have them. I dream of being there, but I'm not always the one comes and surprises them, sometimes I'm Phil and other times...- I wasn't able to say it.

But she understood, this time really. -Oh God!- the horror in her voice was exactly what I never wanted to hear. Not addressed to me. But her hands went in search of mine, they found them and held tight them. -Why you didn't tell me before, Luke... I love you, I would never have judged you...- hearing she says this didn't help me.

-I didn't finish.- I exclaimed a bit too abruptly. -Scratch.- only that name, I couldn't did more. By now I cried copiously, as I hadn't done for I don't know how long.

She pulled back, letting me go, and from the corner of her eye I saw how she looked at me. -He fell while you were chasing him on the roof. Isn't that how it went?- her attempt to hope for the best again was the demonstration that she really loved me.

-Yes.- I nodded.

-You didn't push him.- he seemed to want to convince me, more than herself, that I was a good person. I nodded my head assertively. - But however...- poor little darling of mine, she couldn't understand where the problem was.

-I didn't kill him, but I didn't even save him, Penelope.- I finally said it. -We shot each other. Then the structure on wich he had climbed on began to collapse.- I was there again, I was reliving it. -He was clinging to the cornice, as seen in the movies. Identical. I approached by pointing the weapon at him. You never know, with the king of the traps in the traps.- she nodded. Up to here she could follow me. -He asked me for help. She begged me to help him. I lowered the gun. And I looked at him as he fell on the asphalt.- before she could do it, I was the one who moved away. Feeling her distant would have given me the coup de grace. -You would have saved him, Penelope, even if he forced Hotch to retreat and threatened his son, even if he killed Walker and kidnapped Tara's brother and then Emily... I'm sure you would have saved him. But I didn't do it, because I couldn't kill Cullen and I took my revenge on him. He was a horrible person, but as you said, nobody deserves to die like that, not even the worst of the worst criminals in the universe.- I quoted her, then I laughed, a bitter laugh. -Omission is like murder, only more cowardly. I killed him and I'll have to live with this for the rest of my life.- I found the courage to lift my head to look at her, looking for those signs that would have torn me apart. Ah, it's true that... the pain commands, tired, testing, changes people.

-It's not the same thing...- she tried faintly to justify me.

-I was been selfish to keep you in the dark about something like this, while we were together...- and I think, and I think, and then I still think and how many things said not wanting to. Periods a bit random, at the mercy of every weight, in which I don't know what to do and suddenly... -I love you, but you deserve someone who is better than me.- we were both crying at this point. Don't listen to me, if I had to ask you to go away! Why come to my mind such phrases, of a song that I hadn't listened to for a lifetime and whose name escapes me, right then?

-No...- she issued with a sob and I seemed to feel her heart breaking, the rib cage jolt at each stroke. There is everything in a tear, there is joy and there is terror, what I can't do, what I'm good act. -No, Luke, if you want to break with me, do it like a real man! - she tried to show herself angry, but isn't her strong suit.

-Stop you to say bullshit! I have nightmares even when I'm awake, Penelope! I see their face, of Scratch and of the Crimson King, over yours. That's why I no longer wanted to make love with you or even just sleep together. I'm afraid of what could happen, of what I could become.- the shock appeared on her face, but her hands crushed mine and the nails were planted in the flesh, because she realized that I needed something physical so I would stay anchored to reality. -I don't want to force you to bear all this. You don't deserve it. I can't even be so selfish, I can't even ruin you.- but I leaned over her and kissed her. And in all these years, of displaced lucidity... In my mind it had to sound like a goodbye kiss, for this it was tragic and overwhelming. Her lips had the salty taste of the tears she had shed because of me. To make her suffer is the worst crime I can imagine, something that I would never have forgiven myself.

In the end, unfortunately we had to separate. I kept my eyes closed, squeezing them very hard, until I got a headache. -I don't leave you, it's clear, my love? Nice try, but you'll have to do better.- I heard her voice falter, her fingers on my forehead, go down. I stopped her with my trembling. -Open your eyes, Luke.- she knew what I was afraid of. I'm here, it's me, Newbie. And if you don't move to show me that beautiful pair of brown eyes that mother nature has provided you, I'll call the Canadian boyfriend, who asked me if we could meet to talk about something. And you know I do it.- at that moment jealousy managed to overwhelm everything else.

I lifted my eyelids and saw the most beautiful woman on the planet who was smiling at me. Just her. -Penelope...- I was in seventh heaven, but I couldn't forget that the next time could have been different.

-I'm here, honey, I'm here. We'll face this together, ok?- I nodded, I gave up.

Hours later, while we were watching any television program, I came up with a question. -Is that true?- She raised her head to mine and I couldn't resist kissing her. When we parted, nothing had changed. My arms were still tight around her waist, Penelope was completely resting on me, her back on my chest and our legs intertwined, the most beautiful position that had ever been invented. There was no one else, no interference.

-What?- she asked, once free to speak.

-Sam. Did he really call you?- she burst out laughing, almost choking herself.

-Yes, jealousy man. She really called me, yesterday, while you were taking a walk with Roxy.- I increased my grip on her, unknowingly. -Ouch!- she has forced the tones.

-Sorry.- but I had already forget completely, and I was ask me what the heck he did that want from my girlfriend, from her ex .

-He's going to marry.- Penelope stopped me, continuing to chuckle for my reaction. -He wanted to invite us. You know, he's not one of those who think that ex-boyfriends shouldn't be invited to the wedding...- I slapped my forehead. She had kept laughing.

The most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life.

  TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke  @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno  @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes