#i’m still surprised people like this actually exist in todays society

[n3ptun3e]

the fact that my ask box doesn’t show up in my profile so the only way to send me something is through the website or opening tumblr in a notebook and EVEN SO a proshipper made sure to go through all the work to come on my ask box (anonymous as always) to reaffirm itachi and shisui is a thing lmao imma not post it on here since it’s really disgusting, but i’m actually feeling quite flattered for all the work you guys are putting into this lol. i’ll just answer one thing, itachi and shisui are from the same clan and we can see how most uchiha look alike…just connect the dots and try to think a little will ya? they are at least distant cousins, and even so, their cannon relationship is of brothers, shisui literally tells itachi to see him as an older brother, if you don’t see anything wrong with that….well honestly it wouldn’t surprise me since y’all had your minds fried by porn and are so chronically online that you can’t even think about your own morals🤭

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 15-- Empty/hurt

You try to comfort Suit Saeran (780 words).

You’re honestly shocked when Saeran picks up the phone. After all, today has been horribly stressful for him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if his impulse had been to self-isolate. It’s plausible to you that he might have perceived his emotional outbursts earlier— not to mention his current mental and physical state— as a sign of weakness and hidden it from the judgmental world. 

“What do you want?” He croaks. His voice tells you that he’s been crying. His words communicate that he’d be mortified if he knew you were able to pick up on his condition so easily.

“Are you okay, Saeran?” You ask gently. His words from the chatroom he last opened have been racing through your mind for the past hour or so. He told you that he wished he could become an empty shell without a care, incapable of feeling anything. Though you meant it when you told him that he’s free to choose that if he wishes, you still hope you’ll be able to help him recover. There’s a whole world outside of Mint Eye, after all, and Saeran deserves a chance to experience what it has to offer. He deserves an ordinary life, a peaceful existence far away from this horrible place. 

“Do I sound like I’m okay?” He snaps. There’s a long pause, during which you debate the pros and cons of asking Saeran what you can do to help. Then, more quietly, he breathes, “Ugh, forget it. You didn’t deserve to get yelled at.” It’s not an apology, per se, but it’s pretty close.

Your heart skips a beat. Granted, Saeran hasn’t said anything particularly monumental thus far. While it’s true that you did nothing to provoke his ire, let alone to deserve it, it’s rare for Saeran to actually admit to something like that. Actually, it’s beyond rare. If you hadn’t just experienced the moment with your own five senses, you wouldn’t believe that it had truly taken place. 

“It’s okay, Saeran,” you assure him,“I know you’re really stressed out. Thanks for saying that, though. It means a lot.” Your words are awkward as you navigate this changing dynamic. “Are you feeling at least a little bit better?” This, after all, is why you called: to see how Saeran is recovering after his latest dose of elixir. You don’t think he should be taking that stuff at all, but you’re beginning to understand that he doesn’t really have a choice. At least, not while he’s still living at Magenta. 

Saeran groans, answering your question with minimal effort. “I would rather have been born as a piece of weed rolling in the wind. That way, nobody would hurt me or use me to hurt somebody else. But this… ” He trails off, muttering something vulgar under his breath in response to his own stilted countenance. 

It breaks your heart that he’s thinking this way. You have no idea what you can do to help him, no idea how to conquer such atrocious and specific circumstances. “I’m so, so sorry, Saeran.”

He just snorts at you. It’s clear that he’s trying to stay strong, though you’re beginning to question his motives. Is Saeran trying to scare you, or is his behavior intended to reassure you? “What are you saying sorry for?” He demands, “You’re not the one that made me be born.” 

Ah. He’s been so isolated from society and so deprived of sympathy and empathy that he has no concept of the condolence that you’re trying to offer. You have to make an effort to hide the fact that your heart has shattered into a thousand pieces. “No, I mean, like, I’m sorry that happened to you,” you explain, “I’m sorry you feel that way, but…. If you ask me, I think your life is still worth living. You can change whenever you want, however you want. You still have so much time, and… I mean, if you wanted to… we could always get out of here, Saeran. There are people who would help us, and… you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” For your own part, you are praying that Saeran doesn’t want to stay here after all that Rika has put him through, but you know it’s not impossible that he’ll feel compelled to remain. 

“I didn’t ask you,” Saeran barks, after a prolonged period of silence. You should have known that his response would be something along these lines. Saeran may be changing, but you can’t expect him to become completely different over the course of a single conversation. “Don’t be so fucking arrogant!” He hangs up before you can get a word in edgewise.

[thequietabsolute]

:: Heidegger said spare time is ecstasy ::

But Cordelia is the quiet absolute; her very silence is the still centre of the turning world.

— Ann Pasternak Slater 🐚

… and yes I said yes I will Yes.

Trieste-Zurich-Paris,

1914-1921.

(my name’s John; England is mine and it owes me a living, etc., 📻)

// Spotify

☝️if my blog appeals to you then there’s a good chance you’ll find a lot of new music you’ll like on the mix called Endymion / Aubade on here, a sort of low-key soft collection you can have on while working or reading; I’m always slowly adding to it too. Please let me know if you find anything new on there that becomes an obsession or high-table favourite for you – that’ll make my day 🎧🌻

:: personal rules and sensibilities ::

• Comitting to intellectual freedom, while disavowing and attacking ideology:

To be clear, an ideology is by definition a belief system with an inadequate basis in reality, and therefore always vulnerable to the recourse of violence (verbal and/or physical) whenever it is moved to defend itself, especially when those areas of reality-inadequacy are being highlighted. Furthermore, an ideology is in the business of aggrandising those who subscribe to it, and by definition demonising those who do not.

Solzhenitsyn wrote, ‘Physics is aware of phenomena which occur only at threshold magnitudes, which do not exist at all until a certain threshold encoded by and known to nature has been crossed. Evidently evildoing also has a threshold magnitude. Yes, a human being hesitates and bobs back and forth between good and evil all his life, but just so long as the threshold of evildoing is not crossed, the possibility of returning remains, and he himself is still within reach of our hope.’ He went on to say: … ‘The imagination and spiritual strength of Shakespeare’s evildoers stopped short at a dozen corpses, because they had no ideology.’

Ideology, along with organised religion, brings about a disastrous fusion: that of violence and self-righteousness; this allows for a savagery without stain. It provides in humans an inbuilt circuit-breaker for recognising the threshold magnitude of an evil.

• Judging or interacting with the individual on merit alone; I couldn’t care less about your perceived (actual or imaginary) disadvantages or sufferings (of an associated group or you as an individual). That’s not my problem, nor should mine be yours; to expect preferment due to them is inherently perverse and dangerous.

To be clear: I’m talking individually here, not nationally / economically; the state has certain responsibilities to all its citizens, each to their needs; this responsibility is derived from both the taxes and the social contract a polity obliges from its people.

• A disavowal of the reflexive notion that our basic sense of what is Good and Evil is reduced to the following myopic formula:

Good people or ideas = (come from) the powerless.

Bad people or ideas = (come from) the necessarily powerful.

This ought to be seen as self-evidently pernicious and inimical to any notion of development on both a personal and societal level, but somehow today is the default in western mainstream discourse. I reject it wholly and am repelled by those who promote it.

• A disavowal of race obsession; society should endeavour to be by default colourblind, while maintaining and celebrating without prejudice the multiform cultures and traditions that embody the said society, within the laws of that said same. Promoting preferment or demotion or the throttling of opportunity due to race is inherently perverse, retrograde and dangerous.

• A refusal to replace ideas with ‘identity’; your ‘identity’ is not a catch-all accessory that inures you from your actions or your espoused ideas; it is not a shield, yet it can often be a marker for your obvious subservience to an ideology, and due to passed enormities of said ideology you shouldn’t be surprised if people, and myself, don’t want anything to do with you. You’re a human being, not a capriciously customisable gnostic mannequin.

• Debate over denunciation, persuasion over mere public shaming; don’t tell me how I should think and feel about a person or idea. Ex cathedra positions are hard-won and earned; presuming this position without merit is absurd and should be exposed, and furthermore, if you’re able to and in the mood: mocked, whenever encountered.

• The rule of law over the self-righteous fury of the mob; history teaches that the mob is capable of all and any depravity, and always feels justified in the act, however obscene.

• That said, it is vital to understand that an uninformed majority will always lose a battle for information against an informed minority; it’s important to notice when a manipulative minority is holding an unaware majority to ransom. This is, again, particularly prevalent when dealing with ideologues.

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 2 excerpt — mother/son reunion read full story here

After 3 weeks of playing house with Keigo, Shouto asks, “Touya-nii. I have the day off today, and I want to take you somewhere. Will you come?”

Touya’s arm suspends in the air as he looks at Shouto like he’s lost his mind, mid-bite of his lunch, “I’m... literally a wanted criminal?”

Shouto studies his face for a moment, blank mismatched eyes not giving away a thought, before he says, “Your hair has grown and you've washed most of the dye out. ‘Dabi-the-Villain’ isn't known for an inverted balayage. The rest can be covered with a face mask and sunglasses. Wear one of Hawks-san’s hoodies.”

Touya hums, suspicious at the adamancy that his brother is showing, “Where are you trynna take me, Shou?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Fuck off,” Touya barks a laugh, biting into the sandwich he’s halfway done with. 

“Touya,” Shouto steps in front of him, and his eyes narrow, “I know you just got better, but don’t make me knock you out.”

“Not very heroic of ya, baby bro,” Touya stuffs the last remaining bite in his mouth, the stretch straining his staples a bit, but nothing he can’t usually handle.

“Yes, well,” Shouto smirks, evilly, “I’d argue it’s actually pretty on-point with the current state of hero society today. Wouldn’t you think?”

Touya just pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He can’t believe his brother grew up like this — he reminds him of himself. 

‘He’s a little asshole.’ 

“Fine.” 

They successfully manage to get into a taxi without raising any suspicions, probably because their taxi driver keeps raving how his brother, “Really saved my ass the other day, kid, you’re going to be a great hero! Your friend, though, he’s a bit… abrasive, but he seems like he has the potential to be a good guy. Saves people with a frown on his face, but doesn’t make too much of a mess. The green-guy, though — ‘Deku’, I think? Don’t get me wrong, he’s very strong! But the crying is a bit… Well, you’re all still kids.” 

However, when the car stops and Touya sees exactly where his brother has taken him, his flight-or-set-himself-on-fire instincts start to kick in.

“Shou, what the fuck.” 

Shouto grabs his hand and hauls him out of the cab, his strength non-comparable to Touya’s, and he is not going to burn his brother again — not after seeing the healed over mess Shouto’s stupidly heroic actions cost him.  

“We’re going.” 

Touya digs his feet into the concrete, “What the fuck — No, she’s going to — ”  

“ — She deserves to know. You deserve to see her.”

Touya deflates. 

Before he knows it, they’re both standing in front of a white door with his mother’s name engraved across a gold plaque.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

Shouto shakes his head, “She talks about you all the time, Touya-nii. She mourns you, all the time.”

Touya pinches his nose in frustration, “I’m not the son she mourns, anymore. Don’t you get that?”

“Yeah,” Shouto says stubbornly, “The son she mourns doesn’t exist because he’s literally not dead,” his brother knocks on the door before Touya even has a chance to change his mind. 

A slightly muffled, painfully familiar, high-toned, “It’s open,” comes from the other side, and Shouto slides the door open and pushes Touya inside. 

Touya freezes. 

His mother doesn’t look a day older than when he’d last seen her, over a decade ago, but at the same time, she doesn’t look like his mother at all. 

This woman sits on a slightly messy bed with her feet propped up and ankles crossed, reading some brightly colored book, wearing oversized clothing with her white hair twisted in some kind of clip. 

This woman is relaxed. She’s content, happy, and comfortable. 

Her shoulders have sloped down, no longer carrying a burdened fear. 

“Oh?” She puts down her book and starts to lift herself off her bed, “Shouto, you brought a new friend?”

“Sort of.”

Touya can’t take this. His hands are sweating in the pockets of his hoodie and his heart is beating so loud in his ears, every sound dulling into an underwater muffle.

“Are you alright, dear?” His mother’s face is suddenly so close to his. Her eyebrows are tilted up in concern — such fucking familiar concern — and Touya notices the small gathering of crows-feet at the end of her eyes she’s accumulated this past decade.

His hands are moving, one pulling the face mask down and the other taking the sunglasses off. He clutches the items in his hands, needing something to hold onto as his mother’s grey eyes widen at the sight of his face. 

Her mouth gapes and something inside Touya’s chest absolutely breaks, ‘I knew it, I fucking knew it, she’s horrified, disgusted, I’m disgusting, I knew it, no, I knew it —’ 

Cool and soft pressure on his cheeks interrupts his thoughts, a thumb trembling across the staples under his eyes, “Touya?” his mother’s voice is a breath in disbelief, that same thumb traveling to the side of his nose.

Touya had never put his nose studs back in.

He doesn’t even register the clatter of sunglasses dropping to the floor as his own scarred hands encircle his mother’s wrists, his throat feeling so fucking dry as he cracks out, “Hey, Mama.”

His mother wails in absolute glee, “Touya!” and engulfs him in the coolest hug that ever warmed his core.

Peals of laughter ring in his ear, and the side of a wide smile presses against the healthy skin of his cheek, his mother praising the gods — "thank you, thank you, oh, Gods, thank you for bringing him back to me, my baby!"  — and tears drip onto his neckline.

When his mother pulls back, her hands return to cup the scarred skin of his face, and her broken heart reflects so clearly in her expression, “Oh, Gods, what has he done to you? What... have I let this world turn you into?”

Touya’s mouth gapes at the admission. 

He has never outwardly blamed his mother for any of Enji’s actions, for what this world has twisted him into, but the smallest and ugliest parts of him would hate his mother in the dead of the night for the slightest second, his inner child pleading, ‘Why didn’t she protect me? Why does no one care enough?’ 

He’s older now. He knows exactly what constant abuse does to the mind, knows that escape is never so black and white, and usually feels downright impossible, but that part of him — the part of him that was abandoned by his mother, ignored and told to keep quiet, it latches to his heart like a parasite in the worst of moments. 

“Mama,” He starts, “It’s not your fault.” 

His mother smiles at him sadly, so fucking sadly, “Whose fault is it, if not the ones that were supposed to dedicate their lives to your protection?”

His mouth wobbles in the telltale sign of his body trying to cry, but his melted tear ducts only allow the seams under his eyes to stretch and split over his staples, and he feels the drops of wet and hot blood trail down his face, “Ma…”

Delicate and cold fingers try to wipe away the blood that drips down her son’s face, ending in translucent smears across pinked and purpled flesh.

“I should have left. I should have kicked up a fuss and gone to every police and news station and demanded  help.”

Touya only shakes his head, “They wouldn’t have listened.”

“Well, I should have tried, Touya!” His mother cries and grabs his shoulders, her head hanging in shame, “Words… There aren’t enough to describe how sorry I am,” When she looks back up at him, Touya’s throat constricts at the look of desperation that’s etched into his mother’s face, “I will carry my failed responsibility till the day I die. I will be sorry to my grave, and even beyond that.”

The mention of ‘failure’ triggers something in Touya, something that urges him to fix this mood, tend to his mother’s sadness, soothe her, “I don’t blame you, Ma,” He lies, “I forgive you, alrigh’?” Anything to ease that agonized expression off his mother’s face. 

His mother starts to violently shake her head, “Don’t ever burden yourself with forgiving me, my son — my precious, wonderful boy.” Even against the deadened skin of his neck, he feels his mother’s cool touch, “I will love you anyway. I will be here for you, always.” 

Hearing his mother tell him that she still loves him, after all this time, after failing, after murder and villainy, revives a part of his heart he thought long-dead, “I love you, too,” And this time he means it. 

His mother smiles, “You can love me and not forgive me.” 

“Well, I decide if I forgive you, and I want to.”

She brings him into another hug, “There’s no rush,” and uses all her strength to squeeze his middle, pouring all the love she has through this decade-late touch. 

She asks so many questions — ‘How did this happen? Where have you been? Who helped you? Why have you returned? Who else knows?’ 

“Just a few people. Pro-Hero Hawks, Natsou, Shou.”

His mother’s hand never left his own since they sat down on her bed, “Not Fuyumi?”

Shouto sits on the other side of her, “No. We aren’t sure how she’ll react, if she’ll tell Father. Her intentions are always good, but she’s foolishly naive.”

“Geeze, Shou — a lil’ harsh, don’tcha think?” Not that Touya doesn’t agree but things were different for Fuyumi.

His mother sighs heavily and shakes her head in shame, “I raised Fuyumi all wrong, gave her the worst role model. I’m afraid I’ve turned her into a fixer, and women who try to fix things all the time end up in horrible situations,” She squeezes her sons’ hands and moves her head to look at both of them, “Please, don’t let that mentality consume her. Otherwise, she’ll end up here, same as me and all the other women.”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, “Other women?”

His mouth lets out a bitter laugh, “Half of the women in here are like me. Wives told they’re hysterical. Women pushed to their breaking point, locked away and not allowed to leave until their husbands sign for their release,” and the way she says the word 'husband’  sounds like poison. 

Shouto and Touya share a horrified look, anger kindling within their hearts.

A few hours later, a nurse knocks on the door to remind them that visiting hours are almost over. 

Touya puts on his facemask and is about to slip the sunglasses back on when his mother cradles his face again and gently tugs him to bow his head before she presses a hard kiss to his forehead, “Survive. Do what you must. Don’t let them lock you up.”

And even though Touya nods, he’s lying again because he doesn’t know if he can see a way around it anymore, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be allowed freedom for what he’s going to do.

He’s made his decision.

read full story here

my other works

[thetravelingbard]

A Weekly Aside (2)

09/21/2024

“Travel does not exist without home....If we never return to the place we started, we would just be wandering, lost. Home is a reflecting surface, a place to measure our growth and enrich us after being infused with the outside world.” - Josh Gates

I have taken up writing in the park near my house these past few weeks. I have never been especially good at consistently journaling. However, from my perspective, moving to Scotland is as good a time as any to try, try again. Anyway, today it was what could be considered “typical Scotland weather” with gray skies and horror movie-esk wind. I found myself sitting in shorts, of all things, writing again in my teal little notebook.

When writing today, I found myself considering the idea of ‘home’. I’ve always believed that home is defined by the people you lay your heart with and not so much any actual location. As I settle myself into life in Edinburgh, with love and light in my heart, I find myself missing the people stretched across several thousand miles. This is not a new phenomenon for me, do not let me fool you. Growing up I had family stretched all across the east coast. In college, some of my closest friends ranged from CST to GMT. I am no stranger to long distance friendships. Now that I am outside of the bubble of childhood and my undergraduate degree and forging my own path forward into my 20s, I find myself wishing I could share these moments with my people. It’s these moments that I thank the wonders of modern technology. I know there is endless harm the media has caused in modern society, I am by no means dissenting that. However, I will always be grateful for the ability to connect with people so effortlessly. It’s a bit like being able to bring home with you.

Retrospection aside, let’s get to the life update. This week was the first week of classes. I’ve been trying really hard to compartmentalize things and focus on only one semester at a time. I’m taking three classes this semester: International Relations Theory; Gender, Politics, and Representation; and Core Quantitative Data Analysis 1 & 2. My favorite is by far the second one. I was worried about the quantity of readings required, but so far it hasn’t been too bad. I’m still waiting for the shoe to drop, haha. 

I wanted to pursue International Relations not necessarily for just laws or specific policies, but to learn about people and demographics. My background in Psychology and Communications should hardly make this a surprise. Honestly, I am interested in applying my studies, in all three courses, to people in some way or another. I hope to steer my dissertation in this direction as well. I’ve been told by probably every professor and advisor to start thinking about a potential dissertation topic, which I have been, do not worry, but beyond that…I’m trying to not get too ahead of myself. I don’t really have to begin planning until February, so I do not need to get ahead of myself. 

Aside from that, I’ve been really just trying to adjust to a new routine. I went to a female singing group this Thursday that I am optimistic about as well. I forgot how much I love singing in a choir. Once my tutorials (smaller groups based on the lectures) start this upcoming week, I’m hoping to get a better grasp onto what my schedule is going to be looking like. I’ve also been applying to jobs like crazy, but haven’t had any luck so far. Finger’s crossed! 

Cherish those you call home, wherever they are. 

<3 Serena

[starsailor-kinthepast]

I’m actually considering being either hearted with or identifying as a species of basal human! I’m not sure but I think It’s either australopithecus or paranthropus. Would you mind talking about your experiences being a neanderthal, and what it’s like emotionally and behaviorally? What are some “instincts” that come to mind? Basically anything about yourself and your identity I’m interested in! Thankyou for your time :)

This is tricky to answer, since I'm very unsure what parts of me came about because of my identity versus what parts of me caused my identity, but I'll write them out as best I can!

A list of things I associate with/attribute to my otherhumanism is, in no particular order:

Sleeping habits

Sleeping with furs in my bed (I have some sheepskins) makes me insanely euphoric. I have a fake fireplace as well that gives off the perfect light, and I often have nature ambiances playing on my computer. Even then I long for sharing my bed with someone - not in a romantic or sexual way, just to share space and warmth. Back-to-back or front-to-front or anything at all; I've always slept better with someone else near/present. Discord sleep calls have been my saviour so many times before!

Clothes and fashion

Neanderthals weren't big on decorating their clothes, and like many cultures throughout history we only have a few outfits - usually just for cold and hot weather, maybe an extra overcoat for traveling/hunting. I carry much of this over to today, wearing loose clothes and caring very little about what it looks like. Easy and plain is best for me, and bonus points if it's in natural colors like tan or ochre.

Despite not having an eye for details in clothes in that regard, the visually pleasing is still very important! I'm very sensitive to things like symmetry and geometric shapes, as well as high quality of tools.

Physical contact and touch

All my friends go through a "touching" phase. I go from zero to a hundred rather abruptly with people I get close to; with strangers and acquintances I'm very little touchy out of cultural conditioning. Then, the moment I'm more comfortable with someone, I'll start touching them - just little prods at their arms, touching moles or freckles, plucking at their hair, fiddling with their sleeves or fingers. They usually take this in stride, haha. This is very similar to how we act in our families-tribes-caves-clans! Grooming each other, casual closeness, etc.

Ease with the uneasy

Gremlin mode! I'm the wild child that never grew out of the phase; I'll get dirty and crawl on my hands through mud and wilderness, and it feels so much more natural to just live and exist this way. It's the 'gross' and 'weird' habits many modern societies cast aside.

Interest in pre-history

Ancient humans have always been one of my huge interests. Whether this is because of my otherhumanism, or my otherhumanism came about because of it, I have no idea. But it's there, and now it only serves to strengthen/be strengthened by our connection.

As the seasons go...

Every single aspect of me is affected by the seasons. With autumn I feel restless/the need to hunt, to gather, and prepare. With winter I'm lethargic, sleepy, almost dormant in a way. Spring and summer are similar to autumn, I feel the call of nature and the need to harvest, to gather. Weather has a direct effect on me that's more than just heat. This is also connected to my disability, but serves as yet another tie to neanderthals.

To love the wild

Nature is my soulmate more than anything else ever will be. I love the beauty of it, the rawness of it, that we all came from it. With the reverence that comes from living in it, it isn't surprising. It's more than aesthetics for me; it's life, too, and death. It's everything, it's home. Caves are comfort; fire is comfort. I live in the capital nowadays, and it's killing me in slow-motion. I need wild nature as much as I need air.

Living together

As with sleeping, living in the presence of someone else is... essential. This is more connected to all human nature than anything else I've spoken about; homo sapiens, as a rule, are pack animals. This is only heightened for those of us who yearn for a time/place where the same applies. Communal living is just ideal, really. I miss it.

The physical differences

There's less dysphoria related to otherhumanism than other forms of otherkinity, I've experienced, but it's very much still there. My body is too wrong: too tall, too slim, too weak, too straight. This, despite being short and stocky in build. It's been a point of shame for me before, having broad worker hands and un-attractive proportions, but now it's a source of comfort. It brings me closer to what I should look like.

Instincts

The instincts of neanderthals and sapiens are not very different, and I can't exactly pinpoint them. Still, I can say that my hunter-gatherer instincts are stronger than they've ever been before. Most notably is perhaps the way I feel out-of-place among humans when in nature: I pay a different sort of attention to my surroundings. I change. I scan plants, listen for sounds, try to analyze all I hear and see and feel. A survival instinct wakes up: to be on guard, to look for food, to be watchful and aware. I've never known anyone IRL who reacts to nature that way: like a hunter, like someone hunted. It is out of my control and has made me feel very isolated at times.

Thank you for this ask <3 I really appreciate it! I hope this helped somewhat. Feel free to keep me updated on your journey; I'd love to hear from moder otherhumans!

[inkovert]

Find the Word Tag

ooo boy. find the word tags are such a beast to compile which is why I've been delaying responding to this one. Thank you @pertinax--loculos for the tag! My words were yell, hand, deal, wait, and lose (rearranged the order of some words because coincidentally some of the scenes I chose are connected :^)). I'm tagging @dallonwrites, @ladywithalamp, @lady-grace-pens, and @akindofmagictoo (pls do not feel any type of pressure). Your words are whisper, blood, speak, and tear.

yell

“So let me get this straight,” Mira said, hacking me in the chest with her weapon. “A guy you’ve never talked to before came into the Yard to buy something. You accused him of nearly running you over with his car. He didn’t respond well to that. And somehow he’s the asshole?”

I wiggled the joystick to dodge her attack. “It’s the way he responded. He was so…smug.” 

“If a random stranger came up and yelled at you —“

“I didn’t yell at him.”

“�� for being a danger to society, you’re telling me you’d be all namaste?”

I pressed a random combination of buttons to attack. “You go off on people while driving all the time. You’re telling me you wouldn’t sieze the chance to tell them off to their face?”

Taking her eyes off the screen, she turned to stare at me. “I’m a semi-single brown bisexual female in a predominantly red state. There are actual maniacs out there. So, no. I prefer to yell from the safety of my car.”

hand

“Hey.” 

Spencer's eyes shifted from the page over to me.

I huffed a breath. “Look, I’m sorry for coming for you the other day, okay? It wasn’t cool.” 

Taking out an earbud, he squinted at me like I was an unexpected package that had arrived at his doorstep. “Do I know you?” 

I scoffed. The only shift in his expression was a minimal raise of his brow. Right. He hadn’t spent the past seventy-two hours cursing me and violently raging against my existence. Of course he didn’t remember me.

“The Yard. You came in and bought a Kooks and Rolling Stones CD? I rang you up at the register.” 

All I got was a stiff nod and a one-word response. “Cool.” He returned to his book. 

I clenched my hands into fists. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Don’t hurt yourself.”

deal

Catching my curious look, he said, “I also was, uh…well I wanted to check on you too, see if you were alright. You seemed kinda out of it earlier. Like you had something on your mind.”

I crossed my arms, retreating into myself. “I’m fine. Just had something annoying happen today. It’s not a big deal.”

Eli searched my face. “I know I’m not the first, or second, or even third person you’d go to if you needed to talk, but,” he shrugged, “I’m always here if you need someone to listen.”

I lifted my gaze to his, narrowing my eyes. What was it with people? First Noah, now him. 

“Can I ask you something?”

His brows shot up. “O-of course. Anything.”

“At the risk of sounding rude and completely self-absorbed, is there something about me that screams ‘come get to know me’ or are you just naturally this friendly?”

He looked taken aback. I realized the question was a little peculiar and slightly aggressive but I needed to know.

“Well, I like to think I’m generally a friendly guy. But speaking for myself personally, I just think it’s strange that I’ve known you all these years and I still don’t really…know you. Which, to be honest, shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. You’ve always been kind of untouchable.” A crease formed between my brows. “I mean you were rarely home and surrounded by people constantly. You were always kind to me, don’t get me wrong, but you were this elusive thing and that only made me want to know you more. So, I suppose, going off that, there’s probably always been something about you that draws in other people.” 

I clenched and unclenched my jaw, eyes downcast. “Well, I’m not that person anymore. There’s nothing left worth getting to know.”

“I’ve never thought that for a second.”

wait

I smiled. Lifting my gaze, I spotted Spencer walking toward us and immediately tensed. I pretended not to notice him, nodding along as Noah spoke. In my periphery, he drew closer, approaching us. A look of utter bewilderment was on his face.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, staring at Noah and flicking his gaze to me. 

“Uh, having a conversation. It’s this thing normal people do when—“

“Wasn’t talking to you.” He didn’t spare me a glance, eyes still on Noah. 

My brows furrowed. “Wait…you two know each other?”

“That’s what I wanna know.”

Noah glanced uneasily between the two of us, clearly unsure who to address first. He turned to me. “Yeah, Spence and I have known each other for years.” Then, to Spencer, “and I met Cami in my coding class the other day. I take it…” he hesitated, “…you two also know each other?”

“In the loose definition of the word,” I mumbled. “So I’m assuming you’re also from Southview?”

He nodded. “Small world. How did you two meet?” 

I parted my lips to answer but Spencer cut me off. “She’s been harassing me because she thinks I tried to run her over with my car. It’s a whole…thing. I’d rather not get into it right now.”

“I’m not harassing you. I tried to apologize. You’re the one acting like a stubborn ass.”

“Again, wasn’t talking to you.” His attention remained on Noah.

“Okay…” Noah interjected, trying to clear the tense air. “Well, this is really convenient, us being all acquainted. How about we all go out for lunch and — ”

Spencer said “No” at the same time as I said “Absolutely not”. 

Raising my hands, I took a few steps back. “Look, as much as I’d love to entertain this bizarreness, I think I’d better go.”

“First thing you’ve said that I actually agree with,” Spencer replied.

“Bite me.” I sneered.

“You’ll be missed. Truly.” 

lose

“Yo.” Jeremy stepped into the room. “Where’s Mom?”

“Upstairs taking a call.” The sound of footsteps pressing into the carpet, and then an outstretched hand in my periphery. “Touch my food and you lose an arm.” 

He grunted. “You’re not even eating it.”

“Jer, there’s food in the kitchen literally ten steps away from you.”

“Yeah, but then I’ve gotta open cabinets and grab a plate and utensils then scoop it out the pot. That’s a lot of work.”

I twisted around, pouting at him mockingly. “Oh my god, you’re literally living the hardest life. Would you like me to play you a song on the world’s smallest violin?”

A laugh came from behind me. Jeremy threw a glare to his right. 

“What? That was funny,” Eli said.

Muttering under his breath, Jeremy left the room. 

[xaospoiesis]

Year 29 

this is a projet I started about experiencing the last year of my twenties, trying to cope with it I suppose. I had it go up to my 30th birthday (then started a new one for the first year of my thirties because I'll only be thirty once). It's a bit long, almost a year after all, but here goes, I guess. I tried to keep it the way I wrote it in the first place (up to the little explicative text in the beginning that I wrote when I started it)

(Writing a line a day about my feelings until I turn 30, yeah I’m late (April 27th) bc I just thought about it fuck it), I will forget days so it won’t be like a full year but doing each day without missing would be inauthentic wouldn’t it?

2023

April.  

2704 - 29 years old, 1 month, 7 days and I still cannot fathom that I’m alive. 

2804 - I could run through a wall and it would have a hole shaped like me, that’s how insane I feel today.  

2904 - I feel incapable of doing anything and that is a problem because I have many things to do.

May.

0405 - forgot this existed, wish I forgot I existed too. 

0505 - I feel nothing good yet nothing bad, it’s not nothing at all yet but it’s close. 

0705 - technically I am a mermaid. no I shall not elaborate. 

0805 - I want to do the things I am supposed to, but I cannot bring myself to do them, so I am here, eternally in limbo, eternally distressed by my own lack of movement.

0905 - sometimes, being alive right here, right now surprises me, not in a good way, just in a way. Earlier today, I felt real, that’s gone now. I’m floating again. 

1005 - I am sleepier than ever yet I cannot go to sleep at night, ironic. 

1105 - it irritates me that I need something to regulate my life so I can just function, why can’t I just free rein it without crashing and burning? 

1205 - I can’t tell the passing of time so it feels like i’ve been unsure of my feelings for days and forcing my thoughts out when I’m not sure I have any. 

1305 - I am overwhelmed by life, by the people in it, by my incapacity to cope with it all and most of all by the crushing weight of existing in a capitalistic society. 

1405 - I am stressed out and hating it.

1505 - I am trying (or maybe I am not) and I am so not succeeding. 

1605 - I forget sometimes, that it isn’t about win or lose when it comes to mental health issues. It’s a matter of compromise, of fluctuations, of resilience too. 

1705 - I do not know, things are stable and stable is scary sometimes.

1805 - I think I caught a cold and I’ve done some work but I feel it isn’t quite enough.

2105 - I’m not sure anything is happening but things should be happening right now. 

2505 - In moments of quiet, there are no words, no movement and that’s it. Almost peaceful I’d say. 

June.

1406 - There’s a disconnect between me and reality, and now, and here, and I’m not sure I want to write anymore.

1606 - time just seems to not move anymore. 

1806 - it’s okay, it’s all chill. 

2106 - ripped the skin off my finger by accident and this is honestly (insert saying about being at your limit).

2506 - I don’t know, I just feel sour. Annoyed. Annoying. 

2906 - feelings are fluctuating and yet nothing is actually felt. 

July.

0507 - I was well and then I wasn’t, just like that, feelings hit me like a freight train and I want to cry, I’m not sure why. 

1007 - so for a while I felt that maybe there was no point writing anymore, I don’t know if I’m out of it yet but hey, doesn’t matter. 

1107 - there it is, the weight in my chest I don’t have a name for, that I have to feel and can never explain or else it isn’t real.

1807 - I tell myself “this too shall pass” but this has not once passed, years of it, maybe born with it, dull, incomprehensible sadness.

2107 - again the feeling that I won’t last very long in this life. 

2307 - I sort of don’t see the point of talking anymore, responding, giving opinions, existing loudly. 

2907 - it feels insignificant, to live, to move, to laugh. 

August.

0408 - one of my most repetitive thoughts is “and I’m sad again”, often after days and weeks of the same exact state of mind.

0708 - I’m just sad about being a little sister whose big brother doesn’t feel like one, and it isn’t his fault nor is it mine, life just happened that way, but I hate that I can’t call someone older and confide in them and trust them. 

1008 - the loneliness is godawful sometime, but familiar, a daily occurrence, something regular. 

1208 - what a strange yet gripping feeling, the one of knowing that the end is nearer than one would expect.

1308 - there’s just such a slowness in summer, and it isn’t enjoyable, I wish I was doing something because I feel like I should, not because I want to. 

1808 - I’m kind of baffled that I have to hide about 85 to 90% of myself from people who call themselves my family. 

2208 - I tell myself to be happy so often, yet can never obey, it’s a weird, weird life this one. 

2708 - the thing with being so alert all the time, is that I forget that sometimes nothing is going on, sometimes, it is okay to not be worried.

September.

0109 - it is absolutely unfathomable that this is the last year of my twenties. And what have I done with them? Not much. I’m scared. 

0509 - it’s too hot to even think coherently.

0609 - my whole soul is shaky, with sadness, with unshed tears and maybe the anxiety is trying to choke me down, I don’t know.

1309 - and all I want is to quiet down into oblivion so that I can’t say something stupid.

1409 - I grasp at air, hoping it’ll be meaning that I’ll catch instead, for life and all the things a person has to go through that can make them a person, and maybe when I do, I can stop fretting.

1809 - yes, everyone has their own things, but I do feel like others’ things seem to be heavier, more important than mine and sometimes, it hurts just a little.

2509 - I don’t know about wanting to share my writing anymore, if I want to or what it makes me feel, I don’t know anything at all.

2709 - I know my body is here, real, but the rest of me, the invisible, is floating, rooted nowhere and it isn’t nausea I feel, not in my body at least, it’s my soul that’s nauseous and I don’t know how to explain it in any other way.

October.

0310 - I spent all day internally screaming at myself to get my assignment done, and yet I don’t move. 

0510 - perhaps I should stop thinking about death this much, but I have no control over those thoughts, they present, then impose themselves and then, swift as the wind, they leave me but their shadows remain. 

0710 - I just remembered one of the times I had to talk myself down from a panic attack and it kind of sucked, because I had to be the calm and the panic all at once. 

0910 - It’s one of these days where the energy outside of my body is as tainted with absolute chaos as my inside, and I realize I find some sort of joy in it.

1510 - this is a week that makes me look at some people with disgust and fear, because the cruelty of their words and their beliefs is beyond my comprehension.

2210 - there’s this feeling sitting in my chest and I think it’s anxiety and it just won’t pass, yet my brain knows it shouldn’t be here.

2410 - today’s a good day, I think, am I terrified still? Yes. Is it as overwhelming as usual? No, it’s a good day. 

November.

0611 - isn’t strange? The rot I feel in my veins from existing in this moment and having no way to do anything about it.

1211 - I feel fairly gloom today, had a small reprieve last night, and now we’re back on schedule I suppose. 

1411 - it’s weird to be so aware of my disconnect to reality,  not all of reality, mostly my direct surrounding reality, but still, as aware as I am, I still am widely unable to reconnect to it, even if I painfully need to, want to even. 

1711 - I don’t know, I don’t know if it’s the cold I caught or the existential dread that’s making my chest tighten today

2011 - felt like my eyes were too heavy for my head today and there was no way to alleviate it.

2411 - they’re giving Palestinians in Gaza four days of truce and acting like it’s an act of mercy after 48 days of genocide, I can’t fucking comprehend it.

2511 - I hate that the idea of going to class on Monday squeezes the life out of my chest and makes me want to drown.

2611 - I don’t feel alive today, not dead either, just in between two negative states.

2811 - I have this feeling I’m going to crash and burn because I’ve left all the things I need to do to the last minute.

2911 - it is ridiculously easy to distract me from important and pressing matters, I fear myself when I cannot prioritize, important matters can’t seem to be of importance for me.

December.

0512 - the sky is depression grey now, which only announces weeks of my thoughts fist fighting one another.

0612 - I have the irrepressible rage in my chest yelling a little loud today.

1012 - day to day life has been mind numbing, the past four days have been a blur, I am tired. 

1512 - the sun is setting and the sky is a pink hue, for just a few minutes, all is well, all is beautiful, I wish it was always this way. 

1612 - there’s simply such ease in being quieter, less pain there.

1812 - it is kind of funny that I am more invested in socially isolating myself than other more important things, and it’s not even fully intentional. 

2512 - it’s Christmas, I feel nothing at all, the world is on fire, nothing makes sense.

2024

January.

0201 - so I forgot I existed and I could write for a short while, and I can’t seem to want to do a thing.

0601 - I am tired but today I am not worried, it’s a tired that solely rests in my flesh, that doesn’t creep into my mind. 

1501 - time is passing and I don’t perceive it, all I feel is this dullness in my chest.

1801 - I just want a little bit of peace, I’ve abandoned the idea of grandeur. 

2301 - I just feel gloom, and yes I do feel that a lot, it’s true, I guess being alive these past few days, weeks even, feels a little harder. 

2401 - I do not care, or I can’t bring myself to do so, not sure. 

2601 - I do not know what I feel, but it is something shaking, something unsettled, something screaming. 

2701 - and so I feel like I am not acting truly like myself, or that who I am is someone I do not like.

2801 - at some point today I was worried, it isn’t the case anymore, and I can’t recall where the weight on my chest was coming from.  

2901 - sometimes hearing mind numbing nonsense doesn’t feel worth it, I guess that’s what it’s like to simply be alive these days. 

February.

0302 - I wish I was just done with it, whatever it is I have sitting in my chest right now. 

0502 - I’m not rushing to reconnect with my intellect because there’s nothing to grasp, I feel a little stupid.

0702 - I still feel disconnected from everything and maybe I am partially sabotaging myself.

0902 - Last night was so confusing, because I wanted to jump out of my skin and couldn’t figure out why, and today none of that is left, nothing is felt at all, actually. 

1202 - everything is so overwhelming right now, change is everywhere and I simply struggle to adjust to it all. 

1502 - I think maybe I’m feeling under stimulated and it’s a little too hard to stay anchored because of it. 

1802 - I do a whole lot of nothing in a day and end up exhausted and unable to think straight. 

2102 - less than a month before the end of this, what a strange thing. 

2402 - I cried today because my uncle is dead but I can’t pinpoint the exact reason, I was just sad I suppose.

2602 - I’m overwhelmed and hopeless about it, I wish I could just not give up but giving up is easier. 

2802 - I am honestly not seeing the end of this semester, but I also know that it’s just the stress making my vision tunnel.

2902 - It is quite funny that the shortest month of the year feels like the longest.

March. 

0103 - Just because I want it, doesn’t mean all will be well and that’s a bit tragic. 

0803 - Life’s a blur and I think the amount of stress I’m under is definitely messing with my system.

0903 - my stomach, my heart, something fell in my chest and reached the bottom of my feet and I can’t pick it up. 

1103 - this is going to sound ridiculous, but I just want to genuinely laugh and smile, just be happy.  I want to be happy.

1503 - I wish I was just shamelessly myself, but I don’t know how to be that. 

1803 - there really isn’t any reprieve to the big feelings, they shake me, decide for me, act for me.

2003 - so this is thirty. 

[buzzings]

letter no. 7

i guess i haven’t written much lately. to be fair, nothing is really happening, though. i’m just existing. i mean, my emotional state is still very wonky, but i think it will be for life, so that isn’t really surprising at all, either. but this post is about to be very rambly.

i’m writing this in a bad mood, which is something i tend to avoid doing because it always sounds very flat this way, at least to me. maybe it’s just my voice in my head reading this as i type that makes it sound that way. if i was in a better mood, i wonder if this same text would sound the same.

i’ve been doing fuck all in my free time. i’m in the middle of replaying assassin’s creed odyssey for the second time. it was really fun at first, but now it’s getting to the point where i’m running around doing random side quests instead of progressing the main story, just because i know how it ends—and i don’t want it to end. because if it ends, i’ll have to find interest in another one of my hobbies, and i don’t think i really have the energy for that either. i tried doing a little crochet project, and i got bored very quickly. which sucks. i love my tactile hobbies. this is the curse of having adhd, and also living in today’s general society.

i’m still twenty-five. i’ll be twenty-six soon, and this is the first time i vehemently don’t want to go up in age. if you’re wondering, it’s not because i’ll get kicked off my parent’s health insurance (i haven’t been on someone else’s insurance since i was twenty). i just really like the age twenty-five. twenty-five is a good number. twenty-six is too even (i’m not sure this concept would make sense to anyone else). now that i think about it, i just really don’t like even numbers, actually. the only even-number-birthdays i really liked were twelve and twenty-four. i couldn’t tell you why.

though, as i settle in to my mid-twenties, the concept of dying alone is more pressing. i never really cared much about finding a partner or getting married (the reasons for this, though, are a whole separate musing for another post), or having an executor, or life insurance, or anything else “adulty” (this probably has something to do with the fact that i was never able to conceive of living even this long). in fact, i was actively and belligerently against settling down to the point that it was pretty much my entire personality. now, i can’t stop thinking about it.

(i know i don’t want children. i do not want to be responsible for a human being that isn’t me (not including the people i already have in my life. that’s a different kind of responsibility). i do not want to have a person depending on me to take care of them, the stakes being that they would literally die if i were to neglect them. i don’t trust myself to not fuck things like that up, and i probably never will, with the exception of my cat.

i know full well that i will never in my existence create a life using my own body. what the actual fuck is that shit, am i right? you’re telling me that i’m growing a living thing in my body that will then exist outside my body with its own separate sentience? you’re buggin’. that’s some extraterrestrial shit. gross. no thanks. unsubscribe. keep your bodily monstrosities to yourself.

regardless.) i cannot stop thinking about being in love with someone. finding someone to spend the rest of my life with. growing up and growing old with someone who wants me along for the ride. a partnership. my best friend. my once in a lifetime green flame.

but because i have spent so long being vehemently against the idea, i have to rewire my logically-inclined—as opposed to emotionally-inclined—brain to accept that this is something i actually do want. it’s not cringey or weird to want to be loved by someone. and i do deserve it. i think everyone deserves it. i used to think everyone but me deserved it. but i know that’s not true, i just need to convince myself.

all i really know is, i want to love and be loved, and i’ve never felt this way before. i’ve had crushes. i’ve longed for romance. i’ve—countless times—admitted my feelings for someone only to realize that i didn’t actually want to pursue them, i was just attracted to the attention they gave me. i didn’t want to date (i still don’t want to date. i want to be with someone), but i did want the attention, and now it’s hard to tell where that kind of interest ends and genuine interest begins. i don’t know if i will ever find out. it scares me. it makes me feel crazy (and i’m not entirely sure if it’s mutually exclusive from the kind of crazy of people in love).

jesus fucking christ.

[overlordchris]

TMI Diary Time

I don’t know how to do the “read more” on mobile. But who cares. If don’t care, keep scrollin.

So, I just need a place to vent. Thank you Tumblr for alway being there for this purpose I suppose. I am (surprise surprise) unhappy. Some, or most likely 95% of it is related to the depression, which I’ve had for more than half my life at this point. I hate that. But I don’t know, I feel like a unique sort of sadness as of late that I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before. What it comes down to as far as my theory goes, it’s related to gender. Now I’ve lived the boy/man gender my whole life. I did so cause, ya know, I didn’t have a choice, as far as society was concerned. But I’ve known for my entire conscious life that something about that just didn’t click as “right” inside my head. I never really talked about it with others cause I had many times as a child been ridiculed for liking and doing things that fell out of the norm of the gender binary. From playing with dolls with my cousin to then be yelled at by my dad about it, to watching sailor moon and then being teased by my older brother for watching a girl show, I had to consciously play the masculine part or face ridicule.

Fast forward to my adult years where I first learned about Trans identity. Like really learned about it. What I mean by this is that I was aware of trans people as existing since childhood, but like, I had never really given it much thought as to what being trans meant, the experience, the community, the struggles, and nor did I really ever think about gender as being a construct instead of just as the status quo, ya know? I wasn’t trans, and still not as I did not desire to be a woman, but I had a deep uncomfortableness with people referring to me as “man”. I did not know why then, and I still don’t even fully know today. Like even just writing the word in reference to me as this is being written just really feels uncomfortable and I truly can’t say why other than it just doesn’t feel right. But by this point in my life, my mid 20s, the years of trying to live up to the “man” standard had made me feel like I had to defend it somehow when anything challenged it.

So here comes a cringe story about how this both manifested, and how it opened my eyes. It all started with Tumbler (coming full circle here) when in I believe in 2013 (or 2014, but I think it’s 2013) first encountered a Tumblr account that was ran by a trans boy (not like a child, but what they referred to themselves as). I followed the account for the usual reasons, memes, shitposts, etc. but one thing I quickly started to notice was the like tons of anon hate specifically targeting the fact that this person with breasts and feminine facial features called himself a boy. At first I thought, this is weird, I don’t understand why either side was so intense in their posts defending their points of view. Being me, this prompted me to dig deeper to learn more about the person behind this account, and I of course discovered the anon hate went back a long way. It had seemed there were times they would turn off anons, but then turn them back on further along in their timeline (which I don’t understand why they would turn it back on when obviously nothing good was coming from it). The moments they turned anons back on were filled with a lot of snarky/humorous replies deliberately poking fun at those trying to discredit the account holder’s gender, however that slowly turned into having more of a negative effect on their mental health, turning anon back off for a bit, and repeat.

So, how does this all relate to me? Well I had originally sided with the anon haters cause I had felt the snarky/humorous replies were in a way making light of something that I had to defend my whole life. I was ridiculed for not being “man” enough for years and this person was just casually throwing it out there like it’s something anyone could just claim. This had made me a bit angry actually because to me, being a “boy” meant MY experience growing up. How dare this person choose to be what I had always thought I had to prove to be?

If you haven’t connected the dots yet, yes, I took something that had nothing to actually do with me personally. Thankfully though I didn’t stay angry for long. I had turned to others to discuss this whole thing to get their ideas, and research articles by those from the trans community. The most important piece of information however came by way of an anon ask I had submitted to a Tumblr (keeps coming full circle!) ran by someone who had a close relationship with the topic, and had a masters in psychology. So what was this eye opening explanation that showed me the pointlessness of my anger? Well they shared with me that not everyone had the same experiences when growing up. On paper, yeah, no duh, right? But all it took was those words to make me take a moment to think about my experience and truly analyze it. I was coming from a very self centered place that had blinded me to seeing the larger picture. People be different. While there may be certain patterns in terms of behavior and responses humans display, I fundamentally believe that we are all genuinely unique, as far as brains go at the very least. Can people be similar? Of course. But there are just way too many variables that shape all of us that no two brains are ever the same. How I was raised, my life experiences, my brain’s development and subsequent interpretations all led to me being the me I am. That is something I truly believe. My experience with gender pressure and conformity was MY issue and it would be foolish to think that my life experience was the same experience as everyone else.

Coming to this realization it would still be like 7 or 8 years before I’d come to the conclusion that is today, but I was starting to understand the core issues and struggles that the Trans community was facing. I also began to understand the notion of gender being a social construct, and starting to question why it matted in the first place.

Now, fast forward to closer to today. Not quite to today today, but we’re almost there, trust me. So, about a year ago, October of 2021 to be more precise, my bestie wanted to get in shape and wanted me to accompany him to a gym for this process. Now that whole thing imploded, but that’s entirely a different story for maybe a different time. But one chilly evening we end up at a 24 hour fitness (which are no longer 24 hours…) because the main thing my friend wanted was to join a gym that is open very early in the AM. Like 3am more or less. The long story short here is we signed up for like a guest pass cause the guy at the gym was very insistent we do so. I gave a fake email and phone number during the sign up, but on the sheet under gender there were 3 bubbles. Man, Woman, and Non-Binary. I figured none of this mattered cause there was no way I was ever going back to this place to begin with, so I filled in Non-Binary since just about everything else I had already filled out was fake. But turns out not all of it was fake.

We continued driving around that night, looking for other potential gyms, but the rest of that evening I could not seem to get that application out of my mind. Non-Binary. Something about filling in that bubble just felt so right. I had never before thought of myself as being anything but a man, even though I hated that label and never really thought of myself as such internally. But I never did think I could be anything else. That concept just never entered my mind. However, that one dumb little moment of filling out that bubble had been the first time I had ever considered a label that wasn’t what people told me I had to be.

Originally I had leaned into one of the sub identities under the non-binary umbrella; agendered. Which is to say, without gender. Which is more or less to say I don’t care what others may think my gender is. That was what I always wanted to be growing up. Not a man or woman, just weird little old me. And truth be told I still wish that. But that brings me to what this whole venting session was originally to be about. Turns out I do care. I have the tendency to say things like, “kind of”, or “sort of” when it comes to me explaining things about myself, but this is a pretty big definitive “I do” moment. You see, I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to be expected to live in a box or be faced with abandonment and ridicule. I’ve had a taste of understanding, a feeling like I figured out a puzzle after years of working on it. I don’t want to go back.

But, let’s face it, I have biological masculine features. I present as male cause my genetic makeup shaped me to look the way I do, and this look pushes me inside the “Man” box. I’ve lived with following this path for over 30 years, and I don’t quite feel like doing anything drastic to change myself. Gender presentation does not determine someone’s gender identity, or least that’s the hope. However, the truth is for the vast majority of people is that it does, because it’s all they’ve ever known. Is there progress being made on this? Of course. I wouldn’t be here calling myself non-binary if we as a society were still stuck in the same way of thinking as say 15 or 20 years ago. But I’m not going to pretend that if I talked with 100 strangers about being non-binary, most would have any idea what I’d be talking about. This also applies to my entire family, which is why I don’t think I’d ever “come out” to them. I don’t think they’d understand at best, and at worst would probably ridicule me.

As of late, being referred to as a man has just been bothering me more and more. I think it’s related to it feeling regressive. Like I’m in a way being told to go back into the confusing box I had lived in my whole life. Where this is showing up and causing the most mental anguish is with a TTRPG group I play with currently. They are nice and enjoy most of their company (though I’m pretty sure 1 of them doesn’t care for me, but again, that’s another story), and for the most part they have pretty modern views about things. So gender issues are known, and respected amongst everyone more or less. Though, not so much with me which is the problem.

The one in this group who doesn’t like me is she/they and a lot of the time she will play non-binary characters. I will say that things between us initially were ok, and I don’t think they’re actively trying to hurt me in anyway currently either. But while they ask people to follow the pronouns of their characters, be they he/him, she/her, or they/them, everyone does so. Now I’ve had 3 separate characters I’ve played this last year that were specifically introduced as being non-binary. But every time I’d play these characters they would be referred to as he/him, or in my most recent case, she/her. This is all despite the fact that I only refer to them as they/them when describing what they do.

I know I know, it seems like a trivial thing to get upset with, but I liken it to a rock in a shoe. It’s a minor annoyance, yes, but the longer it’s in there the greater that annoyance becomes.

I don’t like the sort of invalidation I get out of game either. While I’ve not explicitly come out and said it, I don’t refer to myself in gendered terms. I’ve also included both the agender and non-binary flags as avatars and no one has bothered to ask or clarify things. I guess I can’t just expect everyone to ask or pick up on context clues. Again, everyone’s different. But I would hope that people I call friends would, you know, at least pick up on when I’m not feeling comfortable. Unfortunately I can’t bring myself to just say something, cause it’s honestly something I’m still pretty embarrassed and scared to admit. As to why that is, see all thee above.

And here we are today. I don’t really know what to do because it’s not as easy as just speaking up. If it was, then things like stage fright or public speaking anxiety wouldn’t exist in my life. So yeah, I’m not quite sure what next steps I can take. I hope something changes but I don’t know how or when they will. I mean I haven’t even touched the imposter syndrome aspect I feel about of all this, but that is also a massive road block for me. All I know is that I’ve noticed my depression taking a turn for the worse again and I know this is a definite contributor.

[teaboot]

Do you not believe in biological sex? I’m confused.

Hoo, boy. Apologies in advance, but this is gonna have a long answer.

The thing about "biological sex" is, it's a complicated science with a lot of nuance involved, and people who don't actually know anything about it love to use it to mean "penis is boy, vagina is girl".

Which, on the surface, makes sense to a lot of people. Its what we're taught our whole lives, and it's difficult to listen to any argument that contradicts our worldview. It's scary and confusing, and people automatically resist scary and confusing things.

The thing you need to know, though, is that what we call "Biological Sex" can actually depend on a range of factors: 

First off, primary sex characteristics: the bits directly involved in reproduction, what most people consider the defining indicator of gender.

Primary sex characteristics include the penis and testes, which are predominantly associated with men, and the vagina and uterus, associated with women.

This seems fairly simple on the surface, scientifically speaking, but bodies aren't that simple. People can and are born with combinations of these things and live long, happy, healthy lives with few or no medical complaints. Many don't even know they have undescended testes or ovaries at all, and only find out accidentally through unrelated procedures. Is a mother of three who's known herself to be a woman her whole life suddenly a man because she has 'male' sex characteristics? No? Then why should any other woman?

Someone who is still new to this might be experiencing a cognitive dissonance right now, trying to reconcile "penis is boy, vagina is girl" with "people can have both (or neither)", and they may try to do this by saying, "Well, this could be caused by mutations or deformities, so intersex people (people with mixed characteristics) are outliers, not to be included with "valid" genders."

Which brings us to the next factor: hormones.

Testosterone is Boy, Estrogen is Girl. That's what people know, so they don't want to accept any different. Different is confusing, confusing is scary, scary is bad.

But, like primary sex characteristics, these things can fly in the face of common understanding.

A woman, for example, who considers herself cisgender, who has breasts and a vagina and a uterus and all that, might have high testosterone. Because people have both! And because testosterone can give people body hair, among other things, this woman has chest hair and a beard. She LOOKS a lot like what we think of as "male", so do we tell her she's wrong about her gender? 

On the flip side, plenty of cis men with a penis and testes can have high estrogen for any number of reasons, and can develop breasts- does that mean they're women, now? 

Of course not. We have to listen to them to tell us what their pronouns are, what their gender is, and how is that any different from someone who's trans? It would be incredibly ride to tell anyone that "oh, you SAY you're a man, but you look like a woman to me, so I'm going to ignore everything you tell me and call you a woman until you can prove to my satisfaction otherwise."

So if primary sex characteristics aren't the final word on gender, and secondary characteristics aren't either, then what's left? DNA, right? Genetics don't lie, everyone knows that.

So, chromosomes, then. The barest evidence of human biological sex. XX means "female", XY means "male", forget all that mess about vaginas, breasts, and testes. Our chromosomes are the holy gospel of gender.

Except, again, nature isn't that simple.

Picture in your head a cisgender woman. She hits everything on our personal little checklist: breasts, vagina, uterus, minimal body hair, small jawline, high voice, everything. But she has XY chromosomes. 

Because, surprise! That happens! And it happens more often than you think! People can and do go their entire lives not knowing it! Because it isn't important to how we view our gender. We don't care. 

If you went to a lab today, got tested, and found that you had the "wrong" chromosomes- would you suddenly be fine with Becoming A Different Gender? Being treated like you're a different gender? Having to dress different, talk different, redefine your sexuality, because your DNA says you're wrong about your identity? How would that feel? Probably pretty shitty, huh? 

So, when we get down to it, what is the one true indicator of gender? We can't trust genitalia, because it presents on any number of variations and combinations. Secondary sex characteristics are out too, because hormones do whatever they want without rhyme or reason. Chromosomes do whatever the hell they want, fuck them, they're useless.

If we are to open our minds to what the science is telling us, then, what is it saying?

If we are to put our faith in "Biological Sex", then what does is dictate to be the truth?

That physical sex isn't just "boy or girl", it exists on a spectrum. It's not "pink or blue", it's magenta, mauve, violet, lilac, periwinkle, cyan, cobalt, or vermilion, and our idea of "boy or girl" is almost entirely a construct of our imaginations, of the society we live in. It's an illusion that dictates how we experience our lives, how we're treated, what makes us happy and comfortable or how we feel at ease.

Biological sex cannot dictate gender because they're different concepts with different rules grounded in separate realities, and no amount of pointless fussing can force them to cooperate. 

Sex is one spectrum, gender is another, and they don't know each other.

You can accept what the science says, or you can find excuses to justify the beliefs you're comfortable with. It really doesn't matter. 

Just don't be a dick about things that make you uncomfortable and the world will keep on spinning.

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 4.3.5 ‘The Rose Discovers that She is an Engine of War’

Cosette is suddenly beautiful, and it changes everything. I’m going to read this as a discussion of how the prospects of women in society are controlled by men and shift with how men perceive them because trying to read beauty as an objective fact and the end-all be-all of female attainment is crazymaking and I don’t feel like fighting Hugo today.

In realizing she’s beautiful, Cosette instantly wants to use it, and--somehow--instantly knows how. And, you know, it’s clear this wasn’t written by a woman, or by anyone who’d really thought hard from the inside about what it means to go through the world as a woman. Even for someone who picks up the rules of fashion exceptionally fast, exceptionally fast isn’t instantaneous. And, enh, I’m sure there are exceptions, but altering your demeanor overnight so that the world 1) treats you entirely differently and 2) notices you a whole lot more is generally not a uniformly easy and pleasant experience for people?

Plus, I know she doesn’t get out much, and never without Valjean, but she’s clearly around people enough to have some interactions. You kinda have to never, ever have lived as a woman (or listened carefully to any) to believe that all the day-to-day responses a pretty girl gets from people are pleasant, positive, wanted ones.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of her finding a thing she wants and making that happen with remarkable and unforeseen skill. It’s just that this portrayal of what that must be like for her feels a bit flat. I feel a little robbed of actually seeing what the ups and downs of her experience must of have been like.

Valjean is inviting comparisons to Grantaire here, with all the ugliness contemplating beauty stuff. Unlike Grantaire, though, Valjean is envious and sullen about it. Which isn’t a totally fair comparison, of course--it’s different to have someone’s affection and to fear losing it than it is to admire them from a distance. And, of course, this love will be transformative for both Valjean and Grantaire. Valjean is no slouch in the self-transformation/overcoming adversity department.

But the sad part is, the entire catastrophe we see here and everything it will become exists only in his own head. Beautiful Cosette doesn’t love him any less, obviously. He’s just seeing that things change, and he’s terrified.

He can’t trust that growth includes him or believe a happy, living person will still love him if her world grows to include people besides him. It’s not surprising that after everything he’s been through he thinks that, but it’s so damn sad.

He’s long felt as if he’s already dead, and he wants love to behave like a dead thing: inert, predictable, and unchanging, like the Inseparable. The fact that kids grow up is hard to adapt to, but if things go right, that’s what they do.

“Had God said to him: "Do you desire heaven?" he would have answered: "I should be the loser.”

I kind of love the intensity of this as a statement of love for your kid, but it’s also another example of Valjean trying to lock everything into stasis. Heaven, if you believe in it, is a stage in the life and death process. Hs refusal of death here feels like a refusal of life also. Children are change, and Cosette is the future, and Valjean has lost any ability to believe he can have a part in that.

Here in fact was the difference between his tenderness and the tenderness of a mother. What he saw with anguish, a mother would have seen with delight.

Hugo likes to say essentialist things about mothers, and I like ignoring him when he does. But this feels very true of Fantine specifically, who always rolled with the punches and adapted to new realities more fluidly than Valjean does.

He also noticed that Cosette no longer had the same taste for the back-yard. She now preferred to stay in the garden, walking even without displeasure before the grating. Jean Valjean, ferocious, did not set his foot in the garden. He stayed in his back-yard, like a dog.

This is the first instance of a terrible pattern we’ll see far worse repetitions of later: Cosette never really moves away from Valjean--she just moves forward, and he refuses to come with her, even when she asks him to.

And in his furious self-exclusion, he begins to resemble Javert. Here, he’s a ferocious dog confined in the back yard. Later, in confessing to Marius, he’ll seize himself by the collar.

Like Javert, he’s come to believe his role is to always patrol the cold and dangerous perimeter of normal life, protecting what he cares about from a distance, never allowed to come in and join the happy people sitting by the fire.

[riverdalee]

Something Forgotten

Pairing: Reader x Cedric x Draco x Harry x OC (there’s a lot about to happen here!)

Summary: The heir of a renowned pure-blooded family, you try to find a way out of your betrothal to Draco Malfoy but with no one on your side, sudden black-outs and your ex-boyfriend Cedric out for blood, you struggle to keep your focus.

Listening to: THIS PLAYLIST

MASTERLIST

Hogwarts seemed smaller from the top of the astronomy tower. You rarely ever went up there – no one did, really – but tonight you’d wanted to get away from the busy bustle of the castle on a Friday night. It should’ve been sunset but the sky was a lifeless grey, the clouds darker in the distance, warning of a storm.

In a few hours you’d be at a society party filled with people you rather disliked. You couldn’t believe something as backward as a pure-blooded society was even allowed to exist in the current climate and worse, that you had to be a part of it.

Your family was practically wizarding royalty. Generations of wealthy, pure-blooded Slytherins and you and your sister were the last remaining heirs. Your mother was rotting in a cell in Azkaban, Voldemort’s most notorious follower and right hand man, leaving the familial obligations to your and your sister. She was more than happy to shoulder most of it but you wanted nothing to do with it.

You felt like a hypocrite for attending these parties when you didn’t believe in anything they stood for but even from Azkaban, you knew your mother would punish you should you step out of line.

Even though you were well liked among some, many students at Hogwarts avoided you altogether in fear of your family. Before your mother had been imprisoned she had been accused for formidable crimes; crimes that some saw as only making her more powerful. Those were the type of people that attended these society parties.

The dress you’d chosen to wear was a simple, slinky black gown that you’d come to regret as the wind bit at your skin. As you thought about heading back to the dorms to grab a jacket, the sound of someone clearing their throat made you turn around.

“Draco,” you said, eyeing his suit, “So you’re coming tonight?” His family’s status has dropped significantly. You were surprised they were invited at all.

He nodded.

There were only five students at Hogwarts that were a part of the society and you and Draco made up two of them, thought admittedly his family’s status was fairly lower than your own. In it’s peak, your mother had led the society at the young age of eighteen when she’d married your father. When he passed she took over, making it what it was today; feared.

The two of you rarely spoke. A few words in passing, if that.

“I thought I should tell you…” He walked over to you, an envelope in his hand. “They’re going to ask you to step up as head of the society tonight. To announce it officially, anyway. You wouldn’t take over until after you graduate.”

“What?”

“Not so much ask but tell you that is what is required of you.”

“I- I don’t understand. I’m not even of age.” You shook your head. “I don’t even contribute anything to them.”

“It only makes sense. Your mother ran it before you,” he told you.

“But my sister-“

“Your sister is being recruited to lead a certain group within M.A.C.U.S.A. She won’t turn it down. The chance to influence American laws against muggles…” Draco said, “Things are changing.”

It was just like your sister not to inform you of important decisions being made on your behalf. Your mother had been the same.

“I’ll talk to her about it. Thank you for telling me.” Your sister was just as cruel as your mother, if not more since she felt like she had something to prove. There was no way she’d listen to you but you had to try. Even she would agree you weren’t suitable for the role.

“She won’t be there,” he told you. He swallowed hard. “When they offer you the position tonight, accept it and whatever else it comes with. We both know your sister won’t hesitate in punishing you if you don’t.”

He was right. If this is what your family had planned for you and you didn’t follow through, an imperius curse would make you. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You hadn’t even thought about what accepting it would mean but the biggest, maybe most terrifying part crossed your mind. “I- I’d have to be married.”

It was outdated and sexist but it was in the laws of the society; if a woman were to lead, they would need to be married.

He nodded. “I know.” He reached into his pocked and pulled out a small, velvet box.

You furrowed your brows together. “W-what are you doing?” He must have been desperate to help his family’s name if he was willing to try and marry you.

“Your  mother made a unbreakable vow with mine when we were children,” Draco told you, “We’re betrothed. Tonight will just make it official. That’s what the party tonight is for; an engagement. Then a wedding in two years once we’re both eighteen.”

“Our engagement?” You felt bile in your throat just thinking about it. “I don’t believe you.”

Is that why’d he told you all this? So you wouldn’t break it off? “Look, I know your family is hanging by a thread right now, but I’m not going to marry you just so you can attach your name to mine.”

“This is bigger than that,” he said, “Your mother will die if you don’t follow through on her promise.”

“You think I care about that?” Your eyes prickled with tears.

“My mother will,” he said, “And I can’t let that happen.”

He looked vulnerable. It was the first time you’d seen him that way.

“Draco, I’m sorry but I’m not going through with it.” You shook your head. “If I must take this position and I must be married, it won’t be to you.” You had no intention of accepting the position at all but even the thought of a wedding to someone you barely knew made your skin crawl. You were only sixteen.

“I don’t want this anymore than you do,” he argued, “W-what if we just got engaged tonight and then we have two years to figure a way out of this? If the engagement happens tonight, your sister won’t poke around and I promise I’ll help, okay? I swear it. I swear – just-“ he inhaled slowly, “Just please help me, just this once.”

“Draco-“

He reached for your hand and took it gently in his. “I know we aren’t friends and that you probably despise me but one way or another this engagement is going to happen,” he said, “Do you remember our first society party together? We both left the castle together because we were the only children from Hogwarts allowed to attend?”

You nodded.

“You spelled my legs to jelly for calling Granger a mudblood before we left and your mother took you up to a room to scold you,” he said, “I followed because I- I think I wanted to yell at you too… and I heard what she did to you. It was the first time I ever heard the cruciatus curse.”

Your jaw tensed. “That’s enough, Draco,” you whispered.

He squeezed your hand lightly. “I know your sister is capable to the same and I don’t think you deserve to go through that,” he said, “You can trust me. If you go through with this engagement tonight, without a fight, we will find a way out of this.”

Your mind was spinning and you couldn’t land on a solution better than what he was offering. He was right. If you refused, if you made a scene, you would suffer at the hands of your sister and quite possibly your mother; she had her ways, even from Azkaban.

And it was possible with his help there would be a way out.

Slowly, you nodded. “Okay,” you said, “But as of tomorrow, we both start searching for ways around the spell.”

“I promise.”

The party was a blur but the grey diamond and emerald ring on your finger was enough of a reminder of what had happened. That and the haunting silver scar wrapped around Narcissa Malfoy’s wrist, proving what Draco had said to be true.

Your mind had been so preoccupied with the nights events you had forgotten a small detail you were paying for now; that you weren’t the only two from Hogwarts that attended those parties.

As soon as you’d woken up you’d found Pansy sitting on your bed to ask if the news was true; were you really to marry Draco?

You’d made it to the great hall without being stopped too many times but all eyes were still on you and the hushed whispers were slowly driving you insane.

“I hear you had an eventful night.” Harry took a seat beside you, only one piece of toast and bacon on his plate.

“Don’t start,” you groaned.

Harry was one of the only people that had spoken to you during first year. Everyone had heard how terrifying your family was and steered away. He’d remained a loyal friend to this day.

“You really couldn’t find anyone better than Draco?” He raised a brow.

“I don’t want this,” you sighed, “I’m just so tired of everything.”

Harry didn’t ask why you’d agreed to it. He had a feeling it was in fear of your family. “Why not just run away from it all?”

“There nowhere I could run that they wouldn’t find me,” you told him before shaking your head, “Let’s please talk about something else.”

It was only the first week of school. In a months time, no one would be talking about this.

“I actually do have some news,” he said slowly, “By tomorrow, people won’t even be talking about you.”

“What is it?”

He leaned closer. “Cedric’s back. He’s in Dumbledore’s office right now,” he whispered, “Back to graduate.”

Had it already been a year since Cedric had left? He hadn’t even said goodbye, not that you could blame him leaving that fast after watching Krum die that night of the Triwizard tournament.

“Oh.” He hadn’t written or called. He’d vanished from your life but god, you had missed him. Just the thought of laying your eyes on him again was making your heart ache. “I- I should go find him.”

You were running out of the hall before Harry could get another word out. By the time you reach Dumbledore’s office your heart was pounding. At that moment the door opened and Cedric stepped out, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you.

Your name on his lips was the sweetest sound you could hope to hear. “You grew your hair out,” he said, running a strand of it through his fingers and then dropping his hand to his side as he took a step away. “How did you know I was-“

“Harry,” you said, slightly out of breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write you, I was-“

“I don’t care,” you mumbled, pulling him into your arms, “I can’t believe you’re back.”

It’d been so long ago that the two of you had been dancing together at the Yule Ball, sneaking into each others dorms. You’d missed him but you hadn’t let yourself feel it up until that moment.

And then he pulled away.

“I was thinking,” he finished, “About everything that had happened.” He was distant; cold. You felt yourself panicking. “Your mother was in the graveyard the night Krum died,” he said, “Voldemort’s loyal soldier.”

“She’s rotting in a cell in Azkaban and you know I have nothing to do with that stuff. I would never-“

“It’s in your blood,” he argued, “It’s your birth right. Generations of-“

“Cedric-“

“Conceited, cruel and evil pure blooded Slytherins doing whatever they please,” he finished, “And one day you’ll be no different to them.”

“I am not like them.”

“Were you not at one of the parties just last night? Taking over from where your mother left off? Engaged to Draco?” He scoffed. “It doesn’t matter if you think you’re different, you’ll still do exactly what they want.”

“You don’t understand,” you shook your head, “I didn’t have a choice.”

You couldn’t tell him about the unbreakable vow. You had to act oblivious to it or your sister might catch wind that you were trying to find a way around it. And you couldn’t tell him how cruel your family really was – you couldn’t bear to speak of it. The cruciatus curse was the least of your mothers cruelty. “If I did, I would’ve chosen to be a nobody. I don’t want any of this.”

“The fortune, the fame, the fear at the mere mention of your name? You don’t want any of it?” he took a step closer to you, a dark look in his eyes, “You have no idea who or what you are but I can see it. Clearly.”

“Why are you being like this?” you asked him, “I’ve done nothing but miss you everyday you’ve been gone.”

He softened for a moment. “I think we should keep our distance. I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now.”

It hurt a little to hear but it was hardly the most awful thing he’d said in the last five minutes. “I didn’t – I didn’t come here to ask to be your girlfriend again. I just wanted to see you. I just want to be there for you, as a friend, if that’s what you need.”

“That’s the thing,” he said, brushing past you, “I don’t need you anymore.” And once he was far away enough, “And I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Once the sound of his footsteps disappeared, you let out shaky breath. Somehow last nights events had softened the blow of Cedric’s words. You had too much to worry about to focus on this one thing. But it still hurt. It all did.

Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you tried to focus on finding a solution.

It was easy enough to find Draco, sulking in a corner of the great hall, his slender fingers picking at his food. You eyed the ring on his finger, the memory of putting it on him faint in your memory.

“So I was thinking we should make a trip to Diagon Alley this weekend. There’s sure to be someone there that can point us in the right direction on how to break the vow.”

Draco glanced up at you. “No.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“Next weekend then?” you said.

He sighed. “You needed to hear me say we’d find a way out to go through with it last night. I only said what you needed to hear,” he stated, standing up, “There is no way out. The sooner you accept that, princess, the better.”

He walked away from you without a second glance. That was the second time in an hour you’d been left speechless.

You could see Harry watching the two of you, still in the same spot he’d been before you left to find Cedric. You thought to go over to him and tell him everything. You needed a friend, desperately.

But you felt the urge to be alone. To just let the hurt in for a little bit and then wake up tomorrow and figure things out.

Just once, you wanted to fall apart.

[astaroth1357]

Unpacking the Angel Event (Through My Own Perspective)

Okay so uh… this was a very uncomfortable seat the Devs have offered us today and like all things that give me moral uncomfiness, I HAVE to analyze it. Blame the ethics classes. A full disclaimer, this is not spoiler-free and is pretty much entirely just me unpacking my own feelings here. What may bother or not bother me could really affect you and there is nothing wrong with that. You are entitled to your own perspective. This is just me trying to walk through all the stuff in this event that just… rubbed me the wrong way. So let's get to it.

The Costumes

So. Let's start at the beginning. Diavolo apparently had the bright idea to put everybody in magical costumes of their angel forms (or something like it in Satan's case). This is… problematic.

The reason the brothers lost their angel forms was because they fell after the Celestial War… who's greatest causality (in their eyes) was their sister, Lilith. So one could imagine that their memories as angels aren't particularly happy ones… By this point in the "continuity" (this is Post-Attic, more on that later), they would have known that Lilith didn't actually die which may soften something like this a little. I dunno, I'm not one of them and trauma is uniquely personal to the individual, but the bigger issue is that Diavolo thought this was a good idea to start with to which I say! - I'm not at all surprised by that. Hear me out.

Diavolo is heavily implied to have had a huge ass crush on Angel Lucifer. He's also uh… probably a little sheltered (as sheltered as the royalty of Hell can be) and probably not used to think of his subjects' feelings on the things he does before he just does them. This is fairly evident in other events where he'll order the brothers to do XYZ task even if they want no part in it. It doesn't surprise me at all that Diavolo would want to see them (Lucifer) as angels again and not take into account how that could affect them. I don't think that'd be malice on his part, just shortsightedness, and he likely would have apologized if any of the brothers expressed an emotional problem with it to him directly.

Do they have problems? Yes. But since the event kind of wipes them of their true selves, that's better discussed elsewhere. Moving on.

The Bangles 

Holy fuck, how do we even approach this? So Simeon, in conjunction with Michael (probably, at this point I have to wonder if he's telling the truth about this) gives the brothers jewelry, presumably to wear to the party, that would… I'm not even sure. Curb their impulses? Force them to be mannered? The important thing is he did not tell them about that little detail before they put the bangles on…

This is… also problematic. First, we can try to establish Simeon's intentions versus what actually happened: 

The bangles were (likely) intended to be removable. It was the mixing of the magic that locked them in place so we can assume he didn't mean this to be a permanent change.

The magic on the bangles was probably amplified by the angel costumes. What this means is though we can assume that Simeon never intended them to become quite so… different, we'll never know just how much influence he was actually trying to put on them. It could have been anything from suppressing their sins to full blown force you to say please/thank you. We'll just never get to know now… 

I won't be the first person to liken this to mind control (nor the last) because… that's kind of how it turned out. Even worse still, it would have been completely involuntary on the brothers' part. Simeon DID NOT tell them what the bangles were going to do. Now, he claims later that he would have eventually, but we don't get to know when that would have been. I presume at some time after the party, because like. These are our boys. They're not going to consent to wearing something like that, they're just not.

This poses all kinds of questions and problems ranging from issues of consent to anatomy and even the worth of good deeds done out of obligation vs. free will and… I mean quite literally when I say Jesus Christ, Simeon, what the hell?!

I could write a completely different post debating whether or not what Simeon did actually had any moral merit but I won't because it'd be very dry and boring. I think the most interesting thing to take away here is that Simeon thought it was okay to do like, at all, and with approval from Michael (maybe) no less… That reflects something on angel society that I doubt will get explored but I need to ponder farther…

This section is all kinds of sticky so we need to move on.

The Development(?)

First off, to new players, don't worry this probably isn't canon (at least to the main story continuity). The Brothers should be back to normal in the new chapters and this won't have a long term effect on anything (aside from maybe a tie in to the next event ala Beach event-> Games). That's how Obey Me has always treated their events it seems and I sure hope they stick to it now. But, these are still the same characters going through a unique situation and that can offer some insight so… Let's discuss.

I mentioned earlier that the brothers had problems with this… Unfortunately, I think we only get to see Lucifer and Satan's thoughts in any detail because everyone else is too far gone by the time we reach them… Lucifer can pretty much be summed up as troubled and unhappy because (you know) not a lot of great memories as an angel. I presume that his wounded pride after the fall may also contribute. 

Satan is… more complex. I’m honestly more bothered by his change than anyone else’s because even he expresses how weird this is for him... (We get confirmation that he never in fact had an angel form, btw). Poor baby is going through a full on identity crisis and there’s a certain part of his mind that he’s not even allowed to use right now... Anger. The Avatar of Wrath, born from Wrath, can’t get angry and… Something about that just bothers me at a deeper level, not even I can express properly…

Everyone else is too far gone once we reach them. Their personalities are completely different and they can’t even acknowledge that’s the case. They think that they’ve turned a new leaf but we know that’s not the reality, that leaf was very much turned for them and it doesn’t make anything feel any better…

This may be my own opinion, but part of me thinks that this portion (and only this portion right here) was actually what the Devs were going for. They wanted us to be uncomfortable by all of this for like, story reasons. It’s a narrative trick. Think of the phrase “You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” I think they were trying to use the absence of the brothers’ usual flaws and traits as a weird way of celebrating them. Kind of like saying, “We could have given you guys these perfect brothers, but they’re not perfect and we know that’s why you like them. Look at these perfect guys, doesn’t it feel wrong?” The answer is, yes. It does feel wrong. And under other circumstances, it would be affirming like they’d be intending, “I don’t want this emotionally-open non-otaku, give me Levi dammit!” But when you add this intended discomfort with the already sketchy way we got here it just makes it all the worse… 

And absolutely NONE of this is helped by...

The… End?

I think the thing I hate about this event the most (actually legitimately hate) is how it ends. In that it doesn’t. It kind of just… abruptly stops right after Lucifer starts coming to himself again. Though I suspect that’s because they’re putting incentive into getting the event cards, this in NO WAY does the narrative any favors.

Most people are not going to get those cards. Even with Lonely Devil as an option, it’s a huge time/resource commitment to get there. Because of that, the majority of people are not going to get to see the aftermath of what happened. We don’t get to see how the brothers feel about what happened. We don’t get to see if they do, in fact, come to and if they have any takeaways from the experience or if they’re utterly disgusted by it. The player character doesn’t even get the option to comfort them after something that was probably terribly traumatic. It. Just. Ends.

What that means is all of that discomfort that we had just lingers… There’s no resolution or pay off. It just… stays… This is the worst possible thing they could have done. If you want your audience to feel uncomfortable, that’s one thing, but unless you’re telling like, a psychological thriller you gotta settle them back down again! Deep moral conflict is not a turn on!!!

Personally, I don’t hate that this thing exists. I don’t. The part of me that majored in Philosophy loves analyzing media like this so I can’t say that I didn’t get anything out of it. I don’t think all media should play it safe, it’s okay to leave the audience with no good answers or a feeling of unease, but you really got to be self-aware of it. The biggest flaw of this event, in my opinion, is that it rarely comes across as self-aware of its own horror. You get a very brief glimpse of it from Solomon when he comments on how creepy things are, but Simeon’s happy. Diavolo’s happy. And though he’s a little uneasy, Luke’s pretty content, too. Add that to the abrupt ending and we never get to know if ANY of them realize how awful of a thing this was to do to the brothers... It makes it all come off as an endorsement of mind controlling your friends into better people and (to me) that feels really, really wrong.

So in conclusion… I dunno. If the next event isn’t something along the lines of “Angelic Demons Part 2: Fixing What We Fucked Up!” then I think they really botched this one guys… I hope somebody was taking notes.

[nightingaelic]

I was reading your "Fallout 4 companions meet Arcade Gannon" reacts when I had an idea. FO4 companions reaction to visiting the Mojave Wasteland with the Sole Survivor.

"She was Boston, I was Vegas

She was Crêpes Suzette, I was pie

She was lectures, I was movies, but I loved her."

- Frank Sinatra, 1981, "I Loved Her"

Cait: "I've never been much of a gambler, but where there's gambling, there's usually a good time to be had."

While Cait finds the casinos of the Strip a little too ritzy for her liking, she rather enjoys the smaller, satellite venues: The Atomic Wrangler in Freeside, the Vikki and Vance casino in Primm, even the saloons in Goodsprings and the Mojave Outpost (the latter of which being where she foolishly engages in a drinking contest with Cass and happily gets her ass kicked). Her greatest enjoyment, however, comes upon discovery of the Thorn in Westside, with its arranged bouts between wasteland critters and the opportunity to go a round yourself if you're feeling lucky. Instead of the trapped horror she felt when the Combat Zone was taken over by raiders and she was forced to fight, Cait revels in the glory she reaps when choosing to face off against a fire gecko, a night stalker or a cazador with her trusty baseball bat. By the time the visit is over, she and Red Lucy have grown close, and the Thorn's mistress is going around openly calling Cait "my hunter."

Codsworth: "Ah, Las Vegas! Why, I can recall when you considered a quick getaway to this paradise just before young master Shaun's arrival. It appears we aren't too late, after all."

Codsworth is somewhat comforted by the lack of overt nuclear devastation in New Vegas, but that feeling wears off as soon as the first set of thugs in Freeside tries to corner him and the sole survivor and take their caps. Once the would-be muggers are laid out on the ground, Codsworth abandons his rose-colored glasses and puts his quippy, dismayed personality back on. Still, he loves the Strip, particularly the Ultra-Luxe with its refined guests, decor and hygienic practices, but he quickly sours on their hoity-toity attitudes. Instead, Codsworth turns to the presence of the NCR as a sign that civilization is creeping back into the wasteland. He's also tickled pink by the Kings and the Chairmen, but not the mobster-esque Omertas: They remind him too much of the pre-war mob activity in good old Boston.

Curie: "Excusez-moi, but what is that structure there? The tallest one, with the blinking lights."

Curie is thrilled to be out in the desert, observing the local populace and documenting their survival techniques, social structures and power struggles. She's fascinated with the area's history, and drags the sole survivor along to seek out the Mojave's most (in)famous individuals to record their stories for her research into post-war civilization. This lands her in quite a few questionable situations, but her general attitude of perseverance and wide-eyed wonder about the world open a lot of doors for her. She makes a lot of friends at the Old Mormon Fort among the Followers of the Apocalypse, though most of them assume her frustration about her own "biological reactions to extreme living conditions" is just her complaining about the heat like everyone else. Arcade's pretty sure she's a robot, though he's too polite to ask about it outright.

Danse: "We're close now, to the birthplace of the Brotherhood of Steel. This is an honor I never thought I'd experience."

Though it's boiling hot inside his power armor under the desert sun, Paladin Danse is overjoyed that he's accompanying the sole survivor on this journey into the cradle of the ideology that he's devoted to. He's heard about the Mojave from Brotherhood of Steel veterans, those who traveled with Elder Lyons when they initially came to the Capital Wasteland and those who accompanied Elder Maxson when he was just a Squire, and he keeps spouting off random trivia about the area. Any run-ins with disillusioned Scribe Veronica might leave him a bit put out, but it's overall a fun trip for him through a part of the continent that's a little less smashed to rubble than the rest of the world. He especially enjoys visiting the NCR and Brotherhood military outposts, if only to offer critiques and suggestions to any soldiers that give him the time of day.

Deacon: "Sheesh, visiting the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter, am I right?"

Deacon has been here before. Well, he doesn't actually say he's been here before, but he keeps dropping hints to the sole survivor that he's somehow on a return trip. He knows the legends of the Sierra Madre and the Blue Star treasures offhand, he has a whole conversation with the Securitrons guarding the Strip about what happened to Robert House, he even knows how to competently play Caravan. Every time the sole survivor asks him about how he knows so much, though, Deacon just grins and keeps chugging his Sunset Sarsaparilla. Obviously no one recognizes him by face, but he does have a setting-appropriate wardrobe along that includes NCR bandoleer armor, a coat-tailed tuxedo, top hat and White Glove Society mask, and a black leather jacket to go with his pompadour wig.

Dogmeat: [curiously sniffs everything]

Dogmeat can't figure out why this place is so dang dry, but he's on his best behavior for the sole survivor as they make their way over the dusty roads of the Mojave. He politely greets each other traveler on the roads, who keep asking his companion where they got "a non-cyber cyberdog." For the most part though, the trip is pretty in line with everywhere Dogmeat goes: Big rodents, big bugs, tired people and plenty of ruins to explore. Dogmeat's one outstanding adventure comes in the form of an attempted kidnapping by some of the Kings, who think their leader needs a new dog after Rex hit the road with some fool. The King doesn't take kindly to this, and graciously has the dog returned to his friend.

Hancock: "Oh, man, how does anyone live out here? I'm drying out, I feel like a radroach husk."

Hancock is having the time of his life in the Mojave, apart from constantly complaining about how he prefers the Commonwealth's weather. He's chummy with everyone, but especially with the ghouls he encounters. He buys Raul a bunch of drinks and asks him about his past, he suggests future career paths and hobbies for Calamity, and he is absolutely enchanted with Beatrix the dominatrix. He's also rowdy enough to attract the ire of nearly every casino in New Vegas: The White Glove Society seethes when the sole survivor points out that his Revolutionary War outfit technically meets the dress code, the Omertas howl when he starts encouraging the strippers and sex workers to band together and take over the casino, and the Vault 21 dwellers keep asking if he's liable to turn feral. The Chairmen, however, treat him as something of a novelty and gift him with a seersucker suit to go with his jaunty personality.

MacCready: "You know, I played cards with a guy from out here once. He tried to teach me a game called... what was it, Candyman? Kilogram?"

MacCready has the barest smattering of knowledge about the Mojave Wasteland, and he keeps injecting it into conversations no matter how inaccurate it is. He's fascinated with the sole survivor's recollections of what Vegas was like before the Great War, and his expectations are sky-high by the time they arrive on the city's outskirts. Those expectations are absolutely met once inside the Strip, even if the sole survivor's are let down. MacCready is just tickled by the existence of a city that is solely dedicated to parting you from your caps, and he settles into each new business for the express purpose of people-watching. He only tries gambling once, and immediately quits after he loses all of his pocket change.

Valentine: "Good old Las Vegas. Somehow, I'm not surprised it's still got a reputation as 'Sin City,' even this long after the bombs."

The Nick Valentine of old never visited Las Vegas, but he certainly knew about it well enough for the Nick Valentine of today to draw on those impressions. He's extra-wary about the city as a result, an attitude not helped by the many people staring at him because of his detective getup, jagged edges and golden eyes. Some people are polite enough to walk up and ask what he is: Others offer to buy him off the sole survivor directly, much to Nick's chagrin. When James Garret offers him a thousand caps for "one night of his services," Nick puts his foot down and starts glaring at everyone who so much as walks up to him and the sole survivor during their trip. The exceptions to this rule are Veronica, who is extremely polite and non-invasive with her questioning; Arcade, who is too polite to even mention Nick's synthetic state; and Raul, who finds the whole thing hilarious but admits that his ghoul status has landed him in some similar situations.

Piper: "I've heard plenty of stories about this place, and if even a quarter of them are true, I ought to get a good travel piece out of just about anyone we pass on the street."

Piper's on a mission to track down the history of New Vegas, which, like Curie, sends her on a path toward its biggest political figures. Aside from them, she's particularly interested in the services of the Mojave, like the Gun Runners, the Crimson Caravan Company, and especially the Mojave Express. Piper gets along swell with just about everyone, and she basks in the widespread acceptance that she lacks back home due to her chosen profession. She desperately tries to get Johnson Nash to ship a case of Sunset Sarsaparilla cross-continent for her, but he gently turns her down and tells her that the only courier he knows crazy enough to undertake a trip to the Commonwealth is too busy nowadays.

Preston: "They're not too friendly to outsiders here, or so I'm told, but there are always good folks to be found if you know where to look."

Preston, true to form, offers help to every little settlement he and the sole survivor come through on their journey, which delays their path to Vegas quite a bit. He makes a beeline for the Old Mormon Fort as soon as he hears the Followers of the Apocalypse have a base there, though, and spends most of his visit picking the brain of its leaders about the best ways to aid those in need in the wasteland. He and Arcade get into some spirited debates about the pros and cons of having a civil service force focused on military matters versus civilian matters, and the Minutemen leader leaves the Mojave with a lot of new ideas to carry home to the Commonwealth.

Strong: "Strong not looking for 'good time,' puny human. Strong looking for thing that make super mutants stronger."

Strong hates New Vegas, but that's nothing unexpected. The sole survivor tries to limit their time in the city and take him around the desert to locales where super mutants are more likely to be found, which brings them to Jacobstown. Surprise surprise, Strong hates Jacobstown - at first. Little by little, through talking with Lily, the other nightkin, and Marcus, Strong starts to realize that the super mutants of the town are doing exactly what he values and sharing their resources among each other for the good of the community, just minus the usual violence associated with super mutants. He struggles with this alternative way of life for a bit, but eventually comes to accept that to be a super mutant, you don't have to constantly attack those around you to show off your strength.

X6-88: "Be careful. The Institute's records about this area indicate high levels of theft, murder, and unsavory characters. It would be best to keep our guard up."

Like Nick, X6-88 greets everyone in the Mojave with open suspicion, and can hardly be convinced to leave the sole survivor's side for their entire journey. His dedication to this task leads those around him to joke about him being "a human Securitron," which the sole survivor finds amusing: X6-88 does not. Still, the ability to hire and maintain a professional-looking bodyguard while visiting New Vegas doesn't go unnoticed, and most people assume that means the sole survivor has a lot of money to spend or be separated from by force. Criminals are more likely to be ruthless, hell-bent on stealing the loads of caps the sole survivor surely has tucked away. Business owners, on the other hand, are more polite to the pair on their travels, giving them better service and goods that ingratiate X6-88 a bit more to the common people aboveground.

BONUS!

Ada: "Jackson brought us out here once, when Zoe decided she wanted to try acquiring a Securitron. The leader of the Strip turned us down."

While Deacon is playing coy about his experience in the Mojave, Ada is completely open about hers. She hasn't been to the Strip, the dam, or any of the Mojave's "fun" destinations, but she remembers the Crimson Caravan Company headquarters, the 188 trading post, and many of the small towns along the way. Her fondest memories are of scavenging around the ruins of the REPCONN test site, the Aerotech Office Park and HELIOS One. She also recalls that her caravan friends came to visit primarily to find a Securitron to take apart and repurpose, but won't say exactly what happened when they tried to do so, other than warn the sole survivor "not to invite the wrath of the House."

Gage: "Now this is a town that knows how to run a successful racket. We need to find out who's in charge, see if they can give us some tips."

Porter Gage walks right up the steps of the Lucky 38 as soon as he finds out that someone inside is running the Strip, and demands that the Securitrons let him in to "talk to the boss." The robots aren't impressed, of course, and toss him out straightaway. Gage, not one to be discouraged easily, tries to find information among the nearby raider gangs instead: Fiends, Vipers, Jackals or Great Khans, he's not too picky. The current state of the raiders in the Mojave quickly informs him that they're failing one by one against the power of New Vegas, and he renews his efforts to find the recipient of the endless streams of caps. Thwarted at every turn, he and the sole survivor retire to Gomorrah, where they bemoan their bad luck while the courier sits a few seats down from them, listening in and smirking.

Longfellow: "Just point me to the nearest saloon. If I can't cool down, I'll try to forget I'm hot."

Longfellow parks himself at the nearest watering hole and does his best to avoid the scorching Mojave heat. The Maine-born grandpa is pretty miserable during the daytime hours unless he's sitting in front of a fan with a cold beer, swapping stories about Far Harbor critters with the bar regulars. At night he's a bit more open to adventuring with the sole survivor, when the desert cools down and he can see the sights by moonlight. Although he's not a fan of the hustle and bustle of the Strip, most of the large casinos there have air conditioning thanks to the Lucky 38, so he claims a table in the back and glares at anyone who disturbs him and his drink. He gets along with most of the New Vegas crowd though, if they agree to pick up the tab.

Maxson: "We came this way, when the Elders sent me to the East Coast. I wonder if the chapter here is still persevering."

Elder Maxson is surprisingly reluctant to visit the two things that the sole survivor would've thought he'd be interested to see in the Mojave: The Strip, or the Hidden Valley bunker. If pressed, he'll admit that he's not the type to cut loose and gamble, drink or participate in general debauchery as a result of his upbringing and position of authority, but neither is he keen to drop in on the dying Western chapters of his order and become stifled by protocol and ass-kissing. He prefers to wander the desert itself, seeking solitude among the cacti and under the stars. Given the chance, he'd probably nip off to Quarry Junction and anonymously solve the NCR's deathclaw problem, if it hasn't already been taken care of. He refuses to wear his uniform for the entire trip.

Desdemona: "The Mojave probably wouldn't know what to make of our mission, which is how you know it's a good place to hide. I wonder if any of our rescued synths made it out this far."

This is by far the most relaxed the sole survivor has ever seen Desdemona, and why wouldn't it be? She's so far removed from her usual sphere that she drops her usual, tight-knit demeanor and embraces loosening up. She's still not talking openly about the Railroad's operations, but she is more likely to answer questions both personal and professional. Like Deacon, she knows a bit about the Mojave, but not so much that she can blend in completely. Instead, she embraces being a tourist and does all the usual things that go with it: Visiting the Strip, the Sunset Sarsaparilla headquarters, the Thorn, and especially Hoover Dam. When she's looking out over Lake Mead, with the sun getting caught in her hair as it sets on her left, she almost looks happy.

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Moonlight

Draco x Reader One-Shot

Summary: This is based off the song ‘Moonlight’ by Ariana Grande. During the bad times of War, not everything has to be so black-and-white. Both Y/N and Draco know it just too well.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: language 

tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Composing yourself had been more than a hard thing to ask for lately.

The Death Eater had finally taken Hogwarts under their control; famous Harry Potter, who was allegedly supposed to play a hero, disappeared in the depth of the unknown; the plan of escaping the school turned out to be an utter failure since the Dementors encircled and blocked every passage of absconding, escalating the disappointment over students.

Yet you hadn't thought of the plan B as an alternative solution, but you were sure, even if you managed to find one, it might take a few more months to figure things out. And you had to admit that increasing anxiety about your parents made you cry yourself to sleep at night. Despite your insistent pleads of the letters to contact you, you hadn't received any response or other sign of life ever since over two months of a constant worry.

And yet, it wasn't the worst part.

The Carrows, who unwarrantedly preferred to call themselves professors Carrows from now on, had decided to introduce their new methods of teaching everyone. And punishing for any triviality.

Once, for example, in Charms class -- which was the worst nightmare of a week -- you had been asked to stand up in front of the class and demonstrate a Crucio curse on the First Year who happened to accidentally bump into Alecto in the corridor. Obviously, you hadn't obeyed an imposed task to which Carrows only reacted with unrestrained rage. Instead of punishing the eleven-year-old boy, the lesson had turned out to be your disciplining session of torture for not being submissive enough. Although the feat had brought you more renown later on, which served to make Carrows more flustered, you still couldn't get out of the Hospital Wing for whole three days.

All of that also led your Occulumency to suffer, which was doubling the struggle. There was for sure no doubt it was an important skill to have, not only to create a mental barrier protecting yourself from uninvited intruders; but also preventing others' thoughts from leaking into your head. It was already enough of bearing the non-stopping suspense in the air. So, the idea of accumulating more emotions on your account would probably navigate to an outburst.  

One thing, however, surprised you. You had found out that people who outwardly seemed to have quite a reputation of cruel tossers were actually more decent and human than you could think. In particular, certain Draco Malfoy, who had been selected as a Head Boy in terms of this year.

Wandering around the school and doing the night patrols, he had happened to find you sitting hunched over, face buried in your knees, and sobbing brokenly at the fate the Wizarding World was faced to deal with. He had flumped next to you, without question, silently accompanying and comforting you in moments of solitude.

Two other times of your encounter had been in the library: spotting you among the crowd of students, he would come over and take a nearby place. You didn't know whether it was a matter of pride or disposition, but he had never spoken up, which you, in fact, didn't mind. At first, you had been a little bit dubious about his sudden influx of approachability. However, as to mute your suspicions down, you tried not pondering about it too much.

Funny, how the real nature of the boy who you had known for a nonchalant sneer and teasing remarks, could suddenly become so interesting and mysterious.

It was on a Thursday late that you were strolling up to The Astronomy Tower to see the Thestrals soaring in the air. Normally, it was around the time when you would be putting yourself to the bed, but too many thoughts were buzzing in your mind, and you knew it wouldn't give you much space to sleep anyways. The only optimum, instead of staring aimlessly at the ceiling and flipping from one to the other side of the mattress, was busying yourself with something else. The lack of sleep was due to nothing else than today's lesson with Carrows. They had thought up an idea of having some practice with a Confrigo spell which, rather unfortunately, was presented on a living phantom. As always, a whole hour of torments was disastrous, to say at least, and even after classes, you couldn't shake off the echo of troubled screams and beggings, which carried over the petrified room of students. That's why you were thinking you could swallow your emotions down, quietly and undisturbedly, in the only place you could wish for some private space. Besides, it was the only spot resembling the old Hogwarts you had known from the previous years, showing the calming extent of green grounds.

However to your surprise, when you pushed the door to The Astronomy Tower, noiselessly, you could notice a silhouette of a man already standing at the barrier, which made you momentarily flabbergasted suddenly considering an option of running upon a teacher. To save yourself from much too unwanted detention, you decided to change your track, rushing straight into your dormitory. But almost as you succeeded doing so, in the last moment, a person shifted in their place and spoke up before you had room to move.

"Pretty late for a casual stroll, huh?" At once, a feeling of dread ebbed away, and you exhaled deeply air you didn't know you were holding as you recognized none other than Draco with his back turned towards you. His tone was as usually taunting, but something in a timbre of sadness was hitched to it as well. "Shouldn't be sneaking out of the room on the patroling hours, you know? I'm the least of who you could come upon today."

Your dignity told you to say something in order to defend your harmless saunter to calm down your nerves, which benefited only your mental account. However, he made a point -- you could have been caught not only by some random teacher but Currows themselves who, you were inexorably aware, wouldn't let a chance of dehumanizing others slip away. And besides, you were a little too dumbstruck to speak, realizing it must be the first time Draco fucking prince Malfoy had uttered more than a word to you. What was a coincidence of meeting up with him just on the same day as you had been wondering about your atypical relationship formed within this school year?

Before your contemplation ended, Draco's voice carried on with a conversation, echoing off the walls. "Care to join? Seeing as you're already here."

Frowning to yourself at how surreal the situation can become, you stepped off the stairs with no more hesitation. You truly wouldn't have suspected the things would turn out that way -- embracing his Head Boy position, you thought he would send you off back to the Hufflepuff Tower with his dismissive attitude as it usually was. Inviting you over to company him was a top cherry you hadn't even considered. Truthfully, it made you feel a little thrilled to accept this offer.

As you walked over to him, his facial features became much sharper than from afar. Now, as you looked at him closely, you could define the contours of his face were even more angelic yet still masculine than in daily light. The platonic hair glinted accordingly to the moon above; his blue eyes were focused on a black void in the sky, clearly pondering more than concentrating on a particular object; a mouth pursed into a line, not a mocking expression he was usually carrying himself with. Eyeing him like that and still not being capable of deciphering him suggested he must be someone between a completely unemotional git or an excellent master of Occulumency. You preferred to presume the second one.

Quickly, realizing you were staring, you turned your head to behold a collection of vivid stars hovering above your head. You knew it was only in the Wizarding World that sky flickered so brightly -- your father was a muggle, and a whole family dwelled among a non-magical society, which you didn't mind at all. And that's why you were able to recognize... differences existing between those two worlds.

"Why are you here?" you asked curiously, not quite capable of restraining yourself from doing so. You were standing close enough to him to smell his sandalwood cologne.

He gave you a perfunctory smile, and although it was a three-second gesture, it somehow made you lighter on the chest to know he was convenient with a conversation. "Needed someplace to think," he explained, not darting his eyes away from where he was looking. He took a pause there. "You?"

"The same reason," you answered simply, shrugging. "My roommates can be too loud sometimes, and I needed some silence to sort out...stuff."

Draco nodded in understanding, not interfering any further into the topic. Brushing your hair habitually with fingers, you scolded yourself for coming up here in the first place. How could you act so irresponsibly to think you could smoothly break a regulations' rule and without anyone finding out? Although you were desperate to hide it, the presence of Draco made you inexplicably nervous, and even though you tried to gulp it down, your stomach was churning when he was around. Time proved his intentions weren't bad after all, and you confronted with the truth ever since he first happened to find you at the moment of your meltdown in the corridor, clutching to him as if he was your sanity. But that didn't dispel your doubts about him becoming a fully active Death Eater, who praised with a Dark Mark on the left forearm like with a reward for some kind of acrobatic stunt.

Your gaze swept briefly over the rolled-up sleeves of his snow-white shirt only to assure yourself the mark didn't disappear off his arm with some help of the power of your imagination. Yet it was still there -- as always, tinted coal-black, scary and blood-curdling every time you looked at it.

That evidently didn't escape Draco's notice who, as though reading your mind, started. "You know, I didn't want this." He didn't have to show what he meant by saying so because you instantly figured it out. You looked up at him, and almost invisibly, his skin pale as it already was, changed even to the whiter shade. "He has bait on me. All of this: assassinating Dumbledore; obeying his will -- it's not because I want that."

The sudden shock welled up at these words, and you gawked at him stupidly, not quite able to process what he had just told you. Swallowing with some difficulty, you coerced yourself to a mutter. "Why... why are you telling me this?"

For the first time this night, his steely stare landed at you, scanning your face to detect signs of emotion. You attempted to conceal it, but he could see you were thunderstruck by his unexpected confession. Without preamble, he smiled slightly at you. "I thought you ought to know."

Ignoring the clenching in your chest, you did your best to not break eye contact with Draco when his eyes were intently locked on yours now. You could swear, something on the verge of interest and sympathy flickered in them for a second. "Why?"

"Because you're the only person who doesn't freak out when I'm around," he explained carefully. "Every time I go to the library or appear in any other public place, you're the only one who doesn't glare."

He closed his eyes, clearly relived with the fact he could confide the worries he had been carrying for a long time. Breathing out through the nose and his lips flinching a little, his head spun again to the blank of the sky.

It was a depressing sight to see him in such dejection, and the images of him being cast aside by his former group of friends with who he had been laughing merely a year ago rolled into your head, try as might to suppress it. You could only imagine what it must feel like to be rejected by everyone around; to play the main role in something you never wished to participate in.

For a moment, you thought he was going to continue because he grunted enigmatically, but the silence remained. Unable to restrain the urge to offer physical comfort, you affectionately grabbed his palm, squeezing it in the reassurance that you were there for him. He didn't attempt to break himself out of the grip, which presumably was a good indication.

"I believe you," you stated, for some reason, satisfied with the fact you're the one to comfort him. "You are a good person, Draco."

This time, it was he who clasped your hand, and he glimpsed at you once more, towering over you with his long legs. "No. In the past, things happened, and to say, I'm not proud of them. Jeering, mocking, insulting -- that wasn't fa-."

"Past is a past, Draco," you cut him off, knowing where it all was leading, and you wanted to bring it to an abrupt end. It was the least adequate moment for apologies. "You can't fix it. Good that you understand your mistakes by now."

He hummed in comprehension, smiling, and his grasp tightened around your palm as if you were about to run off from him, which he couldn't be more wrong about. Admitting to yourself, you loved his smile -- though it was seldom, it much differed from a smirk you were accustomed to at that point -- and you secretly hoped he could do it more often. You also loved that even if he didn't talk much, he was very successful in lifting you up.

Therefore, there you were: standing arm-to-arm with your ex-bully who you had happened to run across; observing the moon in its full exposure; holding hands in reassurance. Both of you clearly enjoyed this gratifying moment and were lingering towards it not to end.

"Thank you," Draco finally choked out. "Thank you for...everything."

Ultimately, smashing the wall of uncertainty down, he wrapped his arms around your neck, hunching a little to adjust to your height, and buried his face in the crook of your neck. At first, your body stiffened at the sudden touch and a skip of the boundary, but as not to agitate him, you adapted yourself soon enough by reciprocating the hug. You started to rub the slow, steady circles on his back, and little by little, he began stroking your hair, softly grazing your scalp.

How long you stood clinging to each other like this, you didn't know. Hearing Draco sigh quietly, feel the rise and fall of it against your hands. Your heart sunk when you heard him breathe out, and you prepared yourself for him to mix out of the embrace because of sudden consciousness he was cuddling with a half-blood Hufflepuff he had been mocking for half of a decade ('I should get going'; 'I didn't mean what I said earlier; 'leave me be, Y/S'). But none of this happened, and he was only murmuring into your ear.

"I presume I should escort you to the dormitory. I could tell you were the whole time with me so no one would get any suspicion if we run into...anyone," he offered, yet you felt him almost grimacing at the thought of ending a moment you were two having.

"Mhm..." you agreed with no more opposition. "But let's give it one more minute."

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A/N: This is so typical of me to do something other than what's necessary lmao ;) The second chapter of Summer Nights is almost up if anyone interested. As I think of it now, this one-shot gives me such a vibe of Loud Places/Turn. However, I hope you enjoyed it :) Oh, and I'm explaining the sudden change of schedule with posting: 1. I'm very irresposible; 2. I got the super inspo to scribble this one-shot. Hah, sorry...