#i mean is it disability or just having to deal with casual visits over every damn thing because of certain records

[kohakuhibiki]

Btw beware about intercepting cop shit sometimes the issues last 😑

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

merry christmas!

sorry i’ve not been on much. miss you all dearly. just need to rant right now. sometimes tumblr acts as a journal of sorts, you know?

being in the closet is hard.

my grandpas visited this past week, and my dad’s dad laughed and said that he’s referring to his grandkids by numbers now (ex gc 1, gc 2) because they keep changing their names and he’s “not going to call Andrew, Athena, [he] just won’t!” (I’m referring to my amab cousin, Andrew, with that name but they/them pronouns because I’m not clear on what they go by right now, and I wasn’t even aware that they were reassessing their gender identity. the outing of Andrew when they themselves have not told us is also frustrating, just not what is particularly aggravating to me at the moment)

anyway, i mentioned it today to my family because it’s been on my mind a lot. casually, i said that my grandpa was a little mean over the weekend, and that it’s hard to comprehend how a gay person could be transphobic. and both my parents sort of launched into defending him, about how he wasn’t being transphobic just that he was laughing about all the changes and how andrew has apparently changed their name a few times and gone back and forth. i mentioned that he was apparently mean and unsupportive when my other cousin, ethan, started transitioning (ethan was afab and started socially transitioning at 13 and has recently started medically transitioning at 15). so then my parents began talking all this shit about how he had a reasonable concern given ethan’s age etc etc. (i didn’t mention the fact that my grandpa’s skepticism and rudeness about ethan were pretty ridiculous as he has played a very small role in ethan’s life despite the fact that he’s his grandpa, and hurtful bc the person who is raising him is his ex-wife (my dad’s mom) and a lot of his “concern” just seemed to be a question of my grandma’s judgement and ability to raise ethan. which is AGAIN even more ridiculous given how hard raising ethan has been! he has a plethora of learning disabilities and has been dealing with severe mental health issues (self-harm, suicide attempts) for the last few years, none of which my grandpa can even come close to understanding bc, again, he has played such a small role - I see Ethan MAYBE 3 times a year and that’s STILL more than our grandpa))

anyway, this was all hurtful enough, to have all of these pieces overlooked, but especially when my dad’s final defense of my grandpa was this: “he’s a part of this community and has an insight and perspective that none of us can understand.” listen, i value the fact that my dad sees queer knowledge and experience as something valuable, but that doesn’t mean it can never be questioned and challenged; not every queer person is actually a part of the community. transphobic queer people exist! case in point. anyway, the worst part was just the assumption that all of us at the table are straight. i hurt more than i thought. i want to be myself! shouldn’t it be easy to come out to my family when my grandpa is gay? when i have (potentially) two trans cousins? but the micro aggressions are like slashes in my confidence, and the unsteady attempts at being accepting of queer identities (but not going so far as feeling like we need to be more actively and openly supportive, and certainly being confused and kind of disgusted by those that reject the gender binary) make me feel out of place.

i’m bi. i think it’s a lot easier than coming out as gay, or trans, or gender-fluid/queer etc. to straight, cis people, i’m still “half-straight” and i’m still conforming to gender norms. so i feel dumb for being so scared to come out. my family is more supportive than many out there. im lucky in that regard. but i feel like im already fighting to educate them on so many things (the current issue: cultural appropriation vs cultural appreciation) that i can’t handle trying to teach them how to handle having a queer kid too. i can’t be the guinea pig (more than i already am #oldestchild). so i stay in the closet at home and beg for the semester to start sooner so i can go back to my safe, queer friends at school where i am out.

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Six

Previous chapter HERE

Warning: Mild language

Summary: Sarah’s parents make a visit, and not everyone is happy with Sarah’s choices.

Note: Sorry this took a while to get out.

CHAPTER SIX

There’s a couple of things you should probably know about Jocelyn and Noah Bernette.

The first is that they are salt-of-the-Earth people. They are friendly to anyone, heavily involved in their community, and they make regular donations to a charity that provides home improvements to families so they can live comfortably with a disability. They once spent a summer volunteering with Habitat For Humanity and have fostered approximately 18 cats and dogs over the past seven and a half years. Jocelyn regularly bakes cakes for their neighbours and Noah is obsessed with his garden and tending to the Norwegian Purple Heather he paid a fortune to have shipped over from Bergen. Politically, they are liberal in practically every sense of the word and up to speed with the latest democratic events. Seriously, you would have to work extra hard to trip them up if you wanted to hold any kind of debate with them.

Sadly, the Bernettes could not have children biologically for one reason or another. Jocelyn in particular struggled with that knowledge. She figured at the age of 34, with most of her friends now mothers and fathers themselves, a child was the obvious piece missing from their puzzle. Professionally, they were both pretty much at the top of their respective trees and they had no mortgage to speak of so naturally the only thing left to accomplish was raising a child. So, thereafter, followed several years of testing, waiting, waiting some more, then more testing, but the doctors couldn’t fathom why it just didn’t want to happen for them. There didn’t appear to be anything medically wrong with either of them. It was nature, they said, as though that was supposed to be some kind of comfort. Eventually, when Jocelyn reached her 40th birthday, she and Noah decided it wasn’t meant to be and opted to try a different route, though it wasn’t much easier being told implicitly that they were now too old to adopt a baby.

Which leads to the other thing you should probably know about them: they don’t like to be reminded that Sarah is adopted. It suits them just fine to block out the first 12 years or so before they met. It’s not to say they completely disregard her past of that they want to forget they couldn’t have children, it was more that on some psychological level Sarah had long since given up trying to understand, they felt more like a real family if they could continue to believe that they had always been this way, that it was fate they would find each other and live happily ever after.

Jocelyn wanted to experience sleepless nights from a crying baby wanting to be fed but instead she learned to deal with sleepless nights waiting to see if their runaway child was going to come home before four in the morning. They would argue about boyfriends they didn’t trust or buying a car they didn’t think she would look after. Jocelyn would later attempt to make the move from mother to best friend as soon as Sarah moved away to college, always planning meet-ups or sending her cut-outs in the post about make-up thinking she would be interested in them and they could perhaps bond over shared hobbies. She could finally empathise with her friends and neighbours about whether their children were surviving their studies. All stereotypical parental concerns and she embraced each and every one of them.

Noah on the other hand, a few years older than Jocelyn, was definitely calmer about the whole thing. He was glad they chose this option for them both because he reasoned he might be too long in the tooth to start changing nappies or teach another human being how to ride a bike given that he didn’t know how to do so himself. Instead, they could take what they had, what they both worked so hard to achieve, and help someone who hadn’t had the best start in life. Isn’t that they best way of helping your community?

Lisa once joked that she learned more about Sarah from one dinner with her folks than she had learned from Sarah herself over the course of knowing her for six months. But she couldn’t understand why Sarah had a particular desire to create a distance between herself and them, and from her seemingly healthy teenage years in a quaint town in Maine, a far cry from Michigan in more ways than one. Shanna didn’t understand either but Sarah wasn’t always forthcoming about her rationale even after knowing for as long as she did.

Sarah learned early on that it was best not to talk about her birth family. She was thankful to have Noah and Jocelyn steering her at a time when it would have been all too easy for her to go off the rails. Of course, she was thankful; who wouldn’t be, living that kind of comfortable life. She didn’t want to see ungrateful. It just never really settled within her. She always felt a little out of place and struggled to adjust to the wealth of positive emotions, love, and a somewhat material wellbeing she hadn’t experienced before. She provided the Bernettes with their missing piece and they wanted to reward her for that but she in turn felt like something was missing from her own identity and that feeling only grew as she got older. Increasingly, she felt like who was as a Bernette was not entirely in line with who she felt she was in the baseline of her DNA. At times she felt like she was merely living to someone else’s expectations so moving to Boston was something akin to therapy.

“And he just gave you this?!”

Jocelyn was stood by the wardrobe in Sarah’s bedroom. She usually did this under the pretence of casually catching up on life and everything else but realistically, Sarah knew she just wanted to snoop around in the hope of discovering hints of a boyfriend she’d been keeping to herself. Shanna was currently sat on Sarah’s bed, one leg tucked underneath and enjoying their relationship from a distance. She was wondering when she’d bring up Prince Greg as she’d dubbed him on account of his floppy hair. She felt like she knew more of Sarah when she was around her own family. It was kind of fascinating to see.

Jocelyn held the dress up in front of her, taking it in, gobsmacked. Sarah had never seen Jocelyn this excited before. To the untrained eye, it was just a simple black mini-dress; unclingy with loose full-length sleeves and a frilly detail around the hem. There was a silver thread woven into the stitching that caught the light if you were stood the right way. Chris was right; it was cute. Shanna suggested wearing it with black tights and those heeled boots that were her go-to date footwear. Her only go-to date footwear, Audrey would remind her whenever she managed to drag her into town for some shopping. Being overtly dressed-up wasn’t something Sarah was easily comfortable with and Chris knew this, so simple was definitely the way to go.

“Not exactly. It’s a loan. I’ll have to give it back afterwards.” Sarah pressed.

She was ready to get to the exhibition centre before it closed but Jocelyn didn’t seem in any particular rush. Her knowing Chris Evans was perhaps the thing Jocelyn was most proud of in Sarah’s life and she always managed to work in a conversation or two whenever she visited. Rather than be irritated by it, Sarah actually found it rather amusing. Chris seemed to have a sixth sense for guessing when Jocelyn was trying her patience, though, and played up to her a little bit so as to give Sarah a break. She once lost her asking him questions about the Academy Awards for nearly an hour. The amount of beer she had to buy him afterwards as a ‘thank you’ nearly bankrupted her.

“Well, you’ll have to make sure your hair and make-up matches. You can’t wear a dress like this with a ponytail.” She was speaking in what she assumed was a helpful tone. It was a good job she couldn’t see the face Sarah was pulling right now.

“Oh, between us all I’m sure we’ll be able to figure it out. I’ll have to do the same thing, too.” Shan was trying her best to act nonchalant in an effort to support her best friend. “I mean, it’s not often any of us get the chance to get dressed these days, really.”

“How lovely. You can borrow my emerald earrings if you like? They’ll bring out your eyes.” Jocelyn was more than a little eager now, no doubt buzzing at the thought of having her personal jewellery plastered all over Instagram. She zipped up the dress bad and placed it carefully inside the wardrobe while Sarah and Shan just smiled at each other knowingly.

As Jocelyn moved to the bathroom to wash her hands, they left the bedroom opting for the relative safety of the living room where Noah had set up camp alongside Chris and ESPN. He was a keen follower of most sports with golf a particular favourite. He was saving up for tickets to the PGA tour next year as a retirement gift to himself. Sarah knew Jocelyn wasn’t going with him but couldn’t be entirely sure he hadn’t invited Chris along in her place.

“What’s she mithering you about this time?” Noah asked, eyes glued to the TV screen. He didn’t get much time to sit and be still watching television at home so visiting his daughter was even more of a treat. If Sarah could survive being the sole focus of Jocelyn’s attention for hours on end, he would have happily left them to it for the afternoon and set up camp with Chris and a glass of Talisker.

“Nothing much, it’s OK. Are you ready to go yet? It’ll take about 20mins to walk there,” Sarah was hinting as heavily as she could now, short of jingling her keys in front of their faces likes they were cats.

“Sure, go grab your mom and we’ll head out. Have you had thoughts about dinner yet? Chris, would you like to join us?”

“Well, I was quite keen on seeing the exhibition myself actually but I’d hate cause you guys any problems with my being there.” He tried to casually shrug it off in a look she’d seen all too often lately.

“I’m sure we can manage,” Noah managed to tear himself away from the TV screen for his beloved Chris. “Is it a ball cap situation or more of a through-the-backdoor type of thing? I’ve never had to sneak around before. Could be fun?”

Sarah appreciated Noah’s casualness and evidently, judging by the grin spread across his face in that moment, so did Chris. He turned to look over the back of the couch at Sarah, silently asking her permission.

“Well, I did get a 4th ticket in case you or Scott fancied coming...” she offered. “I mean, I’m fine if you are?”

Chris gave her a grateful smile. “Give me two minutes and I’ll be right with you.”

*

For this time of day, the gallery was surprisingly busy but mainly full of people Sarah figured were die-hard fanatics of his art and who probably wouldn’t recognise Chris if he appeared in front of them dressed in his full Captain America get-up waving the American flag. As they passed by the smiling security guard. Noah wondered quietly to Sarah what the Venn diagram of McCurry aficionados crossed with Marvel fans would realistically look like. Given his nerdiness for all things mathematical, no doubt he’d have an answer figured out for them by the time they reached the Vietnam display two halls away.

“...and this was the photograph that started the Live Aid charity.” Jocelyn stopped in front of a small photograph, no larger than one you’d have in a frame at home yet unmistakeable on the wall alongside dozens of other images, Sharbat’s eyes piercing your soul. Walking slightly ahead of them, she’d somehow managed to link arms with Chris and was now acting as their defacto tour guide, explaining each piece to him in turn as though he’d never seen them before. Anyone who knew Chris properly would know he greatly enjoyed photography and was well read on the latest pieces. Nevertheless, he was still polite and nodded along as she enthusiastically spoke of the lens McCurry used to achieve the effects of his art.

As they moved through to the third and final hall space, things had gotten noticeable quieter as more people were filtering out. Noah and Jocelyn were deep in conversation with a local art student who had stopped to sketch a couple of pieces, and Chris seemed far more relaxed and happy walking around without his NASA cap on. No on had paid him any attention all afternoon, it must have been a nice change of pace for him.

Sarah lost track of how long she had been staring at a larger canvas piece of a bridge with a giant concrete hand underneath holding the structure up. The place was unknown and the image was photographed from high up, possible from a plane or helicopter. It was oddly serene even if the bridge had become overgrown with reeds and dirt.

“I think it’s meant to represent Mother Nature’s battle against Man,” Chris spoke quietly as he approached her from behind, standing to one side as she continued to stare at the image.

“That’s an interesting theory. Where did  you read that?”

“i happen to have an ongoing subscription with National Geographic.” Chris said, comically smoothing his beard in contemplation. Sarah almost believed him until she registered what he had said. Chris clocked her side-eying him. “Joss told me to tell you when she saw you looking at it.”

She smiled at him before turning back to the wall. “I think I want to visit this place one day. It’s like the complete opposite of Boston.” she mused.

“You’d never leave Boston. It’s in your DNA now. You’re officially one of us.”

“That’s....that sounds vaguely threatening.”

“You have leprechaun pyjamas and you’ve been drunk at Fenway. You pretty much tick all of the boxes.” Chris smirked and turned to walk away.

“How do you know I have those pyjamas?” Sarah followed behind him.

“I didn’t. You just told me.” Sarah punched him in the arm and Chris pretended to wince.

Noah had somehow managed to loop back around the bookshop from the start to purchase a couple of prints and a biography before joining them as they headed towards the exit. The rain had started getting a little heavier during the time they had been inside and Sarah chastised herself for ignoring Jocelyn’s advice to bring an umbrella with her. If there was one thing you could guarantee in even the nicest of Summers, it’s that Jocelyn Bernette always, ALWAYS, carried an umbrella in her handbag. Also, one of those waterproof macs that rolled up to the size of a dollar bill but she couldn’t convince anybody that they were a good idea.

As they gathered outside, Sarah gently pulled Chris back by his elbow. “Hey, there’s no pressure on staying for dinner if you’d rather head out or whatever. I think they were keen on you stopping out with us but I’m happy to make an excuse if you’d rather not.”

“What? No, it’s totally fine. I really like your folks. They’re fun and interesting.” Chris noticed Sarah’s look of skepticism. “Seriously, you need to chill. I’m having a good time. It’s nice doing normal things for a change.”

“In that case, I’ll let them know you’re up for a bike ride tomorrow. Dad wants to rent a tandem.”

“Are you....Are you being serious?” Sarah nodded. “Wow, they really go all out, huh? What are you gonna do while they do that?”

“No idea. Probably hold their bags.”

Chris laughed. “Man, those two are cute. I’d kill to be that dorky when I’m their age. You’re so lucky.”

Sarah considered his point for a moment, looking at Jocelyn waving her flip phone up in the air trying to get a signal. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d tried to convince her to upgrade, telling her they could stay in touch more easily with Whatsapp rather than pages-long emails once or twice a week. Sadly, this would turn out to be the last positive memory they would have of  their peaceful afternoon.

“Can I ask you something, but you have to promise not to get mad.” Chris posed an interesting question. How was she supposed to respond to that?

“I don’t get why you’re meeting Charlotte.” He could see Sarah about to protest and continued regardless. “I don’t see what good can come from this. You’ve tried it once before, it failed, and you didn’t leave you bed for two weeks. I was there, Sarah. It was horrible. I don’t understand why you would put yourself through that again.”

His tone was a little louder than he realised and placed a hand over his mouth, wiping at his beard as if that would somehow erase his words from having been spoken. Sarah didn’t know what to say. She was tired with a continuous feeling of frustration at having to explain away her decisions at every turn. She hadn’t mentioned meeting her birth mother for a while now but could sense the apprehension people had at the thought. If it wasn’t Chris, it was Shanna, and if it wasn’t Shanna, Audrey had kindly informed her she was taking an unnecessary risk although she didn’t put it quite so mildly.

“You don’t have to agree with me. I get that no one supports me here,”

“Oh, that’s unfair. Jesus.” He turned to face away from where Jocelyn was stood, only a few feet ahead of them but seemingly oblivious to their contention. “It’s not just you that this affects, you know. You seem to forget that.”

There was no mistaking his argument this time as he drew Sarah’s attention back in her mother’s direction.

“Have you guys been talking about this behind my back?” Sarah finally asked after what felt like minutes of silence. Noah was now indicating at something ahead of them.

Chris took a breath and Sarah could tell he was refraining from saying something he might regret. “No, we haven’t we’re just concerned is all. You don’t know her -”

“- hence why I am going to meet her.”

“- and you don’t know what she is after.”

She stood still as Chris continued walking but only getting a few steps ahead of her before noticing she’d stopped altogether. Jocelyn and Noah continued on ahead of them, enjoying the drizzly walk and the lights of the town and gradually getting further and further away.

“Do you not think it’s just what she wants to know who I am? What is it that you think she is after?”

“Sarah, don’t do this, OK? I’m not going to get into an argument with you about this now because I’m not going to say what you want to hear. I’m sorry.” He looked at her carefully for a second. “I just...I see you guys together hanging out and it fits, y’know? You’re so like them, Sarah. You think the same things, you like the same things. If I didn’t know you at all, I’d think you were the double of Joss. They’d be heartbroken if they knew what you were doing.”

Sarah couldn’t look him in the eye. The older Sarah would have possibly turned to run at this point, trying to avoid conflict at all costs, but they’d had spats before and Chris was nothing if not annoyingly unflappable. She knew he would tell her straight and as much as she might not want to hear it right in this moment, it was probably for the best.

He saw a flash of what looked like hurt cross her face. Now or never, he doubled down. “You wanted to know what I thought so I’m telling you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to make tracks but not before one last bash. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“Well, then it’s a bad idea I’ll deal with myself.”

*

[lisacatherwood]

Me and M.E.

The Horror

Fatigue as a word doesn’t begin to describe the horror that they casually call Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or M.E. - Myalgic Enephalo Myelitis

I was 14 in 1980 when I contracted a virus known then as glandular fever. I was seriously less than chuffed… I was an 800 meter runner. I was a member of my town swimming club, doing competitive swimming and planning to do scuba diving training (I desperately wanted to be a Marine Biologist). I played hockey and went on my bike to the athletics club on a Saturday. I had a lot to do, but I had friends who had had the illness, a cousin who had been very ill and had had a long recovery over some weeks, so we knew what to expect, and I wasn’t too worried.

I had a high fever and then a low grade fever and felt really rotten and it simply didn’t go away. It’s such a simple thing to write down but the reality was and is horrific for my family as well as for me.

I was finally diagnosed with M.E. (myalgic encephalomyelitis) when I was 22 years old. In the intervening time I had had nearly two years off school. I got O’ levels, at 16, doing two year’s work in a year but was then so poorly during my 6th form that I largely blew my ‘A’ Levels at 18. I spent some time in the metabolic unit at my local hospital as they tried to work out what was wrong, with no success. It was frightening and disappointing for me, and for my family. I was so exhausted, confused and miserable that I couldn’t even fill in the university applications never mind thinking of packing and going.

A pattern developed which has persisted until now, forty years later. I would start to rebuild my life out of the illness and then catch a bug or even just overdo it a little and be destroyed by it. The illness seems to be something to do with a defunct immune system. Some bugs, colds, flus etc. I catch and get over the same as other people, some I catch and it’s like my immunity fails. I can’t get rid of the bug and the symptoms persist for months and months. In my body it feels like the immunity starts to triumph in one part of the system, but is overwhelmed in others. Like chasing dry rot round an old house. The painful joints start to feel better and then it flares in my digestive system and I have nausea and other digestive symptoms. Or the headaches die away and I feel so physically weak, I can’t stand steadily, lift a kettle, turn a tap on, hold a pen. Not just tired, but sore and stiff and lacking control. I have had long periods of being incredibly fatigued cold and hungry. Mind numb, sluggish forgetful, time concertinas, days, weeks pass in weird disjointed forms, sometimes I can barely speak. Summer days spent in low light indoors with two duvets and a hot water bottle, the central heating on, the fire lit, still freezing cold.

Every year or two Something happens which knocks me down into bed for months, sometimes years. After the initial sickness illness the convalescence is unending. I have described it as being like the worst flu and hangover you have ever had combined and lasting for months – the problem with this description is that I don’t think it really explains it, people don’t really remember what that level of awfulness feels like. The brain has a gift for not really storing the memory of physical symptoms – pain discomfort etc. We remember as an intellectual exercise not as a visceral experience. Even if you can vaguely put together a sensation of what that might be like it doesn’t really scratch the surface. (Try thinking of what a strawberry tastes like – really imagine it, hard as you can. Now eat a strawberry. See?)

The terror of finding you can’t roll over in bed on your own, the humiliation of having to have your personal care taken care of by someone else, the days when all the radios in the world are on in your head, all light is too bright, all sound is too intense, the indignity of being questioned like a criminal in benefits offices and doctors surgeries. I think I can now write openly about all of this because I have nothing left to lose.

I think I had always tried to hide the damage the illness does particularly to my mind because I was afraid of a diagnosis of mental illness. I had an acquaintance who had the same symptoms as me when we were in our twenties, she ended up on a ward in our local mental hospital. They took her drawing materials away from her. They wouldn’t let her write. I fear this kind of thing more than anything.

I have not been idle. I have not been a scrounger. I have a tiny website design business. I work as much as I can always from home and now employ two people part time. I am a self taught artist and designer and love my work when I can do it and I do it as much as I can. Just at the moment that isn’t very much. But I live in hope.

I don’t have any children. We sat down and thought about it. It seemed that to bring a child into a house where their mother could spend long periods unable to look after them was a bad thing to do. We made the choice some years ago and given how my health has been subsequently we were right. We made an adult choice and we live with that every day. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t and isn’t painful. I say 'we' but my marriage broke up after 23 years due in no small part to the effect of my illness. When we married I was 25 and the prognosis was that the illness would lessen and in at worst 7 years it would be gone. I'd grow out of it.

I am writing now because I feel awful, my hands ache the tears of weariness and anguish are running down my face. The brain fog is ghastly and I feel so alone and isolated. My next major birthday I am 54. I have not learned to scuba dive. I didn’t become a marine biologist. In some ways it would not be over dramatic to say this illness has ruined my life. Certainly it has ruled it, changed it, made it unpredictable, difficult, at times nearly unbearable.

I saw a child on the TV the other night, recently diagnosed with ME/CFS, he is lying there, another little grey shape in a bed (we all go that way) and I saw the desperation in his mother and recognised myself and my mother. The silent scream of horror I had at seeing it all happening again was from the depths of my being.

That the scream was silent is partly because I don’t have the strength to scream and partly because I have no words. It is not just me – the English Language has not got the words.

I had a really bad flare which put me in hospital unable to walk in Oct 2018 and I’m still housebound/bedbound dealing with the consequences. Applied for disability benefit got a home visit and didn’t score a single point even after 40 years I am not believed. Too ill to fight for it and terrified about the future. My incredible Mum stepped in again to take care of me when this latest flare happened. I have no words to express my combined gratitude and shame for being this kind of endlessly needy daughter. l when, at this age I should be taking care of her.

Originally Written September 2012.

Header Artwork originally by me aged 15.

Added to in 2015 after my marriage broke up.

Updated July 2018 and again Feb 2020 for #MEAwarenesshour on Twitter every Wednesday share relevant content with the hashtag to help raise awareness.

Reposted July 2020 to send to @OxMEDiscovery

[dwellordream]

Hello I've got 2 questions: The first one was if you could do a directors cut of toms chapter from grass crown? The second one was if you have any tips for writers, specifically dealing with criticism? I'm not great with constructive criticism and have a hard time putting my work out there and I was wondering how you deal with it?

I like how chapter 10 of Grass Crown is now just known as ‘Tom’s chapter’ haha it sounds so foreboding. I was both very nervous and very excited to write Chapter 10 because I’d never attempted to write from Tom’s POV before, despite being tempted a few times during Barbed Wire. I know I discussed that chapter pretty heavily in the comment section so I’ll try to avoid repeating anything I said there. the chapter begins with Tom waking from a dream because I think it speaks to his nature- he has a lot of dreams for his future (most of them good for him, bad for others) and it could be correctly said that he is, in many ways, delusional. but he’a also got a pretty good track record with making his dreams (thus far) into reality, through a combination of smarts, cunning, blackmail/intimidation/threats, and networking.  Amy has mentioned before, because nothing is really ‘off limits’ to Tom, he very rarely doubts that he can achieve something; he’s like that meme of ‘everyone should have the confidence of a mediocre white guy walking into an interview he’s unqualified for’ haha. He’s used to getting his way, either sooner or later. the only ‘thing’ he’s ever dreamed of that he failed to materialize was a life with Amy in it. It was also important to me that everything in his house be described as modern and new and top of the line and carefully selected by him or Lydia. it’s really his version of a ‘fuck you!’ to his childhood at Wool’s, where he had very little control over his surroundings. now he has all the control.  we then go into the intro of the pensieve, which I knew pretty much from the start I wanted/needed to include, given the constant flashbacks and references to the past in this fic. Tom using a pensieve was a smoother transition to the memory than him just brooding on it for an hour straight.

what’s also interesting is the memory he’s chosen to ‘replay’ over and over again; yes, it is his and Amy’s ‘first time’ but his interest in watching this doesn’t really seem to be pornographic- he acknowledges that he’s not even interested in watching the act of sex itself over and over again- but what precedes and follows it. that level of vulnerability and intimacy which he had once and has never had again. I think it both intrigues and repulses him, the idea of ever opening himself up like that to anyone again. he mocks Amy’s appearance and his younger self’s devotion to her because that’s easier than confronting the pain of losing all that. he pretends to focus on the fact that sex just isn’t super exciting or even interesting to him anymore to avoid dwelling too much on the fact that being with Amy made him feel appreciated, not just in the physical sense for his looks, but appreciated and accepted as a flawed person, not for any other reason. we then get the creepy segue that A. Tom hasn’t been celibate since then, unsurprisingly or not and B. the one sex worker he frequents bears a passing resemblance to Amy. that sort of speaks for itself. Tom looks for her in the people around him, especially the women, and is both infuriated and pleased when they either live up to the standard she set... or miss it entirely. we then jump back into the memory and see Tom and Amy joking with each other after the fact and having a playful argument. this is obviously very painful for Tom, but he masks that by acting shocked and appalled that he ever let someone speak to him like that or mock him to his face like that. the lack of agenda or manipulation in his younger self at that point disturbs him, for all that the relationship between the two was already damaged at the time. we then see Tom head into work, which is pretty straightforward until the infamous interrogation with Jaime. Jaime is pretty much Tom’s opposite; referred to as a ‘conman’ and a ‘common thug’ and known for moving in the same circles as a lot of organized crime, he’s essentially the blue collar outlaw to Tom’s white collar, just-under-the-surface corruption and deceit. Jaime might not be trustworthy, but he doesn’t pretend to be, either.  Tom is so dismissive and derisive of him that he is enraged when his usual tactics don’t work, and Jaime fails to immediately turn on Amy, as Tom had expected him to do so. the idea of a ‘common criminal’ having some kind of code or honor or even loyalty to anyone but themselves both perplexes and angers Tom. he pivots to assaulting Jaime’s mind in an attempt to get the info on her by force, and is further incensed when Jaime’s memories of Amy conjure up feelings of warmth and affection. the idea of her even having a friendly relationship with Jaime Isola clearly does not sit well with him. unfortunately for Tom, his attempts to then imperius Jaime our cut short... and we see the transition to home again and the anxious wait for the election results. his conversation with Lydia is always interesting for me to write because they are both very calculated but trying to play it off as casual and innocent, and both always think they’ve got the upper hand at the moment. Tom suspects Lydia is not nearly as pure of mind and heart as she pretends to be, but is ambivalent about this, content to wait until they’re married to pry much deeper, and acknowledges her intelligence and charisma in the sense that it will be an asset to his career. he ‘scolds’ her a little by bringing up the fact that he knows about her visit to MESP, but is surprisingly unfazed by her lack of cowering or subservience when she gives a clearly overacted apology. she still, of course, demonstrates plenty of deferral to him in other ways, fixing him a drink and getting his mail.  also, of course, the note that Tom seems to like her best when she acts in a more ‘Amy-esque’ manner; he’s thrilled by her verbal approval of him and not nearly as put off as he usually might be by her open display of affection when she hugs him.  re: dealing with criticism: this is something I continue to struggle with, although I do my best not to get into sparring matches in the comment sections and I try to ‘see the best’ in every comment and not get derailed into a pointless argument over semantics or fixate on someone’s wording. I’m a sensitive person (I think a lot of writers are) and I think it’s okay to feel upset or hurt by someone’s criticism without feeling like you are being arrogant or selfish. sometimes constructive criticism can be delivered unkindly or in a convoluted manner, especially when it’s mixed in with more minor critiques or compliments, and sometimes criticism isn’t really criticism and is just someone expressing their frustration in the comment section. I know a lot of writers choose to moderate comments or disable non-ao3-user comments for this reason. I don’t do this because I want people to be able to read my comments and get an accurate sense of how readers felt right when the chapter was posted. even when the comments are embarrassing to me or make me feel bad about my writing. this is a personal choice and I’m not saying you should or must do this.  mostly I deal with it by trying to wait a little to respond; it’s easy to get upset and type out a snarky reply but sometimes if you wait a little you can get a better perspective on how the reader might have felt or what confused or annoyed or felt incongruous to them about your writing. when I do respond I try to just address things very point by point and straightforward, and I also generally do thank people for commenting unless they’re being a blatant troll and just looking for a rise from me.  overall I feel like it’s just something you have to get exposed to over and over again. I’m much better now about not taking comments too seriously or letting them direct my writing than I used to be. when you gain confidence as a writer you can sort of develop a better filter for what critique is useful to you and what isn’t. just because someone has raised a valid point in the comment doesn’t mean they necessarily have the best solution for said problem.  sometimes it is really just a matter of interpretation of a character. it also heavily depends on the fandom (if you are writing fic). in my experience the ASOIAF fandom, as much as I love it, tends to come in swinging a lot harder than the HP fandom, which I think is a little more chill and mellow and more ‘you do you’. if I mess up a worldbuilding detail or don’t explain myself properly in an ASOIAF fic, especially if it involves popular characters or plot points, I know I’m going to get heat for it in the comment section from someone. overall, I would say try to come at it from the commenter’s perspective, but also don’t let yourself obsess over it. it’s hard to remember but most fics do have a silent majority, and there are so many people who are just going to read it and enjoy it and who just don’t leave a comment because that’s not how they roll. if moderating comments and being able to approve them before they go up will make you feel more in-control and secure, then you should do that. I do find that if you reply to comments, a lot of times people might seem less abrasive or intimidating on comment #2 than #1, mostly because they’re not expecting to get a reply from the writer. you shouldn’t be afraid to go ‘actually, I agree with you regarding *insert*’ or ‘well, in my view, *character* is acting this way because...’ it’s good practice to be able to calmly state your opinion or defend your work without it turning into an online brawl, and it’s not a mark of weakness to agree with someone’s critique or acknowledge that you could have done something better. plus, you have to write a lot of crappy fics before you can write a good fic. I try to remember that when I look at my old works. nothing’s set in stone and you can absolutely continue to improve and adapt your writing as you go along.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

The Deadly Game

Ok, so people said they wanted to read this, so ask, and ye shall receive! I am actually super eager to see what y’all think of this little snapshot (although knowing me “little” is about three pages in Word lol). It’s not action-packed, but it is pretty tense. I hope it’s as tense as I intended it to be. I hope you guys like it because I kind of want to write more; this show is dark, which means an opportunity to see how dark Heather can go! 

Quick disclaimer: if you have not watched Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated (which, what is wrong with you, go watch it this instant), BEWARB! There are like huge spoilers ahead! I also own nothing except the awesome badass that is Heather McMann. Read on and enjoy, you meddling kids!

It was late at night by the time Heather got home. She rode up her driveway and stopped, killing the engine and removing her helmet. As she got off her motorcycle, she stopped and looked up at her house.

There was an uneasy feeling in her stomach, the feeling that something was off. Not enough that she wasn’t fearing going into her house altogether, but enough that she definitely felt it as she stared up at her house.

Of course, she’d felt such feelings ever since she first set foot in Crystal Cove—the whole town felt off no matter where she went. She put down the bike pedal and headed up the walkway to her front door, ready to grab her phone in case she needed to call the police. 

Heather unlocked her door, and stepped inside, shutting nd locking the door behind her. She entered her living room and looked around, taking in her surroundings in the light from the kitchen and the small nightlight she had plugged in somewhere. Nothing seemed out of place, or stolen. Plus her front door had been locked, and thanks to her investment in a good burglar alarm, she would have known if someone—or something—had broken in.

Unless, of course, they disabled the alarm.

Heather tried to ignore the thought and kept scanning the room. Then her eyes fell on the window across the room. It was one of the windows of her house that received the most sunlight, so it had various flower pots clustered around it.

And it was also wide open.

Heather’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps she was wrong, but she was very sure that window had been closed before she left.

Now on high alert, Heather stepped over to the window and inspected it. From the bright light of the moon, she could clearly see that someone—or something—had forced it open. Heather slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, unlocking it and meaning to call the police.

“What beautiful flowers you have.” Heather froze at the voice. It was light and pleasant-sounding, with a thick German accent. She knew that voice.

Heather turned around, putting her phone back into her pocket. Sitting perched on top of her armchair was a parrot. He was partly enshrouded in shadow, but there was enough light for Heather to make out his purple plumage, the white hair atop his head, and the purple scarf around his neck. She could also see his one piercing green eye, and his other milky eye—although that was due to the long scar traveling down his face and through his eye. He was sitting there casually, as though he did this all the time, and was stroking one of the flowers from the nearest hanging pot with one of his wings.

“One of the things you miss when you are in a cage,” he said, almost conversationally, “is the simple beauty of the flowers. It is good for me that you adore them so much.”

His voice—gods, Heather hated that voice. It sounded almost naturally pleasant, like he was having a good day just by seeing you. It promised things, things you didn’t even know you wanted yet. And just about anyone could be manipulated by that voice, without even realizing it.

That was, of course, only if you didn’t know the intimate details of the animal it belonged to. Which Heather did.

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d heard you escaped your cage. I figured you’d come visit me eventually.”

“As always, my dear schwarze dahlie, your keen intelligence is refreshing. I cannot begin to tell you the stupidity of some of the guards at the animal asylum.”

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Professor Pericles, the only bird worthy of a mention on a list of sociopaths?”

Pericles merely smiled at her, and somewhere in her mind she knew he knew her hatred of that smile. “Merely to pay an old freunde a visit.”

Anger flared up in her. “We are not friends. We were never friends.”

“True, but we shared mutual friends. How are dear Brad and Judy?” Heather hesitated. “Now, now, my dear schwarze dahlie, it is a simple question. You mustn’t be so paranoid.”

She had good reason to be paranoid. But Heather decided nonetheless to answer with the truth. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from them in years. But you, of course, know perfectly well why.”

Pericles nodded in concession. “True. I do hope they stayed together—such a lovely couple they made. Their son is a perfect mix of them, wouldn’t you say?”

Heather froze, nails digging into the sleeves of her jacket.

“My dear schwarze dahlie, you really think I couldn’t see the resemblance dear Frederick has to his parents? One look at the boy told me all I needed to know. It is lucky for our dear Mayor that Frederick grew to resemble him—saves a lot of questions from being asked.”

Heather wanted to growl at him. Instead she just gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police.”

Pericles simply laughed at her. “Call the police? Oh, but my dear woman, we both know you will do nothing of the kind.”

“How do you know?” she challenged. She pulled out her phone and held it up, showing him the number pad on the screen. “I could call them right now, and send you back to that cage where you belong.”

Pericles eyed the phone screen, and Heather was pleased to hear the pause before he spoke again. “You would do well to remember who you are dealing with, my dear schwarze dahlie.”

“And you would do well to remember who you are dealing with,” Heather returned. “You may have the smartest brain in the world, but you’re still a little bird. I could easily overpower you and send you back to prison, save Mystery Inc. and Mr. E the trouble of having to track you down.”

Pericles’s eyes narrowed; he was seriously considering her words. “So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t do all of that right now.”

“The fact that we both know it will solve nothing,” Pericles answered, in far too smooth a voice for Heather’s liking. “Even if you succeed in sending me back, in the end, it will solve none of the problems Mystery Incorporated faces. And,” Pericles added, “if such a thing occurs, where you do send me back, in the end, all the secrets you have worked to bury will be brought to light again, most likely by the same kinder you wish to protect.”

Heather glared at him, working to keep her voice even. “That’s never going to happen. Even you, for all your smarts, know nothing of who I truly am.” A small smirk came to her face. “I’m the one puzzle you can’t figure out.”

Both of them knew she was right. Sure, Pericles knew some details—why else would he take such pleasure in calling her that nickname?—but even what he knew wasn’t the real truth. It was the one victory Heather had over the damned bird, knowing that she had buried her past so well even he couldn’t find it.

“Perhaps,” Pericles said, and even though his voice sounded the same Heather saw in his body how miffed he was by that reminder. “But the fact of it solving nothing still stands. You know this as well as I do. The die has been cast; the game has begun once more. Fortunately for you, and the kinder, it is important that they remain alive. So you may take solace in that I do not mean them any harm.” For now. 

She didn’t take much solace in that at all. “If that’s all you came here to tell me,” Heather said, “then it’s best you leave. It’d be a shame if all of your plans were to be ruined by a neighbor seeing me talking to you.”

“Not quite,” Pericles replied. “I have one more piece of advice. From this point on, I would watch your back. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to you for meddling into things beyond your understanding.”

“I could say the same for you,” Heather responded. “You should remember that when you try to meddle in things you don’t understand, you always pay the price. One way or another.”

She let that statement hang in the air in the ensuing silence.

“Well, we shall see,” Pericles said after a moment. He spread his wings and flapped himself up off the armchair. “Sleep well tonight, my dear schwarze dahlie. Flowers do not sell themselves.”

As Pericles flew toward the open window, Heather turned around to head down the hallway to her bedroom.

“I do have one more question to ask you,”

Heather stopped walking, but didn’t turn around. Pericles continued. “If you were the esteemed Mayor Jones, and you stole something from me… where would you hide it?”

For some reason, a part of Heather didn’t want to answer the question. For all her dislike of Jones, they were alike in that they knew how far Pericles was willing to go to get what he wanted. But then she remembered everything else Jones had done.

He got himself into this mess. Let him get himself out of it.

Heather turned her head towards Pericles, who was looking in her direction. “He trusts me about as far as he can throw me. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

She turned her head back around and disappeared down the hall, the sound of flapping wings haunting her every step. 

[absentlyabbie]

Flommy. Soulmate AU of sorts. Kiiiind of canon divergence, very loosely.

First, the canon divergence:

So all the pre island shit still happens. Rebecca Merlyn dies when her son is eight years old. Her husband abandons their child to gnash his teeth on a global tour and develop his plan for class warfare and eventual class genocide. Thea Queen is conceived and born. Tommy Merlyn grows up under neglect and contempt as his father manipulates and strong arms his fellow one percenters into committing to his deeply shady undertaking, becoming more criminal and morally bankrupt the deeper they all get into Malcolm’s plan. Oliver Queen grows up lost and misunderstood and acts out as badly as a rich white boy can until he’s looking to sabotage every relationship he has (that isn’t with Tommy) because he doesn’t like himself and doesn’t know who else to be.

Instead of boarding a boat to China that Malcolm sabotages, setting into motion the chain of events that make Ollie into the Hood, the Queen men elect to fly. (Not sure yet how Sara is involved but she probably is; also the flight thing might not be how it goes down) and Malcolm has them kidnapped before they reach the airport.

It’s a huge national story. Billionaire CEO and playboy heir abducted and missing for three weeks. No calls for ransom. No leads. So many tabloid stories being nasty at Moira and about Robert’s history of infidelity.

Meanwhile, Oliver and Robert are held at an obscure facility as both are interrogated and at times tortured, as Malcolm seeks to know how, he believes, Robert is planning to betray him.

Robert gives away nothing, but two weeks in, Oliver is in terrible shape, often tortured to try and break Robert. Robert in their cell does his shitty confession and putting his burdens on his son, making Oliver memorize names and dirty deals and connections and giving him cryptic clues to a cache of incriminating evidence against Malcolm and all the others. Then Robert makes a half assed escape attempt, wresting a gun from a guard and trying to force them to set them free. When it’s clear that won’t work, he apologizes to Oliver and shoots himself in the head, hoping that with no more reason to hold him, they’ll let Oliver go.

Oliver, crazed by grief and days of torture, violently assaults the remaining two captors, disabling one. Little does he realize the authorities have found them and the FBI sweeps in just as Oliver finishes beating a guard to death.

This helps get him into the situation that comes next.

Oliver ends up turning state’s evidence. To protect his mother and sister, to get revenge for his father, and because he is threatened with a trial by agent Amanda Waller.

So, traumatized, changed forever, and on a mission, Oliver can’t bear to return to Starling. When Tommy tries to visit him, before it’s known it was Malcolm behind it all, the encounter goes very badly. Oliver is dark, angry, obsessed. They feel impossibly far from one another. Tommy goes home heartbroken and feeling abandoned again. Oliver pursues revenge disguised as justice. This however leads only to more pain.

Two revelations come at the same time: his mother was as deep in as his father and therefore could be subject to prosecution, regardless of the pressures that put her there. Also, at last, the man behind it all. Malcolm Merlyn, his best friend’s father.

Oliver knows this will destroy Tommy’s life. For that alone he would hesitate. But. But. Malcolm is poison. A monster. And he has only one chance to broker a deal to save his mother, and giving up Tommy’s father is it.

And so, the Undertaking is averted, but its full scope revealed to all. Malcolm is arrested and charged. Oliver could only bring himself to tell Tommy at the last minute. The two are in such hurt and anger they do not speak for the next few years. Still, Tommy does testify at his father’s trial. For the state. He corroborates details and speaks to Malcolm as a father: cold, cruel, exacting and contemptuous. Tommy is dragged in the press plenty on his own. The final nail in the coffin of it all is when Malcolm flies into a rage at the Merlyn house the last day of the trial and almost kills his son.

Malcolm is sentenced to life in prison for numerous crimes, including conspiracy to commit domestic terrorism and attempted murder of his own child. In prison, soon after, he is killed in a prison riot (actually dead or orchestrated disappearance? Who knows.)

Meanwhile Tommy is left to grieve and process and pick up the shattered pieces of his life. The Queens leave Starling, and Oliver becomes almost a hermit to, like, bodybuild and try to psychologically heal and hopefully stay out of Waller’s clutches. Tommy stays in Starling, his trust and assets and inheritance tied up or seized at large by the federal government, the board of Merlyn Global desperately seeking a rebranding or possibly overall firesale, and the city and world in general associates his last name with violent class hatred and corruption.

Years pass. Oliver and Tommy don’t talk. Oliver does not return to Starling. Tommy regains fractions of his fortune over time, maybe opens a business, definitely opens several clinics, charities, and nonprofits across the city. To some he is a hero, a prince of redemption. To others he’ll never shine bright enough to be free of his father’s shadow. Laurel is his good friend and he has been quietly repressedly in love with her for some time, and doing nothing about it.

Now,  the concept:

Soulmates happen, though they’re referred to as soul bonded. They’re not always romantic relationships. It’s a metaphysical bond between people uniquely suited to understand, support, and be complemented by one another.

Being bonded is not a given. It happens, not infrequently, but not so much so that everyone can assume it will happen to them.

Being bonded also doesn’t mean there can’t be breakdowns in the relationship. It’s still something you have to choose to work at. Being bonded just means really that this is a person so well suited to being a vital part of your life, why wouldn’t you choose to work at maintaining it?

So. The way it works. You encounter a person who is your bond partner in the wild, and a mark appears, typically near the chest region, often over the heart or center of the sternum (anomalies do occur.) You can’t miss it because it appears with a feeling almost like you’ve been branded, and it’s described by those who experience it as an electric current tethering you suddenly to your bond partner. You become hyper aware of them.

To outsiders, the bondmark is unmistakable. They couldn’t draw it or describe it in detail, but there is something visceral in the human brain that recognizes it, and recognizes when they match. Even when directly photographed, this holds true to observers.

In this way, bond marks cannot be copied or forged. They cannot be imitated with tattooing or obscured by scars or burns.

(Because even in stories I’ll never write I go hard on world building.)

The bond does confer certain unique connections. Not like telepathy or viewing through one another’s eyes or walking in dreams. But that hyper awareness of your bond partner doesn’t go away. It’s almost an empathetic awareness. It hums, and it carries non verbal understanding, and it feels most settled and right when the partners are together and spend time with one another as best suits who they both are and the dynamic they establish between them.

New bonds are tricky. They are intense and absorbing, and can even be uncomfortable and strange and almost obsessive at times. This newness can last for a period of typically three to eight weeks. This period is referred to as “settling.”

It’s the time during which the new bond through physical and psychological stimuli encourages the new partners to get to know and become comfortable and familiar with one another.

This is typically characterized as a time when new bond partners have difficulty focusing on things unrelated to their partner for long stretches, and a need to not just be in each other’s presence, but often physical contact. This may mean cuddling, sitting closely, thoughtless, casual intimate touches. Ignoring or denying these settling urges can lead to physical discomfort, anxiety, and emotional and mental distress.

Bond partners who are romantically or just physically suited often get rapidly intimately involved during this period, though that doesn’t always mean it will stay that way, and it’s not a given.

(You can be bonded to more than one person, of course. Multiple people can even be bonded to each other. For now the idea is Flommy but let’s not pretend OT3 isn’t always an option with me and it’s definitely an option this concept allows for.)

That’s the other thing, though. First: bonds do not manifest until after maturity, typically no earlier than age 20.

Second, and this is the thing least understood: bonds most often manifest when mature partners first encounter one another. BUT not always, especially with people who knew each other prior to maturity.

There’s a lot of theories, most popular that the bond manifests when both partners are ready to be bonded, or in other words, have grown into the version of themselves truly suited to their partner. But no one really knows. It’s not an exact science.

And plenty of scientific research has indeed been done on soul bonding. There’s a department of the national health organization dedicated to it, legal provisions made for bonded partners, including work and school accommodations for those in the settling period.

(Settling can typically be physically measured through hormones via bloodwork.)

There are societal benefits to bonded relationships after all. Bonded partners tend to be more stable members of society, the possibility of your bonded being anyone promotes empathy, outreach, and social safety nets being extended more broadly, and on the local scale, many studies have shown that bonded partners have a stabilizing, sometimes even calming effect on their immediate social groups and environments.

And of course, there’s plenty of media romanticism of bonded relationships. It’s the biggest subgenre of romance books and films, but is often prevalent in all other genres, especially popular in law enforcement/war story/etc stories.

Now for the actual story:

Tommy visits Queen Consolidated one day to try and woo the board into partnering with one of his charities. He leaves uncertain if they will take it as an opportunity for redemptive PR or treat associating with a man named Merlyn like bathing in radioactive waste. On his way out through the lobby, he literally runs into a cute blonde he wouldn’t have really glanced at twice.

And nothing will ever be the same.

The bonding is instant, electric, and undeniable. However, it is also... unwelcome.

Neither of them is remotely happy that it happens.

Tommy is in love with Laurel and has been talking himself into making a real move. This is the worst timing. And bonding or not, the idea of letting someone get close to him like that is terrifying. He has been abandoned and betrayed and discarded his whole life. In his mind, not even a bonding can make someone want to keep him around in any capacity.

And if they do, he would think it was only because they “had to” because that bond. That’s not how bonding works, but it’s a popular and persistent misconception.

And new bonds can put serious strain on preexisting relationships. When opposite sex, attraction-compatible partners are bonded, the general public has a hard time believing it’s not sexual and/or romantic, and even still insecurity and jealousy from nonbonded romantic partners can complicate matters.

So Tommy is exasperated and suspicious and unhappy.

Felicity is no happier, however.

New bondings require mandatory paid leave from work during the settling period and Felicity has been trying to make advancement finally happen in her career at QC. And bonding leave has historically had a more negative effect on women’s career trajectory than men’s.

It’s still our world, unfortunately.

It’s no different than women starting families.

Beyond even just the career implications, however, Felicity has never wanted to be bonded. Not in any way she’d admit to anyways.

Her parents were bond partners. And still her father walked away from them when she was six.

Her mother, when she is drunk and feeling reflective, will admit they were never meant to be romantic partners. He was her best friend. They rarely slept with each other after settling, but it wasn’t never. The pregnancy wasn’t planned. Donna was delighted. Her husband had never wanted children.

And while he loved Felicity, he never really took to fatherhood. The strain broke down their relationship. And even bonded, when you stop communicating, and circumstances are adverse to both partners’ needs being met, and you stop working on your relationship... no relationship is perfect or safe forever from hurt. Not even a soul bonded one.

(Because in my concept, being soulmates isn’t a magical fix for everything. It’s too much an easy button sometimes. I find that dissatisfying.)

Now, what happened between Felicity’s parents isn’t impossible. It’s even understandable, if tragic nonetheless. And her father still made cruel choices in abandoning them and never returning.

But Felicity was six and it hurt her deeply while her ideas of the world were still forming. She decided as she grew up that bonding was bullshit and looking to be bonded so you could feel safe or be happy was asking to get your heart broken, a fairy tale you would be stupid to trust.

So now here she is, bonded to someone whose last name is almost synonymous with domestic terrorism, who doesn’t want to be bonded either, and is in love with someone else. And right when she’s trying to take control of her career, too. Add to that how impossible it will be to maintain her happily anonymous life when bonded to one of Starling’s most infamous sons and none of this looks like a good time.

But you can’t take back a bonding. You can’t undo or break it. Some people are made to have a home in your heart, and the best you could do is evict them and board it up. Still leaves a chamber empty. You can live with it, but you’ll always feel it. And the settling is unavoidable. Even if you choose to never see each other again after, you have to get through settling first.

(You cannot, by the way, be bonded to someone who would truly abuse you. If they would rape or willingly harm you, they’d never be the person so suited to you that you were bound.)

Like there are ways to get through settling on the bare minimum. If both partners are not interested in fostering their connection to its full potential, they can do the least possible to get through settling with minimal discomfort, then simply choose to drift apart and not keep up with each other or stay in contact. (Even then, though, you’re still bonded. Sometimes you’ll just Know something is happening. You’ll feel the urge to reach out, to look in on their life. Hearing about them will always make you pensive for a while. But it’s up to you what to do about any of that.)

Felicity got this far forcefully assuming she’d never be bonded with anyone. Insisting to herself and anyone who asked that she actively didn’t want to be. Tommy had always thought if he bonded with anyone it’d be Oliver. And when that didn’t happen at 20, and things fell out as they did, he assumed... well. He was too broken. Too fundamentally unlovable. Too tainted by the loneliness of his childhood and the selfish monstrosity of his father. His parents weren’t bonded. They chose each other completely on their own, was how his mother put it. He used to think that was even more romantic. As he got older he talked himself into believing it was because of how terrible and cold a person Malcolm was, incapable of bonding equally to anyone at all. Talked himself into believing he must be enough like his father to be similarly incapable of bonding.

(And you know, in every soulmate au I’ve ever toyed with that’s held true. Tommy has always assumed it would be Oliver.)

So when the bond happens to Tommy and Felicity completely out of the blue, two perfect strangers, oh they are pissed. And resistant. They assume they will get through settling and never bother one another ever again if they can manage it.

They want very much to keep it quiet.

That lasts less than a day.

After all, it happened in public. Bondings aren’t entirely commonplace but they’re not rare. If you’ve ever witnessed one, you knew it. That sense of electric connection isn’t imaginary, and at point of contact, can be felt like a ripple by those around the connection. Like holding your hand up to an old tv boxset screen just after turning it off.

All it takes is for someone to follow the feeling back and realize they recognize one of the people now staring at each other with their hands on their chests.

A call to a newspaper or tabloid. “Tommy Merlyn just got soul bonded in the lobby of Queen Consolidated!”

The news is spreading before Tommy and Felicity are even properly grappling with it. By the time they’ve had their first conversation and already decided they want to settle quietly and go their separate ways, it’s already a Twitter rumor and the trashiest tabloid in town is putting out speculation about the mystery bond partner of the infamous Merlyn son.

So. Tommy and Felicity don’t get to settle quietly. The first dent in Felicity’s knee jerk hostility towards Tommy is when he immediately works to do what he can to keep her identity concealed once it’s out there that she exists, just not who she is.

Things get complicated fast too. They can’t keep her identity hidden for long at all, though it matters that Tommy tries, and when higher ups at QC find out that the new bond partner of Tommy Merlyn is an employee of theirs (and a bonafide trending topic), it shifts their standing on his proposal for partnership.

He was right that they were leaning towards not partnering with his charity out of a conservative desire to keep the Merlyn and Queen names still separate. It’s only been five years after all. But as interest in Felicity grows it will be impossible to avoid connection since she works there, and if they fired her to try and cover their asses they’d open themselves up to a lawsuit and public backlash. It’s bad optics to make employment decisions based on a person’s bond partner(s), and if provable is illegal in certain circumstances. It’s also wildly unpopular with the public.

So they pivot to cozying up and trying to maximize on it. They’ll do the partnership and even go over the requested funding, but only if Felicity agrees to participate in the PR push. They intend to go with the partnership/redemption/community healing spin.

And won’t it look pretty to partner with a Merlyn charity for lower income health care initiatives with Tommy Merlyn showing up with their employee, much closer to that class than his own, on his arm.

All of this is complicated by the initiative rolling out the pr push during their settling period, a time most new partners choose to stay out of public by and large.

It can be pushed back slightly, but not enough.

So that will be Felicity’s first public appearance as bond partner to Tommy Merlyn, at a donor gala soliciting funding for free clinics and other low income healthcare initiatives.

In the meantime, they have to actually deal with their settling period, and hope they can be balanced enough at the time of the gala not to be petting each other in front of the press corps.

After all, what happens when you have two deeply lonely and desperately touch starved people bonded at the soul level?

Intense need and desire for physical contact.

Most new partners actually move in together during their settling period because need for prolonged physical contact between bond partners is extremely common.

Think Tommy running his hand up and down Felicity’s arm. Felicity absently playing with his hair when they’re alone. And Felicity’s gala dress will have a plunging neckline (showcasing the mark) and an even more plunging back. Tommy will not be able to stop running his hand down her spine. He isn’t even conscious of it most of the time. She hardly is either, just unconsciously leaning into the instinctive comfort of it. But there will be plenty written about it before press time the next day.

The touching starts soon in the settling process. Before they realize it tbh. They’re angrily telling each other they don’t want this and yet they keep touching each other. Hand on her arm to pull her out of the lobby to talk privately. Pushing at his chest to underscore her point. Etc.

He probably guides her to an unused conference room or whatever and she probably immediately ignores him to start unbuttoning her shirt in a panic, looking for her mark, brand new and right smack in the middle between her breasts. Tommy wigs out at that and they’re on the wrong foot from the jump.

(Tommy’s is upper left pectoral. Literally right above his heart)

“Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa, I did not drag you in here for sex, stop undressing!”

“Shut up! I need to see it. Don’t you need to see it? I can feel it. Oh my god. Oh my god, this can’t be happening to me. Do you see it? Tell me this isn’t real.”

They probably argue until the frustrated tears in her eyes lead him to suddenly unbutton his own shirt and prove to them both the marks are real.

But every second since the bonding that electric hum ratchets up til it’s an impossible to ignore itch. They part ways at some point, within hours after, but it’s hardly dark out before Felicity is getting in her car. She tells herself she’s just too damn ansty to be still and needs to go driving. She winds up outside his apartment building without even knowing that’s where she is. He thinks he’s gone downstairs to take a walk and sees her instead.

So Felicity goes up to Tommy’s place once they realize they were literally being drawn to each other. She spends the night there. They talk long into the night, admittedly a lot of it arguing and snarking, but once they’re sitting on the couch with no space between them he starts playing with her fingers without even realizing it. Once they do, they both just watch his fingers toying with hers in loaded silence until she abruptly bursts into tears.

He’s startled, panicking and trying awkwardly to comfort her and please tell him if he did something wrong. But she’s so frustrated with her tears and it’s making her cry harder. She only barely, figuring it out out loud, manages to articulate that she can’t remember the last time someone just touched her like this, and it’s killing her, and she doesn’t want him to stop and that scares her.

And he terrifies himself by nearly crying too because fuck he gets that. He wants so badly for her to just please let him keep touching her like this, because it hurts how much his skin aches to touch another person so simply, just simple human contact, and he’s not sure that’s okay and why would she want to let him touch her, and how do you even ask for things like that without sounding like a creep?

And she doesn’t look at him like he’s evil incarnate, or the son of it. It helps that she moved to Starling after it all happened. She heard about it, but in the abstract way you hear about local taxes going up, or how everyone hates that one sports team.

He was an abstract concept. She didn’t research him or read the articles or follow his big moves into charity work.

He’s just a person to her.

He’s just himself.

Everyone has baggage.

His is just larger scale as far as she’s concerned.

Not that they get into that right away. That first night is still kinda awkward. The getting to know you small talk mixed with late night slumber party deepness interspersed with bouts of silence and a whole lot of cautious casual touching.

But it does make them realize that they’re going to have to deal seriously with being bonded and especially settling.

Whiiiich necessitates certain moves.

First, Felicity has to deal with work. Before the board has moved on their big idea, she puts in her notice of bonding, starting the paperwork to initiate her government mandated settling leave.

The process is completed by a doctor's note stating that bloodwork shows she is indeed in the settling phase of bonding.

Which precipitates their next stop.

Most hospitals and clinics have specialists for this sort of thing. Not just for bloodwork but for sort of... entrance counseling. They talk to the partners separately, confirm bloodwork, provided documentation legally recognizing the bond, and if the partners choose, they can then also be counseled together. It’s the point at which most people get their questions answered about both being bonded and the settling process.

In his individual session, Tommy is probably asking questions about the practicalities of settling, and how to maintain relationships outside a settling bond, and what to do about being in love with someone else while the bond is making you focus on a different person entirely.

(His doctor, a handsome black man in his later thirties, smiles in amusement at that and reminds him not all bonds are romantic and they are certainly not automatically exclusive of other relationship possibilities.)

But Felicity.

Felicity is after the numbers and statistics. How many bondings go badly, what’s the average length of a settling period, what percentage are platonic vs romantic, and do bond partners who are attraction-compatible always end up romantically or sexually involved or can they remain platonic from the start?

So many questions. Her doctor is a youngish Latina woman, close to 30, maybe a little past, and she takes Felicity’s frenzied questions in stride, patient and reassuring but not condescending. When Felicity asks that last question the conversation veers a bit.

“Do you want the speech I’ve already given you about your continued autonomous freedom to choose and control over your actions? Or do you want more numbers and statistics?”

“Numbers, please. Unknowns bother me. Not like scare me, but they bother me, I just need to know, I need cold, hard numbers. Numbers are trustworthy, numbers are reliable.”

He doctor gives her a tolerantly skeptical look. “The cold, hard numbers it is then. In most studies and surveys, the numbers have been pretty consistent. This doesn’t change anything I said about choice or your control over your decisions, but statistics wise? Typically, for attraction-compatible partners, in all honesty, it’s above 80% odds that the partners at some point become romantically or sexually involved. It doesn’t always remain that way, but that’s the odds of involvement at some point over the lifetime of the bond.”

Felicity gapes. “Eight... eighty percent? More than eighty percent?”

Doc nods. “More than 80%. Of course, that does include brief flings and even oneoff intimate encounters. Are you ready for more numbers?” Felicity gulps and nods. “About 93% of those partners get romantically or sexually involved during the settling period. Even if it never happens again, if it’s going to, the odds are overwhelmingly in favor of it being during the most intense period of the bond, while it’s still new and the partners haven’t found their balance quite yet. After all, it’s a very absorbing, intensely emotional period.”

Felicity sits there looking poleaxed. The doc looks at her a little pityingly. “Still prefer those numbers?”

Felicity groans and falls backward on the examination table. “So I’m definitely going to sleep with him? Or, ugh, fall in love with him?”

The doc shakes her head, rolling her eyes heavenward while Felicity isn’t looking. “Not definitely. But it’s a strong possibility.” Felicity muffles a low scream in her forearms. The doc snorts and, when Felicity sits back up, smiles brightly. “But hey, even if it does happen you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Protection is still best in all cases, but an aspect of the hormone cocktail that indicates the settling period does preclude the possibility of successful conception.”

Felicity is not really reassured by this.

So Tommy asks the existential questions at the clinic and Felicity asks how screwed (ha) they are by statistics. Neither is feeling particularly awesome about things after their individual counseling sessions but because they are stupid they opt not to also be counseled as a pair.

They’re morons who are resisting the trust and communication aspect of being bonded.

Idk if I’d end up splashing plot around on this thing or just focus solely on the relationship aspect.

Regardless, even if plot, large focus would be on these two getting to know each other during settling and slowly realizing that the bond—and each other—might be exactly what they needed in their lives. It would be hellaaaaa slow burn.

And then there’s the option to expand.

Tommy and Felicity settle before I’d let Oliver butt in, that’s certain. Adding him to the mix too early would be a disaster.

So big focus on Tommy/Felicity relationship development. Lots of talking and cuddling and minor metaphysics. Eventual shift towards the romantic, and its undoubted accompanying angst.

But also possibly some at least minor plot developments in regards to Felicity pushing to further her career, and plenty of entanglement with Tommy’s reputation and unearned notoriety as well as his efforts to make up for his father’s sins by furthering the legacy of his mother’s life’s work.

I’m thinking there miiiight be an incident of some sort at the charity gala.

Not sure if like... an actual attack aimed at Tommy or like disgruntled people going too far.

And I have this line in my head of them like hiding out in a dark spot somewhere and Tommy miserably apologizing for dragging her into his family bullshit. “You were living a normal, safe life until I happened to you. I’m so sorry.”

And Felicity is half ignoring him as she tries to figure out how to help the situation, and just smirks at him wryly. “Please don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re the most interesting thing to ever happen to me.”

And of course at some point in the chaos they’ll get separated and it will drive them crazy, frantically searching through the crowd until they find each other. The photo of them clinging desperately to each other once reunited probably makes a few front pages.

Laurel may or may not be there, and Tommy will no doubt end up deeply conflicted about that.

Felicity at some point follows him around on the job with his various charities and nonprofits he’s either started or is deeply involved in and she develops a troubling passion for the work he does. Troubling because she initially wonders if it’s her own passion or something she’s picking up from him.

She starts making mental notes of things that could be improved.

Not on purpose. But when she notices things that could help she can’t just not tell him of course.

And that’s it that’s the meta thus far.

@abuiltinremedy @sweetme86 @illgiveyouallofme @arrowsgirlfriday @folly1977 @memcjo @it-was-a-red-heeler @karolstrange @hungrytiger11 @adeusminhacolombina @lfcoffee @trinket-the-bear @tosailuponthesea @julandran @fiore-della-valle @deathandindignitybedamned @obscure-sentimentalist @dullbittylife @posterchildforinsanity @msbeccieboo @mell-bell @thebravething @lemmyeatspeaches @soaringcities @inevermindyou @sickandtwisteddoc @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline

[micropenisunveiled-blog]

How Having a Small Penis Messes With Men’s Minds     

I noticed my penis was one of the smaller in the bunch as a kid, when I used the communal showers after swimming, track and basketball practices. So for a long time public washing was strictly off limits—I'd rather drive home from the gym in my sweaty clothes and shower in the privacy of my own apartment.

My insecurities about his 3.3-inch erection affect more than just my hygiene habits. Condoms didn't stay on well, and that made sex more of an anxiety trip than it already was. In a recent bout of obsession, I gathered a "database" of scientific papers on penises and measured myself multiple times a day for several weeks to see how I sized up. Growing up, it shaped me socially, even when my pants were on. Because of teasing from my brothers and some team mates at school I became quite insecure.  I had an ongoing fear that I would never grow up, never become a man.  I feel that my low self-esteem, due to my size, was a main driver for this.  I did an interview with Michelle Malia, freelance reporter on November 3 2017 that was published in Tonic. 

I am reprinting the article here.

I suspect that lots of guys can relate to my story. It is part of why I started this website.

THE TONIC ARTICLE

Almost one in five American men are unhappy with the length of their erection, according to a recent study of more than 4,000 men, and another 15 percent have a problem with their girth. You won't be surprised to learn that the guys who thought their penises fell short had less sex than the penis-proud group. "Being small can be the heaviest of burdens. I'm genuinely afraid of everything and everybody alike," says David, 30. "I feel I just can't be truly sexually desirable to women with my size."

There's a lot of dick-shaming that perpetuates this idea. When Marco Rubio exposed Donald Trump's small hands, Trump felt the need to tell the whole country that his penis was perfectly fine, thanks. (On national television. During a presidential debate.) In a Fat Shack ad, a seductive blonde—lips parted, a trail of mustard dripping out of her mouth á la cum—holds a sandwich. "Four inches has never been so satisfying," the caption reads.

It goes beyond mainstream news and marketing and weasels its way into casual conversation. "A lot of the jokes we make in everyday life are often sexually related in one way or another," says Abraham Morgentaler, a urologist and the director of Men's Health Boston, whose practice focuses on the health effects of testosterone deficiency. "It's sort of standard humor for guys to josh each other about masculinity type stuff, including penis size."

Movies and television frequent take jabs at villains and characters by assaulting their masculinity.  No one would consider making fun of a man with one arm, or a blind individual.  When asked in a recent Bloomberg poll what bothered them most about Donald Trump voters picked one action above all others: when he mocked a reporter with a disability in November 2015.   But no one winces when someone makes fun of a man’s small penis.  Interesting!

Morgentaler calls men with dick fixations "peno-centric." The idea that the size of your junk validates you as a man might start as early as boyhood. "When we're younger and coming of age sexually, when there's a lack of sophistication about what it means, number one, to be a man, and number two to be a good lover, the thing that men can see and point to and certainly think about is really the penis," he says.

Boyhood is synonymous with inexperience, and sadly, we don't magically figure everything out as adults. Some guys may think they're small even when they're not, but for the ones who do fall left of the bell curve, the best way to get over it is by being realistic about what your penis "should" look like and how important it really is in the long term”, Morgentaler says.

Lots of people never have the chance to see other people having healthy, real-life sex, so they might base their expectations on the sex they do see, usually in porn. But—shocker—porn is not real life. Those macho men are more than well endowed and that can give off the wrong idea, that you need to sport an eight- or nine-inch shaft (also, ow—but we'll get to that later) to satisfy your sex partners.

"If a guy watches 50 or 100 of these video clips, he's going to feel inadequate because he may be smaller than every one of those," Morgentaler says. "But those men are extremely unusual." When researchers sifted through data on more than 15,000 men, they found that the average penis is 3.6 inches soft and 5.2 inches erect. Nothing like many of the massive dicks we see on our laptops.

On a purely biological level, it's also irrational to think size has anything to do with your baby-making skills. "If it matters from an evolutionary standpoint, the best question would be, does it increase fertility?" says Robert Martin, an evolutionary biologist and adjunct professor at the University of Chicago. "The testes size indicates the potential of producing sperm, but I don't see any connection between penis size and anything that would be important in evolutionary terms." There's no evidence that primates have ever used their penises as a power display, he adds, and it may even have little to no effect on how physically desirable you are as a man.

Australian researchers generated 343 life-size male figures that ranged in body shape, body height, and penis size. They projected these "men" on a screen and asked 105 heterosexual women to rate how sexually attractive they were. The women cared most about body shape, which was responsible for 79.6 percent of attractiveness. (They preferred a triangular torso with wide shoulders and narrow hips.) Height came next with 6.1 percent, and penis size fell by the wayside, accounting for only 5.1 percent of attractiveness. "It seems to be a male preoccupation," Martin says.

It's a preoccupation that can be debilitating. Andy, 24, has never heard complaints from sex partners about his 4.7-inch erection, but he still can't shake the feeling that he's coming up a half-inch short. "It lingers in my mind throughout the day on a regular basis," he says. "It causes great anxiety and depression most of the time." Andy started to notice he was smaller than average when he was 19. Like Jase, he also measures a lot. "There [have] been days when I find myself spending a huge amount of time with a ruler next to my penis."

When he's naked in front of sex partners, he often tries to cut through the awkwardness of the initial reveal by being self-deprecating—"It's small, huh?"—but nobody has ever complained or agreed.

It's not crazy that Andy's partners aren't throwing him shade. When it's part of the equation, the penis is an important part of sex—whether it's the real thing or the dildo equivalent. But it's not everything. "How we talk and behave in bed, how we touch, these are all important parts of what makes for good sex," Morgentaler says. "The hands and the mouth and the lips are all part of that. The penis is just one part of the repertoire."

Bigger is not always better, and that goes for anal, too. Research in the Journal of Sexual Medicine found that 72 percent of women and 15 percent of men feel pain during anal sex. In another study, 76 percent of bottoms reported pain during anal, and for 23 percent of those guys, it was worse than mild.

Not to mention more than a third of women need clitoral stimulation, not penetration, to reach orgasm.

Jace told us that he wonders if he was born bisexual, or if his life experiences led him to exploring sexuality with men, specifically because of his fear of intimacy with women after bad experiences.  In his relationships with women he told us that he had used large strap-ons, penis extenders, and sex toys of all kinds before he finally figured out all women need is need is clitoral stimulation to reach her oh-my-god moments. Now I helps her plateau using the basics: his mouth and, sometimes, a vibrator.  In his relations with men Jace told us that he is exclusively a bottom, and has come to prefer orgasms through prostate stimulation. 

Jace has three decades of life in the books, he's been married and in a long term dom/sub relationship with another man—that's a lot of time to figure out what is and isn't important in your relationships and sex life. Younger guys might need to live a little more before they figure that out. "Every time I hear stories about guys my age hooking up and having one-night stands and even being in relationships, it gets to me because I know I can't ever do any of those [things] because of my size," Andy says.

The peno-centric approach can keep you from engaging with others in all sorts of ways, whether fully clothed or bare-ass naked. Morgentaler recently saw a patient who was worried that he wasn't "developed" down there—despite his junk being "completely normal," Morgentaler says—and because of that, he was still a virgin.

Jace doesn't get regular checkups anymore, because at his last visit the doctor brought in several interns including a young woman to check him for a hernia. "I really thought that I was going to die of embarrassment right in the doctor's office," he says.

David doesn't like swimming or going to the beach because he feels exposed. "I can say with all my heart, I'd be way more happy and have a better life if I had a normal penis," he says.

It might seem like a huge deal when it comes to first-time hookups or one-night stands, but in the longer term, your penis does not take top priority. Most aspects of a relationship have nothing to do with what's in your pants—compatibility, mutual respect, and sense of humor, to name a few. Good sex is also high up there in importance, but using your penis is just one way to satisfy your partner, and it's naive to prioritize size over everything else.

"I would emphasize that this problem often goes away when a guy ends up in a stable relationship, because the couple figures out what they do that works, and penis size is usually not an impediment," Morgentaler says. "The quality of the man is not dependent on the size of his penis."

[themisadventuresofcando]

Life #10 (KnB/YoI Crossover)

Character Sheet

Face Claim:

Basic

Name: Carmencita D. Mikealson

Pronunciation: Car-men-SEE-tuh

Meaning: Little Song

Nicknames: Carmen, Dee, The Less Stupid One, Kitten

Name Origins:

Carmen: Shortened from Carmencita

Dee: Middle Initial

The Less Stupid One: Hanamiya… no further explanation needed

Kitten: Yuri likes cats and Yuri likes me, therefore, I am his kitten

Titles: N/A

Aliases: N/A

Alias Origin: N/A

Orientation: Heterosexual

Gender: Female

Age: 18 (Just a few months younger than Yuri)

Date of Birth: June 4th

Star Sign: Gemini

Birth Flower: Rose

Meaning: Different Types of Love

Birthstone: Pearl

Meaning: Innocence, Purity

Species: Human

Affiliation: N/A

Social Status: Lower Middle Class

Dead?: Some Day

How?: ...I don't want to know

Last Words: “STOP YOUR GONNA GET US KILLED!”

Appearance

Eye Color: Grey-Blue

Glasses/Contacts: Glasses

Skin Tone: Pale with Freckles

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hair Length: Just Below Shoulders

Hair Type: Thick, Frizzy and Curly

HairStyle: Ponytail

Height: 5’1 (My name means little for a reason, I suppose…)

Body Build: Thin, Scrawny, Small

Notable Features: Small Scar on Left Cheek (I fell down the stairs… into a broken fence)

Piercings: N/A

Tattoos: N/A

Scars: Cheek, Thighs, and Knee

Birthmarks: Left Thigh

Soulmate Words: ”Where THE FUCK did you come from?!” on the right side of ribcage

 Wardrobe

Style: Comfy and Cute

Favorite Outfit: Light Blue Minnie Mouse T-Shirt, Black Leggings, Light Blue Converse, Pastel Blue and Pink Hoodie, Minnie Mouse Backpack, Rose Gold Headphones

Casual Outfit: Black T-Shirt, Black Cherry Blossom Patterned Leggings, Black Cat Backpack, Rose Gold Converse, Rose Gold Converse

Winter Outfit: White Padded Fur Lined Coat, Lavender Watercolor Sweater, Pastel Violet Baret, Tan Knit Gloves, Black Backpack with Lavender Elephant Pattern, Black Buckle Boots, Rose Gold Headphones

Formal Outfit: Pastel Blue Asymmetrical Gown with Pale Pink and Blue Floral Pattern, White Mary Jane Kitten Heels, Pearl and Rose Necklace, Pearl Studs, Double Layered Pearl Bracelet, White Crossbody Bag

Sleepwear: Black and White Kitten Cropped Shirt, Black Shorts with White Polka Dots, Grey Moccasins, Black and White Sleep Mask

Accessories: Rose Gold and Pearls

Scent: Rose, Sugar, and Vanilla

 Relationships

Mother/Mother Figure: Abigail Mikealson

Relationships:

Our mother is the picture of a stay at home dotting mommy. She has raised us and taken care of us since they say we were born. She knows us better than we know ourselves! All the cooking I know I learned from spending hours in the kitchen helping her cook. My mom loves us to the point of babying us sometimes and I know she means well but she just has to let us grow up. I think the one thing that disappoints her about me is my aversion to makeup and jewelry (unless it's a special occasion). Well, that and my aversion to people! She's always trying to push me out of my comfort zone and I thank everything that I do dress a bit girly so she leaves me alone when it comes to shopping.

Father/Father Figure: Robin Mikealson

Relationships:

I am much more distant to my father… and I don't know why. Olivia is incredibly close to him but I’m just not. I guess it's because he spends so much time traveling for work and I just can't get over it. He loves me and I love him we're just… distant. The most time I spend with him is during family movie nights. One thing I can thank him for, though, is my interest in ice skating! Because of my dad and his love for every sport in existence I met my soulmate!

Brothers/Brother Figures: Elliot Mikealson, Makoto Hanamiya

Relationships:

Elliot is my super protective big brother! He loves to tease us (and is probably where I learned my affectionate violence thing) and he loves to make us squirm. He hates when he thinks me or Liv is hurt and will immediately start looking for a face to punch. He’s a super successful artist nowadays and is the entire reason I draw! Even with his busy schedule, he finds time to visit his baby sisters. Some people like to say that I'm too close to him because he's one of the few people I hang all over and they're not used to me letting anyone touch me.

Hanamiya concerns me. He is my sister's soulmate so I have no choice but to try and get along with him but he is a genuinely sadistic person. I'm not afraid of him which pisses him off to no end and I only make it worse when I stand up to him (even if I don’t really mean it). I’m sure the only thing that keeps me from his wrath is the fact that it would hurt Olivia and he secretly has a soft spot for her. I tease him about that too which pisses him off. We have a love-hate relationship.

Sisters/Sister Figures: Olivia Mikealson

Relationships:

Ah, this idiot. She is not too bright if you know what I mean! She has this weird charm that endears her to people for like half a second and then they can never get away. She like a homeless puppy, feed her once and you are never getting rid of her. And I tend to feed her a lot she is my food testing guinea pig when I make new recipes. She is a huge pushover, which, is why she needs someone around her to deal with her problems aka me. She cant say no so I do, she thinks it rude to leave I drag her away, she won’t stand up for herself so I do. I have to help with homework because even if the answer is staring her in the face she still won’t get it. She is my big sister and I do love her but she needs to act like she's the big sister before I treat her like she is.

Soulmate: Yuri Plisetsky

Relationship:

My very grump soulmate! He kind of had a hard time believing I was his soulmate but the tattoos don’t lie! We kind of met when, on one of my father's extended stays home, we went to an ice skating competition (Olivia got very bored very fast). At one point I got up to go to the bathroom and got incredibly lost due to my poor sense of direction. I, somehow, ended up near where the skaters happened to be and literally ran into him. He then proceeded to scream the words on my side and I responded with, ”I’ll tell you when I figure it out. Hi, I’m lost!” there was then a lot of cursing from one of us and awkward laughter from the other. After another skater helped me back and the competition ended he found me as we were leaving and exchanges numbers. We spend a lot of time talking on the phone, texting, and facetiming because he lives in Russia and I live Japan and he travels constantly for skating competitions. When we do get to see each other we get along surprisingly well and we do things we don't let others do (I get to play with his hair and he gets to lay in my lap). I am currently in the process of learning to ice skate to surprise him the next time he can come see me.

People

Mentors: Hanamiya Makoto, Abigail Mikealson

Advisor: Elliot Mikealson

Confidant: Olivia Mikealson (Don't know why she can't keep a secret)

Teammates: N/A

Friends: Yuri Katsuki, Victor Nikiforov, Shintaro Midorima, Ryota Kise, Kirasaki Daichi High Basketball Team

Best Friend: Olivia Mikealson

Soulmate: Yuri Plisetsky (I am aware that is not his full name but I’m not writing it)

Rivals: Hanamiya Makoto

Enemies: N/A (I mean unless you count Smile Man)

Person Hated Most: … I don't really hate people

Most Important Person: Yuri, Mom, Olivia, Elliot (I’m indecisive, okay?!)

Awkward Around: N/A

Admires: Yuri, Victor, Other Yuri

 Past

Hometown: Tokyo, Japan (Technically speaking it’s Boston but that was only for a few months of my life)

Childhood: I had a pretty nice childhood

Childhood Hero: Abigail Mikealson

Most Important Memory: Freakin’ met my soulmate!

Worst Memory: When Elliot left for college

 Present

Current Location: Tokyo, Japan

Living With: Olivia Mikealson

Occupation: Student

Pets: N/A (Unless Yuri’s cat counts cuz she loves me.)

 Health

General Health: Pretty Average

Reason: Genetics

Mental Health: Pretty Average (Hanamiya would say otherwise)

Reason: Life

Sleep Habits: I sleep like a log

Diet: Anything! (I love cooking new recipes and who else will try it)

Exercise: More now that I'm trying to learn ice skating

Allergies: Lactose

Injuries: N/A

Disorders: N/A

Deformity: N/A

Disabilities: N/A

Mutations: N/A

Handicaps: N/A

Medication: N/A

 Education

School: Kirasaki Daichi High

Best Class: Home Ec

Worst Class: Math

Sports: Figure Skating

Clubs: N/A

Languages: English, Japanese

Memory: Pretty Good

 Personality

Good Traits: Playful, Clever, Funny, Helpful, Caring

Bad Traits: Childish, Blunt, Terrible Sense of Direction, Oblivious, Antisocial, Easily Frustrated

Likes: Cooking, Drawing, Pastels, Leggings, Cookies, Reading, Sleeping, Figure Skating, Mom, Baking

Dislikes: Dresses, Makeup, Socializing, Chocolate, Cream Cheese, Cherries, Mornings

Turn Ons: Teasing, Slight Rough Play, Cuddling

Turn Offs: Insults, Self Centered or Mean Personality

Talents: Cooking, Baking

Sense of Humor: Silly, Mean

Darkest Secret: N/A

Does Anyone Know? Who?: I’m a Big Mouth and if I don’t say anything Olivia will

Greatest Fear: Being Alone in The Dark

Why?: Don’t Know Just Always Have Been

Other Fears: N/A

Why?: N/A

Most at Ease When: Cooking

Most Uncomfortable When: Hanamiya

Enraged When?: I’m not an angry person

Depressed When?: Overthinking

Frightened When?: In The Dark

If Granted One Wish What Would It Be?: … Can I Be Done With School

 Habits

Hobbies: Cooking, Baking, Drawing, Ice Skating

Instrument?: N/A

Sport?: Ice Skating

Spending Habits: I’m Quite Frugal

Drinks?: N/A

Smokes?: N/A

Drugs?: N/A

Nervous Tics: FIDGETS LIKE NO ONE’S BUSINESS

 Favorites

Prized Possession: N/A

Color: Pastels

Song: Starving by Halsey

Quote: “Bitches be like,’you know my name not my story.’ I be like ‘I don’t give a fuck about either’”

Movie: Wizard of Oz

Food: Jambalaya

Season: Spring

Book: Da Vinci Code

Genre: Fantasy

Flower: Cherry Blossom

Flavor: Chocolate

Dessert: Oatmeal Cookies

 Either/Or

Pessimist or Optimist: Optimist

Pacifist or Fighter: Fight

Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert

Proud or Humble: Humble

Messy or Tidy: Tidy

Risky or Safe: Safe

Strength or Wisdom: Wisdom

Flashy or Simple: Simple

Long Range or Short Range: Long Range

Cats or Dogs: Cats

Hot or Cold: Hot

Book or Movie: Movie

Loud or Quiet: Quiet

Logic or Emotion: Logic

Work or Relax: Relax

Confident or Shy: Shy

Night or Day: Night

[jessiewre]

Day 30

Mon 3rd Feb

I went to the restaurant in the morning while Phil tried to snooze a bit more and after a few coffees, the guy from the hotel came over to tell me that the manager of Soft Power had arrived to meet me. Took me a little by surprise but its amazing how much effort the people make here to reach out to us. Like at the football coaching the day before, they are so friendly and welcoming to us. Agre, the manager of SP, told me about the charity and that 20 years previously, it had been set up by one English girl called Hannah who had been travelling in Uganda and felt that she needed to do something about all the poverty and children in need everywhere (honestly, they are everywhere). She started off trying to make small changes, then cut a long story short, it became an organisation on a small scale to help bring education and other services to the communities - and now its grown into something much bigger.

They have pre-schools, funding & suppport for disabled children who are shunned by society and often their own families, education for adults, they build schools, decorate existing ones, renovate them - I’ll share a link to their website but the list goes on. Reminds me of that phrase, something like ‘If you think you’re too small to make a difference, try sharing a bed with a mosquito’. One person can positively change 1000’s of lives.

I can’t imagine Hannah thought she’’d end up creating such a large successful organisation that has helped so many.

Agre said we would be welcome to visit the next day to volunteer in their pre-school and so we arranged for us to meet there the next morning.

We then had a bit of a lazy day, as we’d planned.

Lunch was at the Black Lantern (vege curry for me & Moroccan wrap for Phil). I went a bit crazy on the chilli sauce and the rice got a bit lively, but was nice. Sat by the pool for a bit and watched monkeys grooming each other bein’ dead cute. After delaying it for aaaaaages (we stayed in Jinja for 6 nights instead of 3...) we finally decided to bite the bullet and move onto Nairobi the next day, despite our apprehension about going there (we heard it’s nickname was ‘Nairobbery’).

Phil decided he’d go for a run and like a good lad, he’d combine it with going to get our coach tickets from Jinja. Well this was an absolute RESULT for me cos I could not be arsed to do it so shout out to Phil for cracking on with that one and being my loyal servant once again.

We settled our bill but turned out that we didn’t have enough for the final night - so they said we could move to a dorm for half the price. It was nice of them to offer this considering it was already 5pm - but considering they weren’t going to be able to sell our private tent and moving us would mean extra sheets for them - I personally think they should have just give us the private tent at the dorm price - but WHATEVER, we ended up with a private room anyway as was just the two of us in the dorm. So jokes on them really.

Obviously Jimi joined Phil on his run as they are true Jinja running pals now, and they went via Jimi’s house to get something so Phil met Jimi’s pigs & ones called Jessica apparently! Couldn’t work out if that was a wind up or not...I sat in the restaurant overlooking the Nile, listening to a proper annoying English guy talk about himself super loudly, saying he’s been to over 100 countries and Wales and Scotland don’t even count in his list blah blah blaaaaaaaaaahhh.

We went BACK to the NRE place next foor for dinner AGAIN (ya know, masala fries place) and it was burger night (CALM DOWN JIMI) so Jimi got a Kula Shaker burger but put WAY too much chilli sauce on. He was struggling big time and trying to wipe his tongue with napkins to get the chilli off which was jokes. I had a healthy Greek salad...with normal chips (eww they had run out of masala fries ffs) and Phil had a VEGE BURGER MMMM ORIGINAL.

Going on a run seems to make Phil believe that he must drink 20 beers afterwards, so the Nile Specials were flowing. On the walk back at 11pm, we got chatting to a shopkeeper of a little shack. He was friendly and chatty, and he told us about the cultural differences, like with food and drink, you don’t ask if someone would like any - You just give it to them, so they don’t have to admit that they want it. It now made sense when we offered to buy people a drink they would be weird about it!

We chatted to him for over an hour in the end and he did seem like a nice guy, but its tricky when someone has ingrained sexist views and doesn’t seem to realise the problem.

I’m cutting a long story short - but he said that men are the King of the family and they should be because they provide and produce everything. I mentioned that they do not produce the children and he said yes but women are ‘a box’ (Yes he said women are a BOX. At this point I began to laugh as I was about to BOX him in the face, but then I realised I was only a box and had no arms). So yeah, apparently women’s job is to push out the child but the husband is always the head of the house.

Yawn.

He was saying that men have to provide everything that the woman and children need and that the kitchen is the woman’s place. I understand the theory of this and sometimes this is literally just a fact, sometimes men go to work and earn the money, and then women do all the cooking. But he was saying it like it was a fact of life, there was no other option, and this was how it had to be. So I asked him about all the women I see everywhere in Uganda who are now working, and therefore are providing money for the family ie. doing mens work, does this mean the men are also doing ‘women’s work’ to balance it out, like cooking and housework. But he basically said No.

Ok cool, sounds fair mate.

I told him about women earning more than their partners in the UK sometimes (cough cough #iamlegend) and that if the couple has respect for each other and they share, then it is no problem. To his credit, he didn’t disagree with this and said that Respect was the most important thing in a relationship.

He also said though, that if a woman in Uganda gets too much money and opportunity and experiences, then she’ll leave her man for a richer one cos her eyes will wander.

Why do some men still think that women’s lives are just there to fit around them and their egos? If someone doesn’t want their partner to do well in their career cos it makes them feel bad about themselves, then they have serious issues that they need to deal with. Women around the world seem to be having to do a bit of everything to get by - create LIFE (that whole casual giving birth thing), feeding their babies with their own bodies, deal with all the household chores, AND earn money.

And what is with the pressure that the world is putting on men all the time?? In Uganda and SO many other places, men are under ridiculous amounts pressure - from society and therefore themselves too - to provide all the money, pay a huge dowry to get married, be super strong in every way etc etc.

Yeah, so the world has a long way to go before we are anywhere near equality...and like the guy said, it all starts with respect eh...

(I must add that I am not the best example of a the suffering women I’m speaking about, and neither is Phil one of these men expecting that his box’s life has to fit around his. But I’m speaking about the women and men who are not as privileged as us)

Moving on - I quietly mentioned to Phil that I wanted to head back soon - the street was getting very quiet, and plus we needed to be on time for volunteering the next morning - but Phil was too deep into his beer journey and wouldn’t take the hint. So I said quite loudly that I was going to head back. So naturally he said ‘Ok one more beer for the road!’

By the way, the ‘road’ was approximately a 1 minute walk.

I knew he wouldn’t finish the beer (10 years in you learn these things) and I also knew that our monies were low, but trying to suggest maybe he did not need that beer did not go down very well (maybe something else I should have learnt in the last decade).

When back at the dorm, I took this nearly full beer and hid it outside for jokes, then told Phil to hurry up to go brush our teeth. He took aaaages as was obviously looking for his beer (god I’m funny), but when he came out, he found it on the side and pretended he knew it was there. I asked him why he’d taken so long, and he was like ‘Uh well I was looking for you actually’. LOL.

We quietly got ready for bed as there were dorms either side of our room with an open ceiling, but we shouldn’t have bothered as an hour later people appeared in the other rooms and were chatting SO loud that they woke us up. OMG I realised one of them was the annoying English guy from earlier and the other was a loud American. Who by the way had also been to over 100 countries wow how about nobody cares love.

Phil tried sshh-ing them but it didn’t work so eventually Phil shouted SHUUTT UPP!

And they totally did. Maybe drunk Phil does have his uses.

[chocobroness]

So I love Gladnis so so much. And Ignis angst is my life. So could you do some incredibly angsty blind Ignis and how Gladio's comfort him? Give him panic attacks because he can't see and all that. If you're okay with writing it of course >

Waaaaaah, this one was tough! I hope it pleases you!

—

It wasn’t something that was easily conquered. It wasn’t something that was easily ignored. Who could ignore being blind? To see eternal darkness, no matter where you go.

It was so difficult for all of them, having him be the liability in battle. It wasn’t something that wasn’t said, but it was within their thoughts, he was a liability, he was the burden, and it didn’t get better as they continued forward. Nothing but tragedy awaited them, thoughts of victory were tossed to the wind. And in the end….

He was without both sight and king.

Though the others say differently, in a world that is run by Deamons, it was those like him that hindered everyone else.

He had tried to back out early on, during the early days without Noctis, but the others simply kept him by their side. He didn’t say anything then. He allowed them to do whatever they wished.

But what was the honest reason he was there? All his training, all his knowledge was useless in this new world. He was raised to advise the king, raised for only that reason and that reason alone, and for a brief moment, it was all that mattered to him. Noctis was the one who reminded him that he was as human as everyone else. That he could make mistakes and learn from them, that being emotional was not a weakness nor a burden.

But being weak was not an option anymore. He had to be strong.

When Gladio and Prompto left him in Lestallum so they could search for survivors, he hadn’t said anything because how would they find anyone if they had to watch out for him as well?

He had to be strong.

When people murmured sympathy to him and treated him as if he were fragile. He couldn’t say anything because he still stumbled about like a small child, he should have become used to it but it just seemed to get harder and harder by the day.

He had to stay strong.

When he heard the cries of mourning when another body was found and he felt agitated by his disability. He kept his mouth shut because he had no right to complain when others are dead and he should feel grateful that he was alive and safe.

He had to stay strong.

When he felt his chest tighten and his breath pick up when he could no longer determine if he was by the hotel or in the plaza. He should be ashamed as he quietly asked someone to lead him back to the hotel, simply because the city became a bit more crowded didn’t mean he could make such small mistakes, he had to learn to adjust.

He had to stay strong.

When Gladio and Prompto visited him on the rare occasion, only coming by when they were down on supplies or bringing more survivors. He had understood that in these trying times, everyone must do their part, he shouldn’t say a word when they must be exhausted and still searching for anyone who could be saved.

He had to stay strong.

When he couldn’t even walk across his room anymore without stumbling into something. He was disappointed in himself, he couldn’t walk around a tiny space without trouble.

He had to stay strong.

When another list of people found dead was posted.

He had to stay strong.

When he felt like suffocating when he stepped out of his room and walked into the sea of people.

He had to stay strong.

When he felt the effects of not eating properly because of food shortages and he decided to give away his share to someone who needed it more anyway.

He had to stay strong.

It didn’t matter in the end, he was one face in a crowd of many.

All he could do was keep out of everyone’s way.

In a world where every day could be the last, he truly was useless when it really mattered.

There were days when he simply refused to leave the room, sometimes not even leaving the bed.

He felt sick but refused to burden the others.

Sleeping was another hurdle to leap over.

Dreams of the final moments of his sight. Of what happened.

Dreams of what could have been.

Dreams of when Noctis vanished.

The emotions he felt as he jolted awake made him feel so overwhelmed, he barely had time to stumble the bathroom before vomiting.

There were times when he would simply just sit there for the rest of the day, too tired and weak to move.

Would it be best if he simply wasted away? Someone else who desperately needs shelter could then take his room, it was the least he could do after wasting precious resources.

Today was much worse. He had been feeling worse then normal the past few days, he had assumed it was simply the lack of a proper diet but now he was unsure. he remained on the bathroom floor. Resting his head against his knees as he tried to pull his thoughts away from the fog that started to cloud his mind.

He felt dizzy, and he felt very warm.

‘Perhaps a shower would help.’

He thought as he slowly crawled towards where he thought was the bath.

He reached over and felt for the knob before remembering that he would need to stand up to reach it, he did his best to reach up but his body was growing heavier, but he did not stop, forcing himself up to reach the shower knob.

It had been a mistake.

The moment he managed stand, he was hit was powerful nausea and dizziness. He swayed and tried to steady himself only to trip on his feet and fall forward.

He felt a sharp pain on the side of his head before collapsing on the floor with a loud thud.

He felt himself drifting off, the side of his head hurting greatly. He was then hit was something incredibly cold. A brief moment of clarity helped him realize that it was coming from the shower head.

“What the-IGGY!”

He knew no more.

—

When Gladio entered Ignis’ bathroom, he had not expect to be screaming for help at the sight of the blood around his head.

He had not expected to be informed that his friend was suffering from starvation and malnutrition. That he had a fever that had worsened due to the injury he sustained when he fell and hit his head.

He had not expected to sit at his bedside for a whole week, afraid that if he turned away, Ignis would succumb to the fever.

He had not expected any of those things after being gone for so long.

It was only the night before that his fever broke, the doctor had said that he would be waking up soon and to have patience.

During the time he sat there watching him, he began to notice things that he hadn’t before.

Ignis was much thinner than he remembered, he was much paler too. He could tell that he wasn’t getting enough sleep ether.

What the hell was he supposed to tell Prompto when they meet up?

“Ah…”

He straightened up when he saw Ignis stir, unseeing eyes opening for a brief moment before shutting again.

“You’re finally awake.” Ignis turned at the sound of his voice.

“Gladio…?”

“You’ve been out for a whole week, that fever was really bad for awhile too.”

“Fever…?” Ignis seemed to pull his thoughts together at that moment.

“Ah that’s right…”

“Mind explaining to me why the doctor told me you were nearly at death’s door when I found you?” He asked calmly.

Ignis opened his mouth before closing it, shaking his head.

“It was nothing.”

Gladio frowned.

“It wasn’t just nothing, I found you in the shower fully clothed and bleeding from your head.”

“I stood up too quickly when I shouldn’t have, I’m fine now.”

“Obviously since the doctor treated you when you were out.”

Ignis flinched at that.

“Oh….he treated me..?”

“Kinda needed to if we didn’t want you to die.”

“It was unnecessary, I was fine.”

“No you were NOT, Ignis what’s going on, really?”

“As I said, it’s nothing, simply a minor inconvenience.“

“You nearly DIED Ignis!” He said in desbelief, wanting to grab his shoulders and shake him. “How is that a ‘minor inconvenience’?!”

“It’s a minor inconvenience to me Gladio, enough.” He said firmly, as if his life was of little importance.

Gladio wasn’t having that.

He gripped Ignis’ face and forced him to face him. Making it known with that action he wasn’t happy at all.

“It may be ‘minor’ to you, but to me, I nearly lost someone because they were stupid enough not to ask for help when they obviously NEEDED IT!”

“I did not need any assistance, I was perfectly fine.” Gladio growled at his response.

“Was that before or after falling unconscious and bleeding from your head?” He barked back.

“I was careless and simply sl-”

“Slipping is one thing, but starving yourself? What, were you trying to become a corpse by starvation?”

Ignis clenched his jaw and turned away, not saying a word. Had he not been touching him, he would not have felt Ignis flinch.

As he stared at the him, something cold settled in his stomach. A realization that he didn’t want to believe.

“Dear gods…you really…”

“Gladiolus Amicitia, that is enough.” Was the cold reply.

“Iggy you can’t tell me tha-”

“It doesn’t matter anymore Gladio.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter!”

“It’s over and done with, you can forget about this.”

“HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO FORGET THE FACT THAT MY FRIEND HAS BEEN TRYING TO KILL HIMSELF!”

“BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MATTER!!”

Gladiolus was stunned by the sudden scream coming from the bedridden man, barely ever having a memory of him screaming at anyone, in any setting.

Ignis continued, not aware, or not caring of Gladio’s state at the moment.

“If I waste away here, what of it? You would mourn, then you would need to continue your days assisting others. There is no time to think about the dead, no time to deal with liabilities. So I merely decided to deal with a major liability in the best way possible so no resources were wasted.”

Gladio tried to say something but Ignis pushed forward.

“But I had not anticipated you making a visit two weeks ahead of schedule. You normally come every other month, and based on my estimation, I would have lasted another week, give or take a few days.”

Gladio was trembling as he heard the casual words coming from the man before him. As if him planning his own death was simply a tedious task that he decided to take on.

“I am not needed in this new world Gladio, nor do I need to waste the finite resources we have.”

Why was he still talking…

Stop it.

“But in the end, medicine that could have been used by someone who truly needed it, was wasted on me, so all that work was for nothing.”

Shut up.

“I must also apologize for causing such a mess in the bathroom, I’ll see about cleaning it up later.”

Shutupshutupshutup.

“If there is nothing else you need to speak to me about, I would ask that you-mmhph?!”

Ignis reached up and tried to remove the hand covering his mouth, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pulled.

“Shut up….” he turned at the sound of Gladio’s voice, which sounded rougher then normal.

“Shut up, shut up, shut. UP.” Ignis made a noise as the hand covering his mouth squeezed, causing pain.

“You fucking IDIOT.” Gladio gave Ignis a rough shake, wanting to do so much but everything was jumbled in his head.

“Not needed, waste medicine, a LIABILITY.” He removed his hand and gripped both sides of Ignis’ head, pulling him close.

“HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT!!!!!”

“Gladio wha-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” He roared, furious beyond belief.

“You think you can talk like that and assume you’ll get away with it? You think you can plan your own death and assume everyone will be okay with it? You honestly think you can assume that I’m going to forget this and act LIKE ITS NOTHING?!”

He did something he didn’t expect to do but was to enraged to stop himself. He struck Ignis across the face, sending him toppling off the bed with a cry.

He stood and moved to where Ignis had fallen, clutching his face as he curled into himself. He gripped his leg and dragged Ignis toward him, sitting on his stomach without hesitation.

Ignis gave a strangled yell at the massive weight falling on his stomach and tried to push Gladio off of him but he was to weak to do so.

“Let me tell you what would happen if you EVER try to kill yourself again.” Gladio growled to him, not budging in the slightest. He leaned down and forced Ignis’ head to the side so he could speak directly into his ear.

“I will come back here, and I will beat you until you are unrecognizable, and then kill you myself.” He felt Ignis freeze at his words, as if trying to register what he said.

“And if you manage to kill yourself before I reach you.” He moved closer until his lips were barely touching Ignis.

“I’ll kill myself to follow you and Make. You. Pay.”

He pulled away and got off of Ignis, grabbing him and placing him back on the bed.

Ignis was visibly shaking, tears falling rapidly as he held himself.

Gladiolus returned to his seat and remained quiet, his anger escaping him, leaving only a blank calm in it’s place.

Time past as Ignis attempted to calm himself. Only managing to stop the visible effects of Gladio’s actions. He was still a mess within.

“Why would you risk yourself on me?” Was the first words out of Ignis’ mouth after he managed to calm himself.

“Someone needs to.”

“T-That’s not enough.”

“It’s enough for me.” Ignis turned to face him.

“Gladio…” Gladio sighed.

“Not good enough? Fine, how about this.”

“Because I can’t stand the fact that you didn’t ask for my help.”

“And that’s all.”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“And the others?”

“Because I hate how weak you’ve become? Because I hate how you assumed that I would be okay with this? That I would just ‘mourn and go back to work’ if you died? Because I’m pissed that I was blind to how you were feeling and didn’t realize that I should have done something to help? Take your pick Iggy, I have lots.”

Ignis choked a sob back.

“What..What you said then…did you..”

“I won’t hesitate to make what you want something you wished you didn’t ask for, and I won’t hesitate to take a bullet to the head to chase after you.”

“You are a fool.”

“And you’re stuck with me so knock it off.”

They stayed silent after that, simply basking in each other’s presence.

Ignis rubbed his arms, and Gladio rested his head in his hands.

“I’m not going to tell you I understand.” He said suddenly, not looking at Ignis. “Unless I was blind myself, I won’t ever be able to understand how you must feel.

He turned to face him. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn to help.”

“Gladio, nothing can help with-”

“I know!” He growled, slamming a hand onto the nightstand next to him, ignoring the small flash of guilt he felt when Ignis flinched. “But damnit Ignis, you aren’t the only one who doesn’t know what his purpose is anymore!”

Ignis could only turn his face away, keeping silent.

“Noct is gone.” Gladio said quietly. “Gone and maybe never coming back.”

He reached out and took Ignis’ hands into his own.

“But I sure as hell won’t allow anyone else I care about become lost to me.”

“G-Gladio…”

“Nothing is easy in the beginning Ignis, you didn’t have time to adjust to this new handicap. You were shoved into situations that no one in your state should have gone through.” He gave Ignis’ hands a squeeze. “But you did, and you made it up to this point, doesn’t that mean anything to you?” He could see Ignis’ face twist as if in pain.

“I won’t let you fall now. Not after everything.” He gave his hand a squeeze. “Not after we’ve lost everything else.”

“Gladio…”

“The Ignis I knew is gone forever.” He saw him flinch at that but continued anyway. “He died that day when they took his sight, and the person he was becoming after that point died when he tried to kill himself.”

He stood up and moved to sit next to him on the bed. wrapping his arms around his trembling shoulders.

“But I’m alright with getting to know the new guy he’s becoming if he’s willing.” Turning Ignis’ head towards him so he could place his forehead against his.

“I’m willing to help him stand on his own two feet without anyone doubting him if he’s willing to take that chance. So that he could stop feeling like a liability and start acting like the fighter I know he is.”

He didn’t say anything else after, just remaining in place while Ignis quietly shed his tears.

To think he held all of this in him for so long. Gladio was ashamed he didn’t see it sooner, but unlike many things, he had a chance to make up for his lack of awareness to his friend’s plight.

“P…please…”

“Hmm?”

Ignis took several deep breaths, trying to gather himself, he placed a hand on Gladio’s neck, giving a squeeze as if to ground himself as he spoke again.

“Please help me..” Gladiolus huffed to himself, giving Ignis a tight hug in response.

“All you had to do was ask.”

Ignis seemed to sob in relief as he hugged him back.

They both knew that they would have to tell Prompto about what happened, they knew it would be hard in the beginning, that there would be times when Ignis would fall.

But unlike before, he will have someone to help him back up, to push him forward when he wanted to stop.

And when you think about it, that’s how it should have been since the beginning.

–

[bites-kms]

Keep Austin Weird

Austin is a very special place. It really craved a big chunk of my heart. A merge of NY feeling, with Seattle memories and it’s Texan uniqueness. And of course, as always, this fondness relies on its people. Misfits, rebels, crazy, artists, and all that people that in other corners of traditional Texas may be judged, end up in Austin. And you are welcome too if you want to join! Attending to SXSW made it even more special, with all these creative souls walking around, exchanging smiles, ideas, words and emails. It was fantastic. I felt super inspired, grateful and for a moment, I felt like I belong to this crowd too. 

From Piano battles to standup comedy, there are a bunch of things I left undone due to the cluttered and intensity of the itinerary demanded by SXSW. But, very vaguely, but with much love, these are my top 10 things to do in Austin:

1) Shake it off at the The Broken Spoke 

Bring it on with the honky-tong. Feels like being part of a movie. After a long ride from Downtown Austin, one needs to cross the bridge before arriving to here, the middle of nowhere yet marvelous place. Don’t forget to bring cash with you for the entry fee. Grab your favorite local, or better yet, make yourself available for the nice and gentle Texan to approach you. In my case, Christian, an insurance runner with a farm and bird passion, taught me all the steps and secrets from the dance floor. It was great. Not only he knew about Uruguay, but he practiced his Spanish, patiently taught me all the movements of the local dance, and even invited me not only a drink which I gently declined, but a follow up lunch date. It’s ridiculous how talented Texan people are -  they have their music ingrained in their voices, bodies and minds. Christian was no exception. He sent me videos of him singing before our date to nail the deal. Wise move, amigo ;) We went on Quaresma Friday for some BBQ and he refrained himself from eating meat - of course I completely forgot and made an exception, indulging myself with all the delicious Brisket. And, thank you Lari for the boots, they made all the difference and made me a real Dancing Queen. #SisterhoodOfTheTravellingBoots <3

Yeap - I dressed up for the occasion, never felt prouder of myself! For a second or two, Christian really thought I was a local!

2) Wonder, enjoy and have fun by Sixth Street. 

This is Austin’s main street. Full of bars, antique stores, delis, souvenir shops, cafes, and more and even more bars, this is the place to be. Avoid staying on the street itself, but if your hotel is near by -which probably will be- this fun impromptu venue won’t disappoint. Its streets intersections all surround the Austin Convention Center and most of the main concert venues, cool cafes, fun dancing spots and delightful dinner restaurants will be around. Wonder Six Street and let it marvel you. It will be the best souvenir you’ll be able to take from Austin.

3) Go for hidden drinks at The Garage 

Ladies night was Garage night! What a great finding. Wondering Austin streets, there’s a modern parking space that looks oddly beautiful for being just a mere parking lot. Doubt about it. Go inside and go figure, there’s a hidden bar between their spaces, with the perfect ambience, the necessary small bites and the delicious tailored made drinks for a fun evening with friends or a casual date. 

4) Experience the beauty of the 7th fine art at Stateside Theater, Alamo Lamar and Paramount Theater 

How crazy it is to take one of those electric scooters and go across town with highways and bridges to watch a movie almost at midnight? Let me tell you, it takes some guts. Yet, I decided to go to watch the music short film festival and check out the Alamo. The proper name is “Alamo Drafthouse Cinema South Lamar”. It’s a unique concept where food and drinks are served within the venue while you watch your movie. Very similar to Nitehawk cinemas in New York, although this one was massive - hence, a little bit more ruined down. Also, it’s hard to keep up with the cleaning of the venues within SXSW, but yet it was a wonderful eve. Watching This is America by Childish Gambino in full screen as well as Boyish by Japanese Breakfast among others was amazing. And afterwards, there was a live performance of jazz, honky-dong and be-bop on the draft house next to it. Unfortunately, I already ordered the UBER and there were not so many around, so I enjoyed it for a few while waiting for it, and then left my scooter and went back to civilization to the Line Hotel, a beautiful boutique one where I was staying. I also had the opportunity to check out the Stateside and the Paramount Theater, both of them located at Congress Avenue, where many 2019 SXSW premiers were held, such as Us and Booksmart - which I ended up watching in Nitehawk with Caro later in June. I attended to these two venues for Come as You Are, great story in which three disabled men go on a road trip to lose their virginity at a special-needs bordello in this ingratiating remake of a Belgian film and Bluebird, a documentary about one of Nashville’s most celebrated and important venues, which has been a launching pad for new songwriters since 1982 - Including Taylor Swift! 

6) Go to Antone’s for a real music treat

Wow... I mean.... just wow! Was this magical or what? Thank you Z for dragging me to this venue and make me wait more than 2 hours with random yet cool artists to finally get to known and be mesmerized by Saint Paul and the Broken Bones. From 8 ‘till midnight, people were delighted by DJ Manny, Tameca Jones, Jacob Banks to finally end up with the high note of St. Paul. It was incredible. This powerhouse band made the roof came down in an intense, intimate yet powerful performance. The vocal lead Paul Janeway was absolutely incredible. With glitter and shinny dress-like outfit, he owned the stage from begging to end, specially while walking through the crowd, making it to the bar and singing on top of it, Coyote Ugly style. With his unique style and even rarest voice, this has been one of the most memorable concert experiences I ever had. As my friend Z would describe it: “When I tell you to wait, is because something worthwhile is coming. It’s a big dude, that sounds like a black woman’s voice, who belongs to a gospel choir”. - He was absolutely right..  SXSW Music Festival is really something out-of-this-word. To mention a few, imagine Tiny Desk Concerts held in a church, to Dj Windows 95 in Mercedes Benz Openhouse or Japanese Breakfast at the Mohawk, another iconic Austin Venue. Yet, the surprise happened during Sounds from Colombia night at Speakeasy, with Mojarra Eléctrica and Los Gaiteros de Ovejas when I met Idahosa Ness- which means, “he who only listens to God”. Nope, it was not a Colombian artist yet he lived in Colombia. He is this brilliant man from Austin which spoke more than 5 languages and learnt all of them through music and rap, decided to share his gift with the world by creating language learning tools in a start-up mode, traveling the world and enlightening each person that crosses his path in between. Yes, that’s the people you meet in the crowd. That’s the people you randomly run into SXSW. You can check out his project here, in The Mimic Method. Did I mention that he has a fantastic speech grandiloquence, and he looks like Lenny Kravitz (meaning he is damn hot!)?? Wow...I definitely won the jack pot that night! Thank you SXSW! Music does bring people together!

7) Feast yourself and treat your belly with a real Texas BBQ at Cooper Old Time Pit Bar-B-Que and Stubbs BBQ 

This indulgence was also fantastically yummy. With Brazilian friends on with a local date, Texas BBQ never goes out of style. I had the chance to try it twice, both in unique and renown locations. I didn’t make it to Franklin, which is suppose to be the most famous one, with queue and waiting hours outside included, under the tremendous heat or the pouring rain. Also, it is located further away, closer to the airport, so there was zero chance I would made it in the electric scooters over there. But, to be fair, Cooper and Stubbs were outstanding and I think I did have my authentic experience regardless. 

8) Attend to SXSW

I mean, what else can I say? I think it’s self introductory but in case your Tupperware is way too sealed, this is THE event that you should attend to (on top of Austin City Limits Festival, which is only reserved for music performances) “It’s an annual conglomerate of film, interactive media, and music festivals and conferences that take place in mid-March in Austin, Texas, United States. It began in 1987 and has continued to grow in both scope and size every year”. Wake up early, stay up late. Dont forget about the music. Chose your venues and talks wisely. Download the SXSW app and pre-book your favorite talk with a day in advance And also, very mucho important, book some time to mingle and relax. The conferences are awesome but so do the exhibits, the films, the pop ups, the branded experiences but mostly the people.

9) Visit some historical sites

From old Austin Congress, to fun and corky hotel venues (which happens to have a really cool pool, BTW) to wonder around beyond the highway, Austin has always a hidden, usually fun and weird surprise waiting for you. Don’t be afraid to explore - although keep the discovery during daytime!

10) HAVE FREAKING FUN!

This is almost another one for granted. Almost about everything you do in Austin will be fun, weird, memorable and ex(h)austin. And, if you are lucky enough, the activities you do will be all of these at the same time. Dont forget to check out the Vietnamese Elizabeth Cafe for a beautiful and delicious dinner, drop by The Mohawk, another iconic music venue where I had the chance to listen to Japanese Breakfast for the second time this year (and I could just keep going!), get your morning joe at the Royal Blue Grocery as well as the cutest Frida Kahlo earrings and don’t doubt to try the local breakfast freshly made, squeezed and prepared at Easy Tiger Cafe, which is as good as in it’s Beer Garden and Brewery after hours hours option. Cheers Austin! You’ve officially become one of my favorite places in the US <3

[readatmidnight]

It’s been a while since my last update since most of April and May left me with very little time for blogging. I just wanted to do a quick catch up on what I’ve been reading and what I plan to read in the coming month.

What I’ve Read

Almost 100% of the reading I’ve done in the past two months have been done via audiobook. Bless them for enabling me to finish all these novels while I completed my chores or during my morning commute, I would have fell into a book slump without them. I know at the beginning of the year I said I would cancel my Scribd account, but since I read so much via audio now, the set up is working great for me.

These aren’t even in chronological reading order because I am a Mess.

Daisy Jones and The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid ★★★★☆ This novel is best enjoyed via audiobook, sorry I don’t make the rules. TJR has a way of making her characters feel so raw and real, if I didn’t know any better I would have been searching for the discography of Daisy Jones & The Six after completing this novel. Epistolary novels don’t always work for me (see: Illuminae), because I sometimes find it hard to connect to the story. 100% not the case here, and I loved how utterly flawed everyone was allowed to be. To tell the truth, I didn’t like most of them, but they sure captured my imagination.

The Dragon Republic by R. F. Kuang ★★★★ HELLO IS ANYONE SURPRISED I AM COMPLETE TRASH FOR THIS BOOK. NO? OK. Ahem. With complete objectivity, this book was a stunning follow-up to The Poppy War. It’s more introspective, it deals with PTSD, it brings in all of the threads that complicates and muddies the war Rin is waging on Nikara and with herself. The ending left me literally reeling and screaming in random DMs for weeks. I still have not completely stopped and I fear I will never be coherent again. Give me book three or give me death.

Magic for Liars by Sarah Gailey ★★★★☆ I finished this book about two hours ago and edited the post to include it. Although it contained the familiar tropes like a magical school, a jaded private detective, a dark prophecy, a hidden world of mages, a murder mystery – Magic for Liars combined them in a way that kept the plot fresh and engaging. Imagine if Aunt Petunia never married Vernon Dursley but instead became a private investigator – who’s then called back to Hogwarts to unravel a murder, with Lily as one of the professors on tenure. Except better, because the character work in this book is freaking top notch. Just go read it OK, this is the gay and messy magical school we all deserve.

The Devouring Gray by Christine Lynn Herman ★★★★☆ Billed as The Raven Cycle meets Stranger Things, this is one of those rare instances where the book matches the comp perfectly. While I found the pacing to be slow, I thought it suited this character-driven story. It’s all about families and legacies and finding your own paths despite the weight of all that history. I adored all of the characters, especially Harper – my sworld-wielding warrior queen. I cannot wait to see the sequel and watching how entangled relationships will develop.

Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan ★★☆☆☆ I love the idea of hate-to-love, especially with a villain love-interest, so that’s what initially drew me to this book. When I learned that the heroine could converse with the gods, I got even more excited. Alas, it was a bit of a missed opportunity. I saw shadows of a fanfic-worthy broody bad boy in every scene with Malachiasz. I can understand insta-attraction, what I can’t understand is how poorly the character and relationship development was done. The stars are wholly reserved for Serefin, my drunken drama-queen and the only part of this novel I enjoyed.

We Hunt The Flame by Hafsah Faizal ★★★☆☆ I expected this to be a five star read, so while it was good, I am disappointed I didn’t love it more. The prose were gorgeous and I am definitely checking out whatever Hafsah Faizal writes next. However, the writing style’s penchant for beautiful metaphors sometimes felt jarring with the pacing of the book. While I liked the characters indivdually, I didn’t feel compelled by any relationships aside from the one shared between Altair and Nasir in the beginning. I’m definitely in the minority with my lukewarm response to this title, though – there are tons of fans so don’t be put off by my review.

Verity by Colleen Hoover ★☆☆☆☆ The sole star is for the fact that while the plot of this book was so improbable it veered into farcical, it was a page-turner. Toxic relationships is the bread-and-butter of crime, but there was something particularly tasteless about the way adultery and marriage was depicted in this book. Partly due to the casual nonchalance that CoHo tends to dismiss cheating, but also because even with my few remaining brain cells I could still figure out the plot was BS. The way disability was handled in this novel also left a lot to be desired, and the ‘twist’ at the end disappointed me so much I wanted to hurl this book into the sun. This was 7 hours of my good life wasted.

The Bride Test ★★★★★ I cannot remain calm or objective about Helen’s books, I love them completely – because they’re unabashedly Vietnamese, because they’re proudly diasporic, because they’re filled with characters who feel so real I’m mildly miffed we’re not invited to their weddings. Khai and Esme slowly but surely stole my heart over a course of a long haul international flight. I laughed and cried and went through all of the emotions of first love. Along with its powerful emotional resonance, The Bride Test also offered sharp societal critique on the accessibility of the American Dream. These books are so special to me and I am so glad we have more Helen content to look forward to for years to come.

Ruse ★★★★☆ This is the second and final instalment to Cindy Pon’s high-octane and prescient eco-dystopia – if you haven’t read Want, go visit your local bookshop right now and change this immediately. The bar is raised with Ruse, from the character development, the scope of the world, and the ever heightened stake. I loved seeing the gang again, even though Cindy did not pull any punches when it came to making my children suffer. It was such a satisfying and well-earned conclusion.

Wilder Girls ★★★★☆ Whew, this book was harrowing and intense. It felt dangerous and unknowable, with the plot constantly shifting right under my feet – just as the physical world in the book warps and distorts everything from plants to landscape to school-girls. I read it in a rush over two days because I could not put it down. If you’re after a novel with ride-or-die friendship and sapphic romance, this is one to keep an eye out for.

Red, White, and Royal Blue ★★★★★ I am completely bereft that Alex Claremont-Diaz and Prince Henry of Wales are not real people – for these two I would take up reading gossip magazines again. This book was rambunctious and as irrepressible as the passion that drives its main characters. The supporting cast are equally impressive, and I love the chemistry imbued into the various relationships in this novel. I can’t remember the last time I rooted so hard for fictional characters to overcome and triumph. Although we can’t have Claremont 2020, can we please please please get a Jude and Nora spin-off instead?

Looks like romance is my new favourite genre, judging by my latest two five star reads. Please give me all the recs, but no mayo toxic romance please. I feel like whenever I stray from the usual diet of speculative fiction, I become very picky in which books I read – which tends to mean that I end up loving the ones I do pick up.

What I’m Reading

I usually have numerous books on the go because I have no self-control. I have two going at the moment, but this number will undoubtedly multiply before I have the chance to publish this post.

Foundryside by Robert Jackson Bennet – I am about 5 hours into the audiobook and I am already completely charmed by this world and its characters! The rogue-archetype has always been one of my favourite fantasy trope, and to make it even better Santia comes with a snarky talking key. The world building is a marvel, especially the magic system and how it is manipulated by the characters and governing bodies within the novel. I also heard there is a budding sapphic romance in this one – I think I just met the love interest and I already love her as well. Very excited to continue on!

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong – I am three chapters into this novel and it’s already taken my very soul apart. Written by a Vietnamese-American son for his illiterate mother, it’s part-meditation and part-confessional on PTSD, inherited trauma, and how a you learn to communicate with a mother-tongue you can barely speak. I am ready for it completely wreck me.

I forgot that I am technically still reading The Priory of the Orange Tree but I am so exhausted with this brick at this point in time, I’m not sure I will ever finish it. The world building (West and East dragon mythology), and the characters (sapphic Queens and her bodyguard) had so much potential – but I kept feeling like an emotional weight was missing.

What I’m Planning to Read

I am an expert is making up TBR and then not sticking to them. So to save myself the embarrassment here’s two I am definitely reading this month, the rest is c’est la vie.

Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson I know y’all keep saying that Enchantment of Ravens is lame because it has no plot but I loved Rook and Isobel with all my heart OK. I know nothing about this one except that it has a librarian babe (maybe?). Therefore, I am very excited.

Spin the Dawn by Elizabeth Lim This is part of the Caffeine Book Tours that Shealea organised (thank you!!). This is one of my most anticipated read of this year because fashion and East Asian fantasy? Relevant to my interest. I think we can all agree that this is the best cover of 2019. I want this illustrator to draw my life.

What are you reading and what are you all up to? I miss you!! Hope you’re going to have an amazing month and Happy Pride everyone!!

June Reading Updates It's been a while since my last update since most of April and May left me with very little time for blogging.

[putris-et-mulier]

Why do I love X-Men: kind of a bummer story for normal people

Will I get asked this question quite often and I’ve tried to give the most succinct answer but as promised this is the full version. It's about disability and disability representation so please skip over this if you are in favor of eugenics. Also, knock that off.

I was born in 1985 which makes me extremely old for this website but it also means I was the generation of X-Men fans that got obsessed with the franchise because of the 90s cartoon. It was a lot better than the X-Men comics at the time because it was the 90s and that should explain it all

Awesome

For context I'm going to tell you little more about me. Coincidentally I was born with a genetic mutation which made me born disabled. It's actually pretty rare because I have MD (muscular dystrophy, not multiple sclerosis) and for some reason people born with XX chromosomes very rarely get it and I have a supposedly one-of-a-kind variation in that I am technically type II but I have traits of type III which means I have a terminal condition but I can live longer as long as I stay healthy, you vaccinate your children, and I have minimal stress. For those of you that follow me you know that means I'm probably going to drop at any second. Anyway, I'm super weak and use a wheelchair, always have.

I was this kid

and my explanation goes through about when I was in my early teens

Note the difference between how I was dressed and how I dressed myself

Being disabled, especially being born disabled, is practically undescribable to someone who is able-bodied and neurologically typical. I'm not really a person, or at least not technically human; the term human is casually used to refer to our species but historically/politically/socially distinguishing who is human or not depends on how much a particular society wants you. Africans were seen as not being human because they were considered less evolved than Europeans and you know how that went. Being disabled is still unacceptable in our culture so until we get "cured" we can't live lives as regular humans. Because my whole physical existence depends on the charity of others or services through tax dollars I've been considered a ward of the state.

A little bit of what that entails is you aren't guaranteed an education, you become what they call a "county" kid so you don't actually attend public school as a student but a sort of native exchange student. Going to "mainstream" classes is a privilege and at least here in Northern California the privilege depends on how compliant you are. 

I had to stay on the honor roll. I couldn't get in any kind of trouble; when I was in second grade they almost took me out of mainstream school because I had questioned the merit of a homework assignment. I had to do the same work in a lot less time because riding the short bus means even if you live a block away from the school it could take hours for you to get there or back. I had to take my lunch separately with the rest of the special ed students at a time when the regular students were in the cafeteria so looking at us wouldn't make them lose their appetite. Everyone I associated with had to be approved by someone from the special ed staff or I wasn't allowed to go to recess or have break. 

We had to use a segregated bathroom that was located in the most high-traffic hallway and we were only allowed to go to the bathroom 1 time a day at a specific time and even if you didn't have to go you were required to at least try so all the disabled kids had to line up against the wall and go to the bathroom one by one. Like I said, it was a high-traffic area so the students would walk past us and of course they said horrible things (luckily they couldn't do anything physical because the staff was there) but we weren't allowed to speak so we were told that if it bothered us we should put our heads down so we don't encourage people with eye contact. 

Forced sterilization was also still a thing at the time as it hadn't become illegal in California until 2014 but at that point it was still  routine in prisons and the schools to drop the "forced" part but not the sterilization. When I neared puberty my parents were called into a meeting and it was explained to them that if I started my menstrual cycle I might get kicked out of school because I needed help getting on and off the toilet and it would be too much of a hassle, besides I would never have children. If I ever did get pregnant it was going to be because I was raped and having a genetic condition such as I do my parents wouldn't really want to have to send me in for abortions when it would be easier if I just got a hysterectomy, would they?

I didn't get one, by the way. My parents were and not very educated and had very little resources as we have always lived below the poverty line (that's usually a given for a disabled person) but my mom thought that was a decision I should make, mostly so she didn't have to. I think it started around 10 years old and I wasn't sheltered so I knew would period was so the suggestion of not having one sounded good but going through surgery did not so I refused. As I aged closer to 12 I started being pulled out of class to go to special ed for lectures about I why should at least be sterilized and how it is really selfish of me not to get hysterectomy. I didn't want to lose my education but this was something I actually could risk repelling against so I chose not to to spite them. 

I also had to go to special ed every few months because different grades got treated to an inspirational lecture from a disabled person and I was required to go to every single one. I had to go to every lecture and stay for at least an hour after no matter what was going on in class so I could meet these "inspirational" disabled people. K-12 every few months an inspirational speaker and every single one was a man, usually white, that had become paralyzed because of some sports accident or from drunk driving.

Everyone's disability is different but someone who was born disabled and someone who becomes disabled later in life are completely different. These people were originally able-bodied so they retain a certain amount of able-bodied privilege and no concept of what actually living your life disabled is like. Out of everything, that was the hardest thing for me to deal with. 

Try to imagine how demeaning that is. That you live in that stressful world and this able-bodied person suddenly visits telling you they understand you like no one else can and as long as you keep a good attitude, smile, and keep "fighting" you'll be fine. I could do anything I put my mind to it and it I insisted there were things I couldn't do it was because I was bitter about being disabled and that was punishable by disciplinary actions. Usually detention. Also, it always came with a lecture about my language because the one thing I refused to do was to give up terms like cripple and gimp. I gave them the choice of me not speaking and they agreed to that solution.

Another thing people don't consider is that we are born into families that are not of the same marginalized group and given how prevalent bigotry toward disabled people is it's likely a disabled person will be born in a family that doesn't want them. In some cases it would be as if an African-American was born into a white supremacist family. I was extremely lucky but there was still a family meeting about what to do with me when I was a baby and my grandpa still tells me he prays every night that I will die so I can walk in heaven. Even if your family doesn't hate you it's not easy because they have no concept of what it's like to be a disabled child/adult.

And then there are just the usual things disabled people deal with like our minimum wage legally being as low as salary of $0.22 an hour, not being allowed to have a savings account or anything over $2,000 at any given time, and so on

So what does this have to do with X-Men?

So far X-Men is the best representation disabled people have ever had because they utilize SFF world building to present what society is like for someone like me, intentional or unintentional, and it's something able-bodied people will actually watch/read. Depending on your disability someone in my condition can't equate my marginalization with someone who is able-bodied and GSM even though that's an easy way for me to explain why our families tend to be the ones that murder us, putting aside euthanasia, because we have no option of leaving and the passing privilege doesn't work quite the same way as people still don't seem to understand that if you have passing privilege either in person or online you are in the closet and much like being GSM you constantly have to come out to people. 

So, I was a little kid going through all this and there was a cartoon, a kind of grown up one, where the characters lived in a world that was like mine.

I have a reputation for being contrary so people always assume that I was an empowered little cripple kid and I don't take shit from anyone, not so. If I'm in public and someone comes up to tell me that if I love Jesus enough my punishment would be over I thank them and then quickly go home. I may not be considered human by everyone but I am of the same species and have the same urges for self-preservation. You may think you would stand up for yourself in my position, pun acknowledged, but you try getting through grocery shopping without agreeing with at least someone that you shouldn't be alive. The X-Men were a group of people like me dealing with ableism and they were heroes to me for that alone, I could care less if they were saving fictional characters or fictional planets.

Throughout my life I've been told by school staff, people in the medical field, and anyone from the government I've had to talk to that I need to be my own advocate because no one else will be. That's impossible. You can't tell a silenced people to just speak up, we didn't choose silence. The X-Men were advocates.

The X-Men mansion seemed amazing to me despite the fact that it's drawn completely inaccessible. It was a place you can go to be with people like yourself. It's not about companionship, it's about culture. Just like any other marginalized group we have our own cultures and subgroups therein. But the X-Men weren't the Morlocks and I was definitely a Morlock which was also really cool because they and the Ninja Turtles had convinced me that my dream home is the sewer. I was also keen on the idea of marrying Callisto but Rogue was my first pick.

First of all, she looked amazing

Yes, all the reference photos are going to be silly  

I related to Roque because she was kind of transitory between the different mutant groups. She wanted her civil rights but even with them she would be ostracized so the appeal of just being human still nagged at her. Physically she is the opposite of me, I'm super weak and she's super strong but she appealed to me because of her inability to touch people because I felt untouchable as well. People always avoid any physical contact with me and being so low and attached to something like a wheelchair makes it inconvenient for people to hug or kiss you or they are just too scared they might hurt you. She also didn't know what she really agreed with, Charles Xavier's philosophy or Magneto's.

They had the most amazing relationship that I was convinced included marriage until I was like 10 years old.

They both wanted relatively the same conclusion but their philosophies were completely different and neither was completely right or wrong. Both are wrong if you base it off of results. Their conversations helped me to articulate what I couldn't at that age. It also encouraged me to be critical of the world around me. 

On my first day of school I was completely terrified but there was a little girl in a wheelchair my age going to the same school and she also loved X-Men so that's the way I made my first friend. We had a lot of time to talk as the morning bus ride was about 2 hours and the evening bus ride was on average 3 to 4 hours so we talked about what we had seen on X-Men. Neither of us could decide whether Xavier or Magneto was right and who we sided with usually depended on what we went through that day. X-Men gave me the language skills and the opportunity for companionship for me to feel safe to ask "do you think it would be better if we just died?" My friend didn't get upset, she didn't think I was threatening suicide, she knew what I meant: people aren't allowed to be disabled unless they are continuously forcing themselves to appear as if they aren't and we couldn't do that.

I didn't get to stay consistent with the X-Men comics when I was a kid or even a teenager because in my local comic book store girls were only allowed so far in the store which pretty much just consisted of the front counter with all the trading cards. I had guy friends who would go there as well but if they helped me they would lose status. Contrary to what The Hold Steady says, guys go for status. 

one more

You can share this and you can ask questions or anything just please don't say "feel better soon" because I'm not sick

[ekebolou]

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything substantial.  Last night, though, I stayed up because I felt this one coming on, and am honestly just so pleased to have done it.  It’s not much - its a wholesale rewrite of the scene in the Tenor Group stories where Seth and Decon first meet.  But I wrote it, and I like it, and it’s been a while, so I’m sharing it.

Hope you like it.

This was an 80s movie.

Decon thought about putting his mask back down, walking around the blind, and restarting this shit all over again.  Because this was the kind of thing that happened in 80s movies, and he was pretty much not up for those sorts of shenanigans.

She was beautiful.  She had on tight jeans that went down the middle of her shins and flat shoes – but she was leaning up against the door frame while she waited for Dr. Branniwick to get his attention, which meant her legs, and he liked legs, showed off their shape.  The shirt was one of those flowery things, with the weird fit, but since she was also wearing a little blazer he was pretty sure it wasn't because she was pregnant.  Not that he had to worry about that.  

Should put his mask down and go back to welding.  Ran a hand over his sweaty face and tried to blink away the lingering over-brightness their slow adjustment to normal daylight called.  She still had that weird, perfectly back-lit look, which combined with her slow-motion casualness and general good looks was primarily to blame for him thinking he was suddenly in an 80s movie.

Or porn.

Despite being a seventeen year old boy, he wasn't up for that either.  And, despite being raised by Jesuits, he knew exactly what sorts of shenanigans followed that up.  And, because he was raised by Jesuits, now he felt both guilty and rude.

Both because Branniwick probably thought she was pregnant, and because he tended to look on verbal communication as suspicious and possible the work of the devil, Decon just held up his hand to indicate he needed a breather and stepped away from the good doctor.  He pulled off his gear and laid it on his table, because Branniwick's dirty look could be absolved with a good seam, and he couldn't fix a fix a first impression.  For reasons unrelated to shape of her legs, this first impression felt ominous and important.

He had no idea who she was.  She showed up in his shop class, unescorted and asking for him by name. Suspicion wasn't as much in his nature as wary dread, but the type of catastrophe such a messenger conveyed escaped his imagination.

She stood away from the door frame and put her sunglasses on top of her head as he approached.  She smiled, but it wasn't quite friendly – it was a sort of smile he was used to.  She stuck her hand out like a social worker, too, and introduced herself.

“Hi, Decon.  I'm Seth.”

“Hi, Seth,” Decon replied, wiping his hand on his pants before he shook hers.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Maybe,” she replied.  “We'll see after we talk for a bit.  I don't think what I have to say is necessarily something you like to talk about.”

Despite the many loud bangs of hammers on things both metal and wood, Decon was keenly aware of the fact that everyone – including Dr Branniwick – was risking fingertips to keep staring holes in his back.  “Let's talk in the hallway.”

Though knowing better, he turned as if looking for Branniwick's attention and waved to communicate his intention not to go very far, or immediately start shooting heroin or engaging in hooliganism as soon as he was out of the classroom.  The teachers, especially the good doctor, generally trusted him not to, at this point, but they couldn't show favoritism.  

Seth preceded him a few feet down the hall.  Decon took his time following.  The school had been built in wings, so all the classrooms opened to the outside.  The heat of the day felt pleasant next to the heat of the shop.

Seth had turned, and waited patiently for him to amble over, that half-smile still lingering like the afterimage of lightening before the slap of thunder.  

“There aren't a whole lot of topics that are off-limits to me,” Decon said.  Would this be a situation where he was supposed to comfort her, or she was expecting to comfort him?

“I didn't say 'off-limits',” Seth replied.  Maybe she hadn't waited so patiently.  “I said that you didn't like it.”

“You're going to have to tell me how you could guess that, since we've never met,” perhaps a bit too defensive, but she was creeping him out a little, “that I can think of.”

“We haven't.”  She frowned a little, then tugged off her blazer, threw it over an arm.  The shirt had no sleeves.  “But there's a file on you.  And I've read it.”

Files were bad.  No – talking about files was bad.  Files were good.  Files were what told you that this ten-year-old bit like a rottweiler.  His file...

“That's still not meeting, you know.”

“True,” she said.  “Which is why I'm here.”

“It's sort of rude to read someone's file without their permission, and then assume you know them.”

“No, it's rude to talk about it. Everybody reads files.”

“I read remarkably few files in my daily life.”

“You have my permission to read mine.”

She was... perceptive.  He still felt doom squeezing down on him, but he was smiling about it.  “I don't know even know where I'd find such a thing.”

“That's not quite true,” she said. The smile she flashed at him was not the underbaked thing from before, but the sort of thing one woke up to the smell of and ran downstairs for.  “I'm sure the brothers at the orphanage have probably let you in on the inner workings by now, if you didn't just figure it out from all those people from the state that dropped in on you.”

“Wow, so this got creepy really fast – and speaking of dropping in...”

She did not rush to fill the opening he left her, instead making him sweat over that little smile a moment – long enough to convince him she wasn't jumping for anything.

“They weren't from the state,” she said, and her smile dropped.  “I'm sure you've realized that by now.  Everything I've read indicates you're a pretty smart guy.”

“I think you read the wrong file.”

The look she gave him was actually a little withering.  “I would think you, of all people, would realize how much against us the deck can be stacked.”

He looked at her again.  “Us?”

“Islanders.”

That was it.  Doom.  His skin prickled. The wind got cold.  “Now, I don't think–”

“I don't think you like to talk about it.  I don't know why that is, but I can guess.  And I can also guess that you know how extraordinarily lucky we are.”

“Lucky?”

She was looking at him.  He looked away.  

“I'm putting together a team,” she said.

“A team?”  He raised his brows, in what he retroactively hoped was not an offensively disbelieving way. “You?”

She didn't look offended.  Her tone made her sound offended, by sounding as unoffended as possible.  “I'm acting on behalf of Bernhardt Tenor.”

“Bernhardt Tenor?”

She sounded less unoffended.  “Mr. Tenor is the sponsor.”

He held up a hand, stared at the grass a moment.  “Forgive me, this is all bit much to take in.  How about you start with what you mean by 'team.'”

“It is what it sounds like it is,” she said, her tone subdued.  There could have been a lot of reasons for that.  His sense of doom, so acute a second ago, had faded, but not his suspicion.  

“Okay, because it sounds like crazy talk.  I know that's kind of a dirty word these days, but 'Islander' has been a dirty word a lot longer.  And nobody's put 'Islander' and 'team' together in the same sentence since, I dunno, like 1950, when we were still dropping a-bombs and eating cherry pie every night.”

“That's not entirely accurate, but I understand your implication,” she said – he had a feeling he'd just been roundly insulted in some extremely particular way.  “The last official 'team' of Islanders was run by the government, and ended in 1979.  Since then, there's been unofficial pairings and vigilante groups, but nothing serious, or with any larger impact than to upset some city cops.”

“Like, really upset cops.  And like, with dead people.  On every side of the equation.”

“These were poorly organized,” she said, in that way which uses the hardness of a statement to engrave it in the stone of fact.  “And, also, tended to lack funding.  We have funding.”

“'We' don't have anything,” Decon said, “and I don't think you're talking to right guy about this at all.”

“In your file–”

“Are the many times I've failed freshman English?  How I can't even get a G.E.D?  How I spent the first twelve years of my life labeled 'intellectually disabled' until they could change that to 'genetically unfit'?  Did you even read my file?”

She was staring him down again – that same look, that made him feel, not ashamed of himself, but ashamed for himself.  As if his summary had somehow offended her.

“You're technokinetic.”

“You shouldn't use big words here.” Besides – pretty much the only time he'd heard that word had been when the 'people from the state' had visited, and they had followed it up with shaking their heads and quietly mumbling 'retarded' before abruptly leaving him be.  Then again, that was how most adults had reacted, before he'd let go of the idea of he should try to be adopted.

“Do you have any idea how useful an ability like that could be?” she asked.

“Do you have any idea how useless it's been all of my life?”

Then, at once, her eyes narrowed, she let out a little breath.  “Well, you pass shop.  A lot.  Anyway, your ability is not actually why Mr. Tenor wants you on the team.”

“It isn't.”  Decon said.  “The multi-billionaire stock-guy or whatever he does isn't looking for a way to turn whatever I've got into some kind of profit-making deal. That's not what's happening.  That's not what you're describing.”

She took a deep breath, folding her arms.  “Actually, no, though I know that's difficult to believe. Mr. Tenor's goal is, actually, for him to have as little personal involvement as possible.  He wants to be able to write off this particular venture as a charitable mission.  He's willing to invest considerable funds into it, but the remuneration will be handled through other channels.”

“And that makes it pure and good?”

“That makes it malleable,” she said.  “And that makes us – potentially – powerful influences on how pure and good it turns out to be.”

Decon paused.  He stepped back, towards the edge of the concrete and the sunlight.  It was starting to feel hot, even to him.  Walking closer to the breeze felt better.  

This was too odd.  This was way, way, too odd.  This was also... weirdly fitting.  Tempting.  

He was going to age out soon.  That thought he stored somewhere in the back of his mind, like the kid-size Bruins jersey he'd gotten when he was five.  A lucky break in the donation bin.  Brother Mateo practically clocked the guy carrying the bin in to save it for him.

She wasn't saying it, but she knew it, if she'd read his file.  She knew he had nowhere to go.  How much was she banking on that?

“So, what, I'll be Mr. Tenor's mechanic?”

“No,” she said.  “We chose your file specifically because your experience helping at-risk youth.  One of the thing the Vets do when they drop in on an Islander is determine how much of a threat to society she is.  To do that, they take a lot of testimony and talk to a lot of people, and they do it over several years.  Your evaluation noted the way all of the priests mentioned your ability to empathize and work with your peers, some of whom were very troubled.  The consistency of this testimony is part of why you're not wearing a hospital gown and shock collar in a cement bunker right now.”

“They don't do that,” he said, reflexively.  It was refreshing, though, that she looked at him like she knew this to be a lie, and knew why he'd say it.  Another Islander certainly would.

“What do you do?” he asked.

She blinked.  “I'm pyrokinetic.”

“The hell you say.”

She nodded, then, slyly, though not shyly, she brought up her hand before her chest, palm cupped towards the sky.  With a little gasp, it was suddenly filled with fire, rolling, twisting, twining tightly around itself in variegated white and orange ferocity before she winked it out.  

“How come you're not in a bunker?”

“I have a strong desire to help others,” she said.  “And my mother is a lawyer.”

He nodded.  “So what's this team doing, anyway, if not playing with powers?”

“We're helping people.”  She straightened her back, presenting him with that formal, social-worker attitude again.  “Formally, we'll be working at the Amelia Tenor Peer Engagement and Assistance Center, as the Tenor Group for the Assistance of Young Islanders.”  She dropped back into at-ease. “Informally, in order to give himself a 'cause' sufficiently individualized to increase his notoriety while also improving public opinion on his ethics, Mr. Tenor has agreed to house, bankroll, and support this group.  He has also, however, left its organization and mandate largely up to me.”

“A teenage girl.”

“An exemplar, whose past behavior earned his confidence that I would not endanger his image,” she nodded.  “I have no intention of doing that.  But this will not a be a softball charity.  We will help other Islanders.  We will improve our overall image in society.  We will do good.”

It was a warm again, and now he knew why.  Now he also knew how a teenage girl could convince powerful adults of her absolute sincerity.

“Okay,” he said, then held up a hand, “I'm interested in helping.  I'm not sure about all this, but I am interesting in helping.”

Even so soon, though, it was clear she didn't expect his caution to last.  She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a card – an actual, honest-to-God business card. “Here's my number.  Call me when you'd like to talk further.”

He held the card up a little bit to the light, feeling the cardstock – a real business card.  

“If you're worried about my intentions,” she said, looking at him cautiously, “you can come by the Center.  I'm already set up there.  I said you can read my file – you can access a copy there.”

He nodded slowly.  Did she ever accidentally set them on fire?  “What if it's not you I'm worried about?  I think it's a little more practical to worry about the billionaire.”

Looking off to the side for moment, she considered this.  Her eyes leveled on him as focused and as firm as they'd been all throughout their talk.  “When you come to the Center, I'll show you who else I'm trying to get on the team.  I believe you'll worry less about Mr. Tenor's ability to bully us after that.  Plus, Decon,” she knit her brows, “I can set things on fire at will.”

He raised his brows, but all he got back was the abrupt return of that glorious – and now, slightly frightening – smile.  

“Come see my plan.  You'll like it, I think,” she said.  “Nice to meet you, Decon,” and without waiting for his reply, she turned on her heel, and walked away, calling over her shoulder “I'll see you at the tower.”

Tower.  She'd said 'center' before. He'd pictured a youth center.  Now he was meeting the mysterious, beautiful, superpowered woman at a billionaire's tower, to talk about saving his people.  

80s movie?

80s movie.

He'd been thinking Weird Science, but maybe it was more Never Ending Story.  He'd take Never Ending Story over Weird Science any day, but it was no Willow.  The Brothers really needed to update their collection, but since it was all donations – and honestly the piece of equipment that operated the best was the VHS player – there wasn't much to be done.  Still.  

Tapping the card against his palm, he turned back for the classroom, but kept an eye on the empty hallway through which Seth had left.

Whatever was going on, he wasn't Atreyu.  

[how2to18]

IT’S RARE TO FIND a first book as accomplished and original, not to mention droll, as Laura Esther Wolfson’s collection of personal essays, For Single Mothers Working as Train Conductors. Yes, the peculiar title does have a raison d’être, as do all of the allusions and offhand surprises Wolfson treats us to. The entire volume is a loosely woven tapestry, its brilliantly colored strands of experience threading through, appearing and disappearing. It becomes the tableau of a life — until, in this case, middle age: Wolfson’s work as a Russian and French interpreter and translator (two very different endeavors); her professional travels; her two failed marriages and regret over being childless; her disabling lung disease; her discovery that being Jewish means more than a taste for good bread. And all these strands impinge on one another.

A more conventional mind might have organized the contents as a linear memoir, sauntering through Wolfson’s early publications in college (reviews of dance performances in an upstate New York paper after renouncing a career as a dancer), to her discovery of Russian and her long stay in Soviet Georgia, and so on and so on. Instead we find a far more shapely and entertaining work, imitating the way life happens and is recalled: in luminous fragments, echoing and prismatic.

This book, which won the 2017 Iowa Prize for Literary Nonfiction, is Wolfson’s first, but she is no newcomer to the world of letters. She has published stories and essays in literary magazines and been included in distinguished anthologies. But above all, she has dwelt on and in the Russian language, interpreting for “statesmen and scoundrels who were not infrequently one and the same.” Early on, when she could jet around, she dealt with “[s]tate banquets at the Kremlin, mafia trials, forgotten literary masterpieces, KGB files declassified under Yeltsin (later to be reclassified under Putin).” And she translated a book “on Russian obscenities and criminal slang, with the rhyming ditties.”

Later, when her illness required a more stable life, she took a job at what she coyly describes as “a tall building of green glass at midtown Manhattan’s watery eastern edge.” One needn’t be a world traveler to recognize the United Nations, where she rendered “routine staff correspondence, treaties, and reports” from French as well as Russian. She is wisely reluctant to name names when it comes to the realm of diplomacy, and she is just as reluctant to do so when discussing the alleged working methods of “a well-known two-person team (American husband, Russian wife) […] who retranslated most of Russian literature.” These are of course Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, whose procedure, to our author, “sounds an awful lot like the way generations of schoolboys got through Latin and Greek by relying on a ‘trot.’ […] This couple can do over, yes, but can they simply do?”

The reference to the above couple appears in one of the more rueful essays, “Losing the Nobel.” She was offered the opportunity to translate two works by Svetlana Alexievich, the celebrated Belarussian compiler of 20th-century Soviet oral histories chronicling World War II, the war in Afghanistan, and the 1986 nuclear disaster in Chernobyl. “Novels in voices,” Alexievich calls them. The two had already met when Wolfson served as Alexievich’s interpreter at the 2005 PEN World Voices Festival in New York City and found herself euphoric about the latter’s extraordinary work. Alexievich must have been impressed as well, because she kept in touch and soon after gave Wolfson’s name to her agent. In spite of her boundless admiration, Wolfson declined the offer. She was not in good health. She had a full-time job she needed, partly for her medical expenses. “I chose my writing over hers — isn’t this what creative people are supposed to do, sacrificing whatever they must so as to clear space for their work? […] I had to live another ten years to find out exactly what I passed up.” She’s referring, of course, to Alexievich’s 2015 Nobel Prize for Literature.

The taste of rue flavors many of the essays: a wry, philosophical wonder at the turns life takes, at how we conspire with circumstances to make the wrong choices — which always seem right at the time and may indeed be right for a while. Wolfson’s first husband, Aleksandr, seemed very right, as did his family, who lived in the “hinterlands” of Soviet Georgia. His mother treated Wolfson like a daughter and stayed in touch long after the young couple had moved to the United States and separated. The marriage seems to have foundered for several reasons, not least of them language, which paradoxically bound them closer and maintained a certain divide. “We discovered that in the US, marriage conducted in a foreign language afforded certain advantages: we could stand at a shop counter discussing a prospective purchase without the vendor listening in and engage publicly in secret exchanges of all kinds.” But Wolfson suspects that her use of the Russian word for “garbage” to describe the broken electronic devices her husband retrieves from the street and fixes played a significant role in their breakup. Surely more significant than linguistic or cultural differences was the fact that during a half-dozen or more years of married life, Aleksandr was never quite “ready” to have the child Laura wanted so much.

Ironically, while Laura can’t wait to have a child, she assists her Russian sister-in-law, Julia, in the opposite effort. Given the scarcity of certain personal hygiene products in Georgia, Julia pleads with Laura to leave her used diaphragm as a parting token. “‘I’ll boil it in the big soup pot,’ Julia said, with a nod toward the kitchen, ‘to sterilize it.’ […] To refuse her request would be mean-spirited.” Years later, after her own divorce, Laura learns that her gift had been effective.

In her second marriage, readiness is no longer an issue: her lung disease would make pregnancy life-threatening. As she waited in a schoolyard to pick up her sister’s small boy, another child’s father gradually approached her and uttered a very 21st-century pick-up line: “Whose mom are you?”

Wolfson can infuse the most ordinary occasions of daily life with a startling poignancy, such as the above, or, through her vivid imagery, lift casual facts out of the banal. As a young woman exploring Paris she notes a house in Montmartre where the composer Erik Satie once lived and kept two pianos, “one on top of the other, giving new meaning to the word ‘upright,’ although in my mind’s eye, the one on top is, in fact, upside down, pedals waving gently overhead like the fronds of some giant houseplant.” Even a daily subway ride can be transformed: “The commute is a golden border at the beginning and end of each workday that sheds some of its shimmer onto the leaden expanse in between.” The magic happens because she reads and annotates a few pages of Proust, “the minute perceptions captured and sliced lengthwise to reveal their delicate innards and seeds,” during her daily trek to the UN.

Occasionally Wolfson’s choices turn out to be absolutely right; witness her pursuit of writing despite the difficulties it presents. Writing is not easy for anyone, but Wolfson’s health demands a protocol that with her ubiquitous wit she manages to make funny as well as daunting. The title “Dark Green and Velvety, with a Dusting of Cat Fur,” refers to her couch. “[H]ere I am back on the couch. Not the psychotherapeutic couch. Not the casting couch. The writing couch […] [m]y writing process now involves a great deal of sleeping.” Her seven-syllable lung condition makes it impossible to write “for more than an hour and a half without pausing for a nap. In fact,” she confides, “half an hour of shut-eye intervened between the end of the previous paragraph and the beginning of this one.”

Before she starts she places the essentials beside her on the couch: notes, books, tissues, ChapStick, flash drive, glass of water, et cetera. The great Italo Calvino felt the same way about reading. In his novel If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler, he gives instructions for settling down with a book:

Find the most comfortable position: seated, stretched out, curled up, or lying flat […] Stretch your legs, go ahead and put your feet on a cushion, […] on the desk, on the piano […] Take your shoes off first […] Adjust the light so you won’t strain your eyes […] Cigarettes within reach, if you smoke, and the ashtray. Anything else? Do you have to pee? All right, you know best.

But writing is more demanding, as Wolfson attests: “I open the computer and off I go: write, sleep, write, sleep, write. This is the ideal sequence: three stints of writing intercut with two of sleep. It adds up to some four or five hours of writing, spread out over six or seven hours total.”

Another essay tinged with faint regret describes her realization, in a very secular household, that she is a Jew. The only indication of this in her childhood is bread. Every so often her family visits an old bakery in Syracuse’s former Jewish neighborhood, now mostly empty lots, and comes away with delectable smelling bags of bagels, bialys, challahs — far superior to the Wonder Bread of her schoolmates’ lunchbox sandwiches. “Bread, I sensed, was a surface manifestation of something deeper, a difference that remained impossible to grasp […] Apart from bread, what were the other signs that we were Jewish?”

Not until years later does she begin to seek answers, prompted by her living next door to a small brick building on New York City’s Upper West Side, where on certain nights well-dressed people gathered. Clearly a synagogue. Her interest piqued, she begins reading about and studying Judaism, even taking a course in Yiddish, which, oddly enough, given her talent for languages, she never masters to her satisfaction. She reads not only the Torah, but also the works of major Jewish-American novelists. Still, as with marriage, it doesn’t totally work. She never quite feels “at home in a Jewish house of prayer […] at home in the house of Judaism.”

But her studies lead to a friendship with a much older Jewish woman whose story is set against the violent upheavals of life in the USSR. Which in turn leads to a Russian émigré writer in Chicago, who in turn has a story of a Lithuanian. The ramifications go on in shaggy-dog style, deepening and widening, with no end in sight. When the end does come, it turns out to be a Russian memoir that needs a translator. This is hardly the first such occasion. Story piles on story as Wolfson moves along, connecting with anyone Russian who comes her way: cabdrivers, a masseuse, most with a tale or a potential book.

In the final essay, “Other Incidents in the Precinct,” she ponders, with the lightest of touches, her lack of success at marriage — why, what does it mean, should she even consider it again? She begins apparently far afield, yet close to the bone, as it were: “That spring, I went to my fourth dentist in three years. Why did I change dentists so frequently and so frivolously? My formative years gave no indication that I would engage in such behavior.” She can find no answers, but since her chosen form is the essay, questions need not have answers. They need only to take us down a beckoning narrative path — which includes her departure from her second husband, attended by the police, as well as her discovery of her father’s first marriage, before coming full circle to end in the dentist’s office.

Laura Esther Wolfson may not have managed to get all she wants, but she’s succeeded triumphantly in her passion to write. She has lived richly in two cultures and cultivated a sensibility informed by all that came her way. Her book is a response to her choices among life’s offerings. “My experience,” she writes, “though regrettably vaster than that of most people, is still meager as a basis for generalization […] Still, I will draw some conclusions, because what else can I do with these experiences now?”

¤

Lynne Sharon Schwartz is the author of the novels Disturbances in the Field, Leaving Brooklyn, the memoir Ruined by Reading, and many other works of fiction and non-fiction. Her third collection of poetry, No Way Out But Through, was published in 2017 by the University of Pittsburgh Press Poetry Series.

The post “The Way Life Happens”: On Laura Esther Wolfson’s “For Single Mothers Working as Train Conductors” appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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