#if someone had warned me about the racism and abuse apologism and bad writing

[bookishfeylin]

May I just say, you're so sweet and respectful and kind and your words have made me feel a lot less alone in all this. Thank you for giving me the space to vent and discuss all these whitewashing issues and taking the time out of your day to respond. It's truly appreciated

Awwww thank you! You are very welcome anon. I'm Black, and this is my blog, so I'm not going to not talk about my lived experiences and how things like representation, whitewashing, and racism in both media and fandom affect me and others. We deserve a space to talk about these things, and I'm glad you feel comfortable doing so here :) You certainly aren't alone.

[multi-lefaiye]

so,,, tftgs,,, speak your thoughts,,,

hi i apologize, you sent me this ask over a week ago, ty for the interest in my thoughts about my silly little blorbos <3

so i'm gonna take this opportunity to summarize my Jack Townsend Is Trans of Gender Manifesto, which is a character study i've been writing on and off for a few months now talking about jack's transness. because i've decided he's trans and no one can take that from me <3

under the cut, i'm gonna give a quick summary of each chapter in my outline. also, as a disclaimer, the intent here isn't to prove that jack is trans or anything--while there are things in the series that make me think he is, i wanted this to be more of an exploration of the idea than anything.

also, some of this operates very heavily on my headcanons and slight AUs of the series, but my thoughts about how his transness would come into play in his life still stand.

anyway let's go <3 this got really fucking long

(content warnings: mentions of child abuse, transphobia, racism, and cults--none of these are discussed in detail but all of them are mentioned/referenced so please tread lightly!! there are also some mentions of romance if that bothers anyone, but those are also minor)

Chapter One: Spencer Middleton

so before i get into this chapter, i have to establish my general headcanons/little AU centering around the idea of jack and spencer being childhood friends. i decided to take that into account for here, because i love the potential drama and angst that adds to their relationship in canon. essentially, i love the idea that spencer and jack both come from very unhealthy households and gravitate towards each other as two abused kids looking for someone who understood.

i'm not gonna go into all my thoughts about spencer and jack's backgrounds here, but for a long time, they were each the only ones the other really felt they could trust. most of the adults in their lives consistently failed them, and while they weren't the ONLY kids in their grade being abused (as that is an unfortunately common occurrence in that town), they found friendship in each other and became protective of each other.

as a result, spencer is the first person who knew about jack being trans. at the time, jack didn't fully understand his feelings or any of the quote-unquote "right" terminology. all he knew was that he wasn't a girl, and he didn't know what to do about it, nor that being trans wasn't something that was accepted in their shitty small town.

one day, after jack stole some of his foster brother's clothes so he could dress like a boy, he just ended up blurting to spencer that he doesn't think he's a girl. and, at first, spencer was certainly confused, but he wasn't upset. he didn't really react at all, which wasn't unusual--spencer had never been a very outwardly emotional person, and jack didn't mind. really, spencer being casual about it actually helped a lot with his confidence, because it reassured him more than anything else that there wasn't anything wrong with feeling that way.

as they got older, spencer and jack began to grow apart, but spencer never once disrespected jack's gender in that time or outed him without his wishes. once jack began to socially transition, even long after they stopped talking, spencer was very respectful the few times they did interact. essentially, spencer was a good ally and a good friend, and even long after he and jack stopped being friends, he never used that moment of vulnerability against jack.

because spencer middleton sucks so much, but he's not THAT bad.

Chapter Two: Sabine

during middle school, jack befriends a girl named sabine, and the two quickly become close. sabine is jack's only real friend in the world once he and spencer stop talking, and so naturally, she's the next person he comes out to. and sabine IMMEDIATELY becomes a huge supporter of jack and helps him change his name and gender marker legally.

i do want to say, in the sabine chapter i'm very much leaning into the fact that the town where tftgs takes place is weird as hell, as a way to explain how jack would be able to transition without facing a lot of backlash or it being mentioned. and because i genuinely think that a townsperson suddenly changing their name and gender is far from the weirdest thing to happen in town.

jack never really finds out exactly how sabine is able to accomplish it, but in high school, she helps him socially transition and get all of his paperwork in order, to the point that the town kinda just... forgets that jack was ever any different than he is now. essentially, my idea for jack being trans is that he is living 100% stealth--ultimately, that's the safest option for him, and he does believe he lucked out in more ways than one because he does pass as a cis guy very easily even before he starts to medically transition in his 20s.

in high school, jack and sabine start dating, and she's his biggest and loudest supporter. while she would never out him as trans, as doing so would be genuinely unsafe, she was very openly proud of her boyfriend. and also it's important to me that you know that i headcanon sabine as being significantly taller than jack. he's her short king <3

unfortunately, though, like many good things in jack's life, his relationship with sabine doesn't last. things end the way they did in canon, with sabine in a coma. jack never gets the chance to really thank her for anything she helped him with or did for him.

Chapter Three: Deputy Tom

okay so this is the one i really wanted to talk about. the deputy tom chapter, rather than going over a specific time period in jack's life, focuses on one conversation he had with tom during a time they were both alone in the gas station.

deputy tom was one of the only people who actually knew about jack being trans, or at least one of the few who seemed to remember that. for the most part, though, he never really mentions it or treats jack any differently. he is a bit protective of jack, though, and eventually he explains why to him, a few weeks before his (tom's) death.

essentially this chapter is me wanting to explore tom as a queer character as well. i don't think he would use specific labels for himself for the most part, but as an older queer man in a shitty small town, he feels partially responsible for helping the next generation of queer people thrive. he talks to jack about things, and like... jack doesn't exactly open up to tom, but tom talks to jack about his life and some of his experiences.

tom's intent here is to give jack advice. he knows jack has been doing pretty well for himself, all things considered, but he wants to make sure the poor kid's gonna be okay once tom isn't there anymore. i will say, tom doesn't know at this point that he's going to die, but he knows he's getting older and he just wants to make sure that the man he views as a son is gonna be alright without him.

i also had the thought earlier today that tom could also be trans and living stealth, and that could be something for him and jack to connect on.

essentially i have a lot of strong feelings about queer elders being there for younger queer people, and that's what the tom chapter is.

Chapter Four: Vanessa Riggin

the vanessa chapter is a bit shorter, but it's kind of a reverse on the tom chapter in which jack is now the older queer person for a younger queer person to look up to. because yeah vanessa is also trans <3

initially, jack doesn't intend to tell vanessa that he's trans. it's not really anyone's business after all, and he knows by now that it's safer for him to keep that to himself and let people just assume he's cis. however, one day while he's working with vanessa, she actually comes out to HIM.

jack is a little caught off guard, and vanessa starts talking about trouble she's been having and essentially like... seeking jack out for advice. and when jack asks her why she's telling him, she says that he's just... someone she feels like she can trust. he's touched, and he's abruptly reminded of the conversation he had with tom some time before.

cue jack and vanessa having a hushed, kinda sweet conversation about gender and sexuality, and like. jack isn't that much older than vanessa by any means, but he feels like an older brother figure in that moment, and it feels good to pass on tom's advice. he just hopes that vanessa is going to be okay.

Chapter Five: Jerry Pascal

jack ends up coming out to jerry a couple of months into knowing him, because he figures out rather quickly that jerry is someone he can trust in that regard. jerry's never subtle about his own gender fuckery, but he also never pushed jack to come out (even though he did suspect jack may not be cis).

at first, jerry doesn't really react, which jack once again honestly appreciates. because at heart, jack doesn't want people to make a big deal about him being trans, even if they're doing so in support. it's just not who he is personally, and i know i keep reiterating this but it's also much safer for him that way.

things continue as normal for the next few weeks, and jack ends up actually kinda thinking that like... jerry might not have fully registered jack coming out to him. which is a very real possibility, all things considered, and a part of jack is actually a little disappointed, which surprises him. because this is a very deeply personal thing about him, and since jerry is one of his only real friends now, he'd hope it'd be important to him, too.

eventually, though, and i haven't worked out all the exact details of it, jerry and jack have another conversation about it. they talk about their different approaches to their queerness, with jerry being very openly queer regardless of the consequences and jack being queer very much on the down-low. neither holds any judgment for the other in that regard, they just share their different perspectives.

i also want to explore a bit about how i think queerness was handled among mathmetists (the cult jerry was part of), which i don't quite know how to put into words yet but... trust me... i have thoughts.

of course, it's not a completely mature conversation, as jerry can't help but be very jerry-ish as they talk, but it's a good talk for both of them. they're best bros no matter what, after all. (and also more than a little gay, let's be real)

Chapter Six: Amelia O'Brien

this is another kinda shorter chapter, focusing on a specific interaction between the two characters rather than a larger look at their relationship.

anyway, jack comes out to o'brien as trans almost entirely by accident. it happens one day while she's giving him a ride to work after his leg injury and the death of deputy arnold, and essentially like. jack is so nervous around her, because he thinks she doesn't like him, that he ends up rambling about whatever he can think of. and, on this particular day, he ends up blurting that he's trans.

once he registers what he said, jack panics, as even though amelia isn't a native to the town, he has no way of knowing at that point if she's someone he can safely come out to. plus, there is the element of her being a cop--while jack has had some good experiences with individual officers (like deputy tom), as a whole he knows better than to trust them.

amelia pulls over so they can talk, and she manages to calm him down quickly enough. however, for a bit it's a pretty fuckin' tense conversation, to put it lightly. once he's calm, she tells him that it's fine, and she's not going to tell anyone else. and though she may not be able to relate to his exact experiences, she does understand--after all, very few people know she's a lesbian.

what follows is another conversation about their different approaches to and experiences with their queerness, focusing on the fact that both of them are very much stealth and are very careful about who they come out to (most of the time at least).

i also want to explore in this chapter a bit of the animosity that exists within the queer community, not between these two necessarily but through some of amelia's personal experiences. as a non-binary lesbian of color, she's certainly seen some shit.

(to clarify, i don't want to write amelia's experiences as the definitive experience of women of color (especially black women) in the community, because it's not my place to do that for several reasons, but i also don't want to pretend that her race wouldn't come up at all. the books don't shy away from some of the racism amelia experiences, and i don't want to either. however, i do want to be respectful as a white author and not speak over anyone, so if/when i do get to writing this chapter i will do my due diligence to research and speak to people of color in the community who are comfortable discussing their experiences in that regard.)

i also am gonna keep in mind the fact that amelia is a cop, though i won't frame the issue as "people are so mean to cops in the community for no reason :(" b/c no <3 and instead just... try to earnestly explore amelia o'brien as a character.

anyway, the chapter ends with jack and amelia kinda coming to an understanding with each other. if nothing else, they can commiserate a little about how fucking awful this shitty little small town is, even if the reasons they're both treated badly are very different.

Chapter Seven: Rosa Vasquez

okay this chapter might be the shortest one, but it's one that i feel passionate about and have a lot of feelings about. essentially, this one explores the fact that (at least in my headcanon) rosa is also trans.

rosa and jack clock each other as trans pretty quickly, but they each assume that the other has good reasons for not saying anything about it, so it takes a while for them to say anything to each other. for a while, they enjoy kind of a quiet solidarity with each other--it's a pretty big driving force behind their friendship early on. (not to say that they're only friends b/c they have this in common, but it's something they relate to each other on.)

eventually, it does come up, and rosa and jack have a conversation about it as well. essentially, whereas the last chapter discusses some of the unfortunate animosity within the community, this one focuses a lot more on uplifting each other and finding common ground even through different experiences.

plus mtf/ftm trans solidarity means so so fucking much to me, and i just think it'd be very sweet for these two to have this big thing that they can relate to each other about.

Chapter Eight: Antonio

aaaand we are finally at the end of the journey. so, this chapter is also very heavily an AU, taking place in a timeline where antonio never died. because i think if antonio had survived, then jack would have eventually come out to him, but as it stands antonio probably would've died without knowing.

but i love antonio so dearly so i'm writing about him <3 he gets to live <3

essentially, jack decided that antonio is one person he is never, ever, ever going to come out to as trans. not because he thinks antonio would react badly or be unsafe to tell about that, but... well, at this point, antonio lost all of jack's trust. jack doesn't want to share something so deeply personal with someone he doesn't feel like he can trust or be close to, even if he doesn't think he'll necessarily be in any danger as a result.

antonio actually picked up on something a little Not Cisgender about jack at some point, or perhaps he had access to information about jack and knew beforehand. however, he never mentioned it, because this is one thing he would never want to hold over someone's head. still, after everything with the dark god goes down, he wants to prove to jack that he's someone jack can trust.

for a few weeks, antonio tries to find ways to subtly show jack that he's someone who can be trusted. not necessarily with that, but just in general. eventually, jack calls him on it, and the two have the conversation that is the focus of this chapter.

and here's where we talk about antonio being gay, and similar to amelia, he and jack have a conversation about different experiences with the community as a whole. trust is a big theme here, and antonio is honest about the fact that he already knew. however, he never said anything to anyone, because it's not his secret to tell.

one thing i also want to do in this chapter is plant seeds for a later thing i want to write about antonio in this AU realizing his own non-binary-ness. because no one at this gas station is cis <3

the chapter ends with jack and antonio not necessarily rekindling their friendship, but coming to an understanding with each other.

[autisticandroids]

what do you think of wincest? you seem pretty pro ship

my opinion of wincest is as follows:

- personally, i dislike it. i think it’s gross and don’t want to see it, because incest squicks me out like it does most people. there are actually parts of spn, especially the early seasons, which i find difficult to watch because the incest subtext is so strong. this is one of the reasons i’m not as big a fan of 1-3: just HUGE amounts of incest subtext. like, it’s yucky to me. even 4-5 have it, though not as much since cas and to a lesser extent ruby are there to like, break up the pair, which is a real relief. it calms down significantly in the later seasons, though it still pops up occasionally in an unpleasant way. this is why you cannot base your show on the xfiles and then make your two main characters related.

- theoretically, i don’t think there’s anything wrong with finding a fictional dynamic compelling. hell, the writers of supernatural sure seem to find it compelling! the subtext is unbearable, and imo, there’s a reasonable argument to be made that the winchester brothers’ relationship is textually emotionally incestuous, which is like. yeah add that on the pile of ways that their dynamic is abusive and toxic. 

and more specifically, i find it hysterical when destiel shippers get on their moral high horse about ethics in shipping. like, my friends, destiel is perhaps the glassest house there is when it comes to ethics in shipping. in ANY OTHER FANDOM we would be the problematic pairing that only freaks ship. it’s just that supernatural has so much incest subtext that the non-incest ship gets to be the unproblematic one by default. like destiel is a comparatively healthy fish in an unbelievably toxic pond. in any other pond destiel would be the toxic fish.

- practically, i dislike wincest shippers because they are mostly assholes. i’m sure there’s a few okay ones, but on the whole they tend to suck. this is true for several reasons.

supernatural has a large conservative fandom, including conservative transformative fans. like, specifically, the show is very appealing to homophobes because of like. the way that it is. you know. so wincest appeals specifically to homophobic fans for whom the incest taboo and the gay taboo are of about equal strength - they see being gay as so immoral that you might as well be fucking your sibling. this is i think why wincest shippers tend to be conservative, and it’s DEFINITELY part of the reason why it’s so common to find wincest shippers who also insist that dean is straight. my friend hannah has some things to say on this topic here.

if i was a samgirl i would wake up every single day mad about wincest and go to sleep every single day mad about wincest, because it must be INESCAPABLE in sam content. like, most fandom content is tied to ships in some manner, and the biggest ship for sam is wincest. and that has gotta suck.

related to my last point, in order for a “ship and let ship” mindset to be reasonable, the objectionable content in question must be made easy to avoid. and wincest isn’t, it’s everywhere. it’s easier these days because there are fewer wincest shippers, but back in the day it was just constant. and even now, like. the other day somebody wrote a destiel fic on my destiel post, but it was destiel and implies wincest. on my destiel and only destiel post. like, that’s like putting rape porn on someone else’s post about sex. like, i think it’s important that people be allowed to write rape porn, because if they’re not allowed to write rape porn, they’ll do it anyway (rape fantasy is one of the five most common sexual fantasies among women, iirc) but since they’re not allowed to write it, they’ll 1) not warn for it and 2) come up with justifications as to why it’s not really rape. which are both worse than just acknowledging it and slapping warnings on it. but you shouldn’t basically send people rape porn unprompted, that’s what they call a dick move. like that crosses a line. in the case of the person who put wincest on my post, i messaged her about it and she apologized and explained that she hadn’t participated in fandom in ten years, and had only gotten back in after the destiel confession, which is like. that’s reasonable. social etiquette re:wincest is different now. but there are plenty of wincest shippers who DON’T have that excuse and who make themselves inescapable anyway.

to quote my friend hannah again, “my grand unified theory is that whatever it is that makes wincest shippers act like That is also shared by jaime/cersei shippers. it’s the narcissistic, misanthropic fantasy of a tiny closed world containing only two siblings who don’t need or care about anyone else and have absolutely no boundaries with each other”

there is a real serious difference between liking wincest in 2005 and liking it in 2021. destiel is such a juggernaut, and fandom culture has changed so much in regards to “problematic” content, that anyone who is still a wincest shipper in 2021 is either 1) just a complete stubborn asshole or 2) living in a fandom time capsule, and both of those things are not necessarily inherently bad, but (1) can lead to just having a rather unpleasant personality, and (2) can lead to being surrounded by levels of homophobia, misogyny, and racism that aren’t usually tolerated by modern fandom

anyway. i’m not “pro-ship” because calling yourself a proshipper or an antishipper is an annoying habit for whiny babies and i refuse to participate.

[blackxkatt]

I need this out and I don’t know where else to put it because if I put it anywhere where people might see, I’m giving more ammunition to the idea that I’m just some monster or something, and I'm tired of having to hedge every bit of opening up about this with, "I know I fucked up, too". It's time for me to be able to tell my story without diminishing my own experiences.

I used to vent to the void on tumblr a lot so I figure this is a good place to do so. Writing out stuff like this is a good therapy technique, and I don’t hurt anyone this way. Okay here goes

My relationship with Becky was awful. In hindsight, I should have ended it so much sooner than I did, but I kept trying to force it because I wanted it to work. We were awful for each other. We made each other worse people. It needed to end.

I did everything I could thing of to make the break up smooth for her. I avoided Easter so that I wasn’t marring a holiday. I asked Tanner to cancel D&D for the day (little did I know, I was canceling that game forever) so that she’d have a week until we had to exist in the same space again, even virtually. I drove to her house, so she wouldn't have to deal with a drive before or after. I knew she had therapy the next day, so that she’d have time to process and professional help soon. I didn’t bring up anything either of us did and didn’t bring up any blame. I said we were just incompatible, because we were. I told her I understood if she didn’t want to be friends -- she said she did. I said if that changes, just let me know. I held her while she cried, walked her dog with her, and went home.

Over the next week, she began to escalate attacks towards me with no warning. On the morning of our D&D game, 2 hours before we had to coexist in front of our friends, she sent me a list of grievances during our relationship and demanded an apology for them, to help her healing. I wanted to be done with this, I had thought that the break up meant we could finally be done with it. I apologized regardless, because I knew I wasn’t perfect and had admitted when I’d fucked up before in the relationship, but not for all of it because some of it plainly wasn’t true. I asked if I could respond and ask for an apology for my own healing. She said no, she didn’t care, and that she wouldn’t let me make it all about myself.

She demanded Tanner message her practically every second of every day, elsewise she’d melt down that he was spending time with me instead of her, when we live together. She literally got pissed off that I visited his Animal Crossing island before her. Tanner couldn’t even mention me neutrally without her going on a tirade about how awful I am and how he shouldn’t defend me, let alone mention that I was hurt, too.

Eventually, she blocked me. I had spent the entire time keeping the door open and trying to maintain a friendship, both because I didn’t want to lose that, and for Tanner’s sake, and meanwhile she was nuking the bridge. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t see myself being metamours with someone who so clearly and actively hated me.

Tanner, on advice from a counselor, sat us both down to talk about our abusive tendencies and how this was affecting him. The first thing she did was give me the most disgusted look when she walked in. She nodded vigorously during the entire bit where Tanner raised his issues with my behavior.

Almost all of what Tanner talked to me about were things we’d worked on in the past, that I’d been fine on, that I’d backslid on since dating Becky. Others we’d discussed before and he’d been fine with, but had changed since. The rest, he later apologized for, because he realized he was being abusive in those expectations and hadn’t been concerned with fairness at the time. Almost all of what he brought up wasn't new, because Tanner and I have checked in with each other and worked on our relationship for almost 7 years.

Meanwhile, Becky continued to be abusive to him, in the same ways she had been to me, amped up to 1000. And I had to sit and let it happen. I left my own house for hours at a time for them to have dates. I canceled or moved my own plans for her. I had a festering wound I was hoping would heal, because Becky continued to insist to me that we’d forgive each other some day, but I was the only one working towards it, while she cursed me at every opportunity.

This all culminated in her calling Tanner one day, during our date, to demand that he choose between us. To try to convince him to be monogamous with her. To tell him how awful I am and that she can’t believe he would choose me. To guilt him for daring to do so, even though she’d forced the choice.

I beat myself up, like I was the reason for the break up. But I wasn’t. Even if I wasn’t in the picture, she was abusive and had continued to be without pause. It was her own jealousy and refusal to heal that ended their relationship. I know that now. But it took awhile for my anger to set in. It did once I found out she messaged him more times after that to try to convince him, once again, to leave me, and once again getting upset with him when he wouldn’t.

I waited for a while before asking Tanner if he was alright with me cutting Becky out, since after those instances, I didn’t see our relationship being positive again, at least not for quite awhile, and I’d spent months swallowing my pain for the sake of their relationship and couldn’t do it anymore. That was when I found out, from him, that Becky had already cut me out with no intention to recover. She had remained in all of our group chats, so that was news to me. It was power I was not willing to let her hold over me any longer, pretending she was the bigger person for being silent in the chats but not leaving them. I won’t be made into a monster for defining and defending my boundaries for the first time since the break up. It was unfair of her to remain in every single chat when she’d made it clear she was cutting us, or at least me, out, forcing me to face that trigger every day, giving me almost to reprieve or space to vent about my own pain. I asked friends to remove her from those shared chats, and they did, and I refuse to be made into a villain for being the one to cut the last of the bridge she’d torched. The last one is the d&d game that wasn’t destroyed with our relationship, and it’s the last thorn in my wound keeping me from healing, but Tanner and I are both scared that group will fall apart, too, if she’s removed, due to reactions in another chat she was removed from. So, I have to continue to swallow that, for who knows how long.

Now that that story is out, I’m going to list what I can about my and Becky’s relationship -- her abuse, her gaslighting, making sense of it all and getting out what she never let me.

-A lot of our problems stemmed from the fact that I didn’t react how she wanted. She would be abusive or demanding, and instead of reacting like Tanner, who would submit for the sake of keeping the peace, I would push back, either calmly or not so calmly due to it triggering me. Both elicited negative responses. We triggered each other this way often.

-She was racist to me. She weaponized the exact racism I told her I had experienced from almost every white person I’d ever known, even my loved ones. She promised she never would and then did exactly it, armed with the knowledge of how to shut me down. She told me I *was* aggressive, actually, that she’d surveyed my friends and they all agreed that I was aggressive, and by insisting that I wasn’t, by defending myself, I was gaslighting her. Oh, and she only used the word aggressive because that was the word I’d used, not that she actually thought I was aggressive. Why did I think she thought I was aggressive? That was my own fault. I constantly made myself smaller for her, like I had for so many racist people in my life. I could no longer be all of me anymore.

-She insisted I was incapable of calm discussion (see the racism above), that I deserved her anger and brought it upon myself because it was the only way I listened. Never once in our relationship did she ever say, “can we talk about this?” or anything along those lines, which I would have responded to (and have in other relationships). It was always blowing up out of nowhere because I said the slight wrong thing or didn’t say the right thing or because she’d misunderstood me.

-On misunderstanding, she admitted that she constantly misread me and misunderstood my words due to her  past trauma and expectation of negativity. Once upon a time, she told me that if she took what I said in the most positive light, she understood me finally. Yet, later in our relationship, she started insisting that every misunderstanding was my fault, that all poor communication was on me, that I was an anomaly, that I somehow experienced less emotions than other people. When I would refuse any of these accusations or point out what I had actually said, she told me I lacked critical thinking or was gaslighting her.

-Tanner said something that made so many of our problems click: Becky didn’t want a relationship, she wanted codependence. Something she admitted she struggled with, something her family struggles with, and yet I never put it together. She wanted all of our attention, all of the time. Every triad date we had was centered on her. My healthy independence was a threat to her. She insisted I was lying if I didn’t have some deep issue to discuss with her every day. She insisted I was lying when I promised her I wasn’t hiding my life from her, that I just sincerely didn’t have any crisis or something to discuss. My refusal to enable any of her bad habits or abusive behaviors upset her. When we broke up, and she could no longer guarantee all emotional energy was given to her, she spiraled.

-Of many things we’d previously discussed and she said she understood, group chats take less energy for me to participate in, and I was always happy to interact with her in group chats if I couldn’t handle a 1 on 1 chat. Eventually, I was scared to interact in group chats, post online, show any presence that I wasn’t busy or asleep, because she would become upset with me for not messaging her individually.

-The biggest red flag I ignored, one that terrified me so much I told no one about it until I was considering the break up, was when she asked me to choose between herself and my best friend. When I told her I couldn’t do that and was uncomfortable that she’d even asked, she got upset, and I ended up comforting her instead of addressing it any further. And without even realizing it, I began to feel anxious and guilty whenever I interacted with Dan. I would fear even mentioning them to her, because it inevitably resulted in her jealousy. I began to interact with them less (notice a pattern? Interacting with my best friend less, interacting with my group chats less, interacting online in general less...)

-Every concern I brought up ended the same way: she’d say I was gaslighting her, or she’d get upset and I would have to comfort her.

-She was never polyamorous; this is obvious in hindsight. She was a monogamous person who happened to form a crush on two polyamorous people. She would consistently try to persuade me away from polyamory and into maintaining a closed triad, and would get upset with me when I expressed that wasn’t what I wanted. She’d often remind me that she’d be extremely jealous of anyone I ever dated and that they couldn’t be as important as her.

-She said she understood it would take Tanner and I time to feel as close to her as we do with each other. Yet, she was constantly jealous of us and became more and more angry as time went on. She seemed to expect a timescale of months to level out a 7 year relationship with a 7 month one, when it would have taken years.

-Along with codependence, she was looking for a therapist in her SOs. She would have a new breakdown to discuss daily, and a myriad of untreated phobias and illnesses. She’d consistently complain about her therapist; when I made suggestions to tell her therapists her concerns or get a new one, she’d brush it off or insist it wasn’t that bad. If Tanner or I didn’t enable her phobias, she’d get upset with us. We could neither make plans for just us two(though she hates being left out) nor bring her (she hates crowds and spontaneous plans). She’d say she’d come, we’d just have to deal with her crying the whole time. I’d express that we want her to have fun, not suffer, and she’d say she’d suffer either way. We were guilted out of most plans.

-Most of the end of our relationship, that finally made me realize we needed to break up, was a slow change that I’m not sure how it happened. At some point, Becky stopped seeing me; she only saw what fit her preconceived notions of me. She made assumptions about me, my thoughts, my character, who I was. She made up situations in her head and got angry at me for them out of nowhere, with no communication, and the one time she did listen that she'd made up the situation (because Tanner told her), she spiraled into self-hatred, not an apology. She twisted everything I said into some kind of attack against her and insisted every clarification, explanation, or evidence was an excuse. When I would point any of this out, that some of what she said was just plain untrue, she’d once again insist I was gaslighting her. I was trapped. She refused to see the changes I made for her, and was coming up with her own reality of our relationship. Nothing I did mattered anymore; even Tanner told me he saw it. He told me that I had done a lot of work but he didn’t see the same improvement on her end, and that she needed to meet me in the middle if we were going to work. But she only saw the monster she’d made me. I couldn’t continue to date someone who was so committed to misunderstanding me. This is why I only apologized for most of what she said in her list of grievances -- because some was simply untrue. I never lied to her, I never gave her half-apologies -- never in my life have I given anyone an “I’m sorry you feel that way” apology. I apologized for things that didn’t even merit apology. I regressed and backslid on so much healing I had done. She mentally sent me back to high school, convinced me I was who I was as a child, when that was completely untrue. So much of the relationship had become this perfect trap -- where it was damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I ended it because I couldn’t live like that anymore, and I wanted our friendship back. We were awful romantic partners, but such good friends. Not anymore, I guess.

-Every trauma I ever did confide in her, she eventually weaponized against me. She'd recreate every one, or bring them up to silence me. She'd use every moment of vulnerability to further convince me I was an inherently awful person and push me to back slide and regress into trauma I'd grown beyond. Any questioning was met with, yup, I'm gaslighting her or lack introspection.

-She said I never showed interest in her, and I still don't know where that came from. We'd talk about life goals, the world, our ideas. I told her I loved seeing her creative projects and that progress. I read her fan fiction and bragged about it. I don't know when she stopped seeing it, when she stopped seeing me. I introduced her to all of my friends, integrated her into all of my friend groups, because I thought I was building a future with her. But now I'm the villain because she wanted to hold my social life and the friends I'd introduced her to hostage.

-One comment that stuck with me was that she said we weren't even dating, just friends who kissed. She said it again in our last argument before we broke up. I literally didn't know what to do to prove to her that I cared about her, to make her believe me when I said she was my girlfriend. I even came out to my parents about her to try to prove it and it wasn't enough. I got to the point where I almost finally had sex with her just because she wanted it, just to see if that would finally be enough for her to believe me. I'm very glad I didn't.

-She was consistently passive aggressive. She would always say something was fine, then clearly be upset when I'd do it. I'd have to press for there to be any chance of her admitting she didn't like it. There were clear "correct" answers to all of her questions and suggestions, and whenever I refused to acquiesce, it would become an argument.

-Intentions don't matter and all that, but they do. They do, because that's shorthand. She'd constantly use that as a shield, telling me my intentions didn't matter, when at a certain point, she had to be responsible for refusing to hear me. And while intentions don't matter, I never intentionally hurt her, but she intentionally hurt me several times, almost never apologized for it, and in fact insisted to me that I deserved it and had brought it upon myself.

-And I defended her. I continued to defend her for so long, from so many people. I knew she had trauma, and I knew she was in an environment that wasn’t suited to her healing. I convinced myself that I just had to endure until post-pandemic, or until she moved out, or until she got medication she could take, or, or ,or-- and Dan gave me the wake up call that if I was walking on eggshells with her, the environment we were in would only change where I was walking on eggshells with her. Tanner gave me the wake up call that we aren’t even sure she *wants* to leave that house with her family, because of that toxic codependence.

-I’m still terrified of how quickly she turned on me. How quickly she made me a monster. Our break up didn’t have any villains; break ups don’t always need villains. But like a light switch flipping, she turned hatred upon me. She told me that she doesn’t feel empathy and only performs goodness because of a moral code she made for herself, but I never considered what it would be like if she designated me an enemy in that moral code.

Some of this I realized towards the end of our relationship. Some of this I realized after. I’ll add to this post whenever I need to as I parse out more, or remember what I’ve forgotten to add.

I’m not the monster she made me in her story. I’m not responsible for her version of me anymore. I won’t be made to feel guilty or like a villain for finally enforcing my boundaries. I’m still angry that I can’t be open about all of this without continuing to fall into this trap she’s made, of me being awful and hateful instead of abused and rightfully angry. But Tanner and I are the happiest we’ve been in a year. I deeply regret that relationship, but I’m so happy now that I’m out of it, even if it didn’t end how I’d hoped. And I think that says I made the right decision.

[booknerdteen]

Review Time

★★★★★

“I stop myself from apologizing-because what would I even be sorry for? Existing too loud?”

My expectations: 📈

The Book: 📈

If you haven’t heard of this book (which isn’t very likely at this point) or haven’t read it, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

For those who read my excerpt review which is down below, you’d know that I was freaking out. And this book made me reconsider all my thoughts but not in a bad way. Definitely not in a bad way. /gen

Niveus Private Academy has a reputation for being… well, amazing. Everyone there is rich, and the students never pass as less than perfect. Until an anonymous texter who goes by the name “Aces” starts bringing the only black students in the schools’ darkest secrets into the light. Devon and Chiamaka are haunted by day and watched by night. Someone is out to get them. Will aces make them face the consequences of their actions or will they put a stop to this madness before anyone gets hurt?

“Growing up, I realized quite quickly that people hate being called racist more than they hate racism itself.”

The Plot was stressful. I was constantly bombarded with the struggles of these characters and was at the edge of my seat! Every single development made me doubt that I was sane. By 90 percent into the book, I was already dumb stricken and had a huge headache. Not only did the plot keep me at the edge of my seat but it was also I don’t think I would have survived if it wasn’t for the calming characters that I found relatable. So on to that! /gen

The characters were relatable… well, at least most of them were. There is only so much one can have in common with some spoiled private school brats that wouldn’t quit gossip if their life was on the line. But hey, at least I had Chiamaka and Devon. I hated 90% of the characters but that last 10% is filled with love and adoration for Chiamaka, Devon, Chi, and… some other side characters whose names I oh so conveniently forgot./srs

“I didn’t invent this twisted system that pits us against each other and makes us do crappy things for status—but I do know how to play it.”

Chiamaka was a really annoying and self-centered character. At least that’s what I thought at first until I found out that she was actually a Not-so-straight-character-with-zero-annoyance-levels. #Characterrevivaloftheyear. Oh no! That was Zoya. So back to our point- Chiamaka was a really relatable character that I will forever love and (maybe one day, if we are lucky) will have a book of her own because damn was that an ending. She was smart, witty, charming, adorable (at times) but mostly badass. She gave this book the I’ll-kick-your-ass vibe every thriller needs. I can see why she might not be liked by some people because her characteristics are raw and a lot to handle. But I found her to be an awesome sensation to give this book everything it lacked. It was fun tagging along and learning more about her past and her sexuality which this book describes as a lesbian. Chiamaka makes so many sacrifices and by the end of the book, you have to admit to how thoughtful and kind she actually is. /lh

Devon was the powerhouse of the book. He was cute, sweet, and intensely vulnerable. He made me cry more than I have over a book in a while. Niveus is is home and it’s so special to him since his home life isn’t the best. So when Niveus becomes a horror house for him, it hurts to watch. He and Chi were the cutest couple I’ve encountered in a while and their relationship was so beautiful. I may or may not be crying while writing but that doesn’t matter. Ok… so maybe he was a bit confusing and indecisive at times but we all love him. Don’t we? I mean what else could we want he’s got the representation, relatability, love, cuteness, cuteness, cuteness, cuteness, cuteness, cuteness, cuteness & so much cuteness! The character was so cute! Have I mentioned how cute Devon was? Umm, guess I did. But you need more reminders. HE IS CUTENESS ITSELF. No really, we needed a bit more of soft fluffy cuteness in this book and we got it through him. /gen /pc

“I hate how they have the power to kill my future, kill me. They treat my Black skin like a gun or a grenade or a knife that is dangerous and lethal, when really it’s them. The guys at the top powering everything.”

The Romance was beautiful. All right, you might be saying “If I read cute one more time, I’m gonna barf” and I get what you’re saying but hear me out! How cute was the romance? It was the ultimate level of cuteness and I loved it! Cutest cutie of the cutes. There. Done. But seriously the romance was on spot and that’s coming from a girl who doesn’t read a lot of romances. Chiamaka was slowly figuring out herself and realizing that she might not actually like the people she thinks she likes. Devon was also figuring out himself and his sexuality. Although he knows he is very much gay, he doesn’t know how to tell his family. Or even if his single mom will accept him. He also gets his heart broken multiple times by multiple lovers so it kind of hurts to see him confront the pain head-on (wish I could do that) but it also gives me comfort. Especially when he finds Chi (more like Chi finds him but Sara just got over an entire week of packing and moving and is still mentally unstable but refuses to have coffee so we’ll go with that) and they become the power couple of the book. For a thriller, this sure has a lot of romance (unlike my life). /lh

Overall, I was not surprised by the sheer amazingness of this book. K… maybe I was a little? But I loved every bit of the book and it put me in the mood for more Dark Academia stuff so don’t be surprised if I have an entire phase.

|Triggers/Content Warnings- abuse, toxic relationship, alcoholism, memory loss, anxiety, cyberbullying, homophobia, racism, stalking|

[yellowocaballero]

Continuation of Human Relations (Oh My God, They Were Roommates)

This is a 16k story that’s a bit too short for AO3 but a bit too long for Tumblr that acts as a continuation of my Archivist!Sasha and Immortal!Jon fic Human Relations. I recommend that you read that before this. This story takes place between S2 and S3, and is about Sasha and Georgie’s roommate adventures. I’m uncertain if I’ll continue this and post it on AO3, post it on AO3 as it is, or what, but for the time being I’ll at least post it here. 

Serious content warnings for discussion of abusive friendships, gaslighting, discussion of 19th century racism, implied transphobia, and discussion of police brutality. Nothing more serious than what we saw in Human Relations, but it does have a much more explicit investigation of Jon and Elias’ relationship. Rest under the cut. Happy Birthday, @magickko. 

EDIT: HAHA READMORE DIDN’T WORK, YIKES. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she��s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Georgie Barker wasn’t a mystery, and she’d be the first to tell you.

Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, honey! I always love having Jonah owe me a favor. Don’t worry about the cops and the law, nobody will ever find you here. Seriously, the entire department’s in my pocket. It’s no hassle having you here, it’s a big flat! It’s been years since I’ve had a roommate, this’ll be fun!

The one thing she hadn’t understood was Sasha begging her not to let Jon in to see her. He knows exactly where you are, Georgie pointed out. He knows you’re not actually a murderer, Georgie said. He might be able to help explain some of what’s going on, Georgie hinted. Jon would respect my wishes, but if Jonah really wants him to talk to you, he’ll definitely do it...

“Please,” Sasha had croaked, the uncomfortable morning after she had stumbled into Georgie’s flat. The Admiral wove around her legs, purring up a storm, and Georgie was munching on avocado toast and sipping pomegranate juice. “I just - I just need some space.”

“Why?” Georgie asked obliviously. That was something that Sasha was rapidly learning about Georgie - she didn’t hold back with impolite questions, or her opinion. She seemed to be regarding Sasha’s life as her own personal Youtuber Drama, which Sasha really didn’t know how she felt about. Her life wasn’t a spectacle, but she guessed even the warfare and tragedy of ants were of obscure and strange interest to humanity. “He’s feeling, like, totally bad about framing you for murder. I can tell he super wants to apologize to you about everything.”

Martin’s words echoed through her mind, from what felt like a decade ago: Jon had ruined Martin’s life, but to him it was as simple as a momentary inconvenience. “I don’t want his apology,” Sasha croaked. “I want not to be on the run from the police. I want to go back to my flat. Unless he’s going to make me human again I don’t want any stupid apologies. They’re useless.”

“Hm. Well, you’re free to stay here as long as you need to, of course.” Georgie sipped at her tea. They were sitting around the breakfast table, Sasha desolately shoving eggs into her mouth as Georgie drank her tea that Sasha was reasonably sure was spiked with brandy. Rich people were literally never sober. “It’ll be so much fun, like a sleepover. We can do each other’s nails and talk about boys!”

“My boyfriend thought I was a monster for the past month and now thinks I’m a murderer,” Sasha said flatly. 

“Oh, I see.” Georgie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “We have to get you laid, huh?”

“I am literally on the run from the cops.”

“That’s very sexy to some people,” Georgie assured her. 

After that, Georgie waved goodbye and swanned out of the house, either going to her studio to work on her podcast or doing some work for her real estate empire or writing a best-selling book or schmoozing with celebrities or attending parties at exclusive nightclubs or working part-time as a bartender just for gossip or devouring souls. Just from Sasha’s one day at Georgie’s flat, she knew that she did all of these things and then some. It was a stunning contrast to Jon’s laziness, or Elias (Jonah’s) single-mindedness. 

Maybe you lost the energy to be so productive after your two hundredth year. Sasha didn’t fucking know. Hopefully she would never know. Or maybe Jon just appeared to be lazy, and every moment that he was complaining about being bored he was secretly manipulating world leaders. Maybe Jonah’s dedication to spreadsheets and dress code was a front, and he was secretly pulling the puppet strings of her entire life…

In the empty spaces of Georgie’s spacious flat, it was easy to be paranoid. Sasha lay on her luxurious couch, hands folded across her chest like a corpse, trying not to think of anything, thinking of everything. Thinking of Tim: of his smile, of his scowl, of his cold looks given to someone he had thought was a stranger. Thinking of Martin: his warm smile, his sharp looks. 

She struggled to think of other friends, other family members who gave her comfort, but drew up a blank. Her parent’s faces were blurred after ten years of no contact, not so much forgotten as repressed, and her baby siblings were likely unrecognizable to her now. Almost as unrecognizable as she was to them, probably. Tim, her boyfriend who hated her, and Martin, her subordinate who she had almost never had a conversation with that wasn’t about work or Jon...that was it. All the friends she had in the world. She was sleeping in the guest room of a podcast host/Grim Reaper whom she had met once, and that was all she had.

Loneliness was Sasha’s constant companion. In a crowd, in her family, in the world - no matter how many people she had been surrounded by, she had always been alone. She had never had anybody in the world to rely on besides herself, and for the first time in a long time she was achingly aware of it. Nobody who loved her was going to help her. She was alone now.

After an hour of lying on the couch and crying, Sasha desolately watched Netflix cooking shows on Georgie’s gigantic flat-screen TV, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing at all. She only moved to pet Georgie’s silky long-haired cat whose name she had already forgotten, and even he left quickly once she lost the energy to give him attention.

That was how Georgie found Sasha when she came home: lying on the couch, still dressed in borrowed silk pyjamas, watching idiots on television fuck up cakes. Georgie’s arms were laden with shopping bags, with names of exclusive London boutiques sprawled along the side, her deep black pits of eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. She burst through the door happily, her cat running up to her and winding through her laps as he purred, and easily kicked off her red pumps. She stopped in the doorway of the living room, looking strangely excited. 

“Sorry I’m back to late! Utterly bogged up at work, there was a plane crash and I was processing corpses for hours. I had to do some serious retail therapy just to deal with the tedium - darling, have you moved?”

Sasha grunted. 

“You look like Mikey Crew threw you off the Shard,” Georgie said sympathetically. “Utterly disastrous. Don’t worry, Aunt Georgie’s here to make you feel better.” She lifted her bag triumphantly. “I bought you new outfits!”

Sasha eyed her warily. 

“You get no say in this,” Georgie said kindly. “Chop chop, we’re doing face masks too.”

That’s how, somehow, Sasha found herself playing an unwilling dress-up doll for the Grim Reaper. Georgie had taken Sasha’s casual mention that she had no clothing besides her work pantsuit to heart, and had hit up her favorite boutiques for ‘cute outfits that accentuated her figure and made her eyes pop!’. Or something. Sasha wasn’t much one for fashion. 

As it turned out, Georgie Barker had a walk-in closet. Because of course she did. 

The looks ranged from Sasha’s usual, as Georgie put it, ‘sexy librarian’ look, to ballgowns, to tennis outfits, to moddish, to vintage, to wintery. It was February, the seasons lingering in British chill, and according to Georgie the perfect solution to this was a mink coat that was probably worth a month’s rent on her flat. 

Strangely, all of the outfits fit perfectly - and Sasha knew that her measurements were difficult to find. Georgie took it in stride, clapping enthusiastically each time and suggesting accessories and how to mix and match the outfits. 

She would have thought that she was too dead inside to actually enjoy it, but so far as distractions went it actually worked pretty well. Georgie chatted about everything but their actual problems, and Sasha had absolutely no input or choice in what Georgie decided to dress her in, and by the time they had transitioned from nail painting to watching Legally Blonde and eating ice cream from the carton Sasha was actually feeling a little relaxed. 

“The musical’s better,” Georgie informed Sasha imperiously as Sasha dug around in her carton for chunks of cookie dough. Georgie was clutching a glass of wine in one hand, while Sasha was contenting herself with ice cream. Best not to drink when she was this sad. “Reese is such a doll, though. Allergic to shellfish, poor dear, but I told her not to let Leo pick the restaurant.”

“What I’m wondering,” Sasha said carefully, teeth cracking into the frozen chunk of cookie dough, “is that half the time when I see you, you’re dressed like a 2008 goth in jeans and t-shirts.”

“Oh, honey,” Georgie said pityingly, patting her hand. “I used to spend two hours getting dressed each morning. I’m never doing that to myself again. You, however, clearly have never had nice clothing in your life. It’s written all over your face. People’ll walk all over you if you always look like you’re straight from a charity shop. We gotta buy you some self-confidence.”

“Thanks. I think.” On screen, Elle flourished and achieved her dreams. Sasha tried not to feel jealous. “It’s not really as if I had a lot of girly sleepovers as a kid…”

“Word,” Georgie said sympathetically. She patted Sasha’s hand again. “Jon was the same way, you know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to renovate that boy’s wardrobe. He has no idea how to dress to impress.”

“Do we have to talk about Jon right now,” Sasha groused. “He’s the last person I want to think about.”

“He means well,” Georgie soothed, as Elle Woods proudly proclaimed on television how she, yes, she, was a strong independent woman - who didn’t need a man! “It’s not his fault he’s stupid. He’s just so helpless on his own, you know, he needs girls like you and me to make sure he’s not wasting a decade fixating on obscure Bolivian religious practices or whatever.”

“Helpless? He’s a two hundred year old man.” Sasha spitefully grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table, pouring it into a spare glass and drinking it quickly. It probably cost thousands of pounds, but it just tasted like wine to her. “It’s not my job to make sure his little feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Of course not,” Georgie said, but Sasha had the sense she was being calmed instead of listened to. “But Jon’s...you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Georgie made an interpretive hand gesture. Sasha stared at her blankly. 

“...I still don’t.”

Georgie sighed. “He’s delicate. Jonah babies him, honestly.” She patted Sasha’s hand for the third time, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you until you’re ready to forgive him. Every woman has the right to some time to herself after a guy fucks her over. You two’ll patch things up, right as rain.”

There was nothing Sasha wanted to say to that, nothing she wanted to think about, and she kept drinking her wine and watching the movie, out of lack of any other options.

That night, she drunkenly tipped into bed, so blasted that she slid immediately into sleep and did not dream. It was the first relief she’d had in what felt like a very long time. 

It wasn’t Sasha’s job to fix Jonathan Sims. 

It really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better, or forgive him, or save him from himself. If Martin wanted to waste his time and energy doing that, then god fucking speed, but Sasha had other priorities. She had been profoundly fucked over and had her trust abused by three different men lately, and she wasn’t going to be the one to patch things up.

Two of them she had no desire to patch things up with at all. Two of them she’d be perfectly happy if she never saw again. The last one...Sasha didn’t know what she felt. But that was nothing new. 

That being said, as Sasha chewed her way through hangover medication and an acai bowl the next morning, Georgie’s inane chattering about tricking some celebrity or another into taking her to Hungary for authentic Hungarian food didn’t register nearly as loudly in Sasha’s mind as her words about Jonah and Jon. 

Jonah babies Jon. That was what she had said. It...it was accurate, right? It had to be. Georgie had known Jonah and Jon for a hundred years, and Sasha had barely heard one authentic conversation between them. She’d known them for a year, and known Jonah’s true nature for maybe a few days. There was no way Sasha understood their relationship better than Georgie did. It just didn’t make sense. 

Finally, she put her spoon down, cutting Georgie off in the middle of her ramble about the majesty of Hungarian food made by genuine Hungarian grandma hands. “What did you mean, ‘Jonah babies Jon’?”

Georgie blinked at her, clearly barely remembering the conversation, before recognition dawned. Then she shrugged, sipping her protein smoothie. Which may or may not be spiked. It seemed as if her solution to hangovers was to just not stop being drunk. “Oh, you know how those two are. Jon swans around the world doing whatever he wants, Jonah holds the fort down at home. That’s why Jon’s fun, you know.” She sighed nostalgically. “Romantic cruises to the Bahamas for two months, we tear up the Bahaman government and start a minor military coup, then we take a tour of the beaches. You haven’t lived until you’ve dug your toes into Bahaman sand.” 

That was something Georgie said frequently: you haven’t lived until you’ve done X, Y, or Z. It seemed as if Georgie was very intent on living, and very intent on defining it in discretionary ways. To Sasha, living was simply the act of not being dead, but Georgie was almost fanatical about experiencing life. 

“If he’s so much fun, then why did you break up?” Sasha asked, before she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s really none of my business, feel free not to answer that -”

But Georgie just laughed lightly. “That’s just how Jon and I work. We spend a few weeks together in bliss, and then we go our separate ways for six months or a year or whatever. Work’s always taking us different places, and seeing each other all day would make us hate each other. Some people work best when they’re not in each other’s pocket.” She took a long drag of the smoothie before speaking again. “Besides, he’ll always be second in my life to having fun. And I’ll always be second in his life to Jonah. It’s just how we work. It works for us!”

It seemed to. Last Sasha checked, Georgie and Jon seemed to be very amicable despite being exes. Lackadaisical, on-and-off, passionate yet going years without seeing each other - it was a relationship uniquely in the providence of workaholic immortals. 

It wasn’t until Georgie had already waved goodbye, making Sasha promise not to spend all day on the couch again, that she realized that Georgie hadn’t quite answered her question. 

An image flashed through Sasha’s mind - Jon’s face, as he dared to disagree with Jonah, and was utterly ground into the dust for it. 

There was something more to this. Something that wasn’t obvious on the surface, something that was so well hidden maybe nobody even knew it was going on. Or maybe it was deeper than that, more insidious: maybe whatever was going on was so well-known and pervasive that it simply wasn’t spoken about. Not polite, not the kind of thing you say about your friends, not normal. Not in polite company. Not vocalized. Utterly taken for granted. 

Sasha walked into the guest room, pulling out her phone from her bag and staring at its blank screen. Holding her breath, she hesitantly turned it on, staring at it blankly as it slowly booted up. 

She shouldn’t be turning it on. She was perfectly aware of how, given a warrant, the police could track cell phone location, texts sent and received, everything. She could do it herself. The crushing weight of surveillance, the fear of being found and seen and rooted out, settled over her shoulders like an old, familiar friend. A comforting blanket to wrap herself up in at night: where, even if the fear was terrible and awful, at least it was familiar. 

You could get used to anything, Sasha thought. Any behavior, any fears, any horrors or tragedies - anything could become normal, given enough time. A year. A hundred years. After two hundred years, maybe you wouldn’t even recognize it as happening at all.

Like a flood, the text messages poured in. Notifications chimed in a cacophony, as text after text after text popped up on her phone. Missed calls. Emails popped up, notifications from the doorbell camera, reminders from her fucking Duolingo...

Dizzily, Sasha scrolled through the texts. Lots from Tim, as expected, and a few from Martin, as expected. Some texts from her mother, which - which wasn’t expected. At all. Sasha hadn’t even known that she knew her number. 

Sasha’s brain stuttered over the Spanish, having been years since she spoke it. Her brain also stuttered over the gratuitous misgendering, which was also blissfully novel yet just as uncomfortable and upsetting as ever. Translated, it was a slightly accusatory question about why the police had been calling them about her whereabouts. What had she done? Had she gotten in trouble?

No matter what you did, the text read, God will forgive you. Just call them back. 

Sasha stared at the texts, brain buzzing. She felt sick. Forgive her? They’d forgive her? They thought she’d done it? They thought she was capable of -

Horribly, awfully, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe you never really grew accustomed to pain, even if it was felt a thousand times. Maybe some pain you never acclimated to, never scarred over or calloused. Maybe sometimes the more you were hurt, the worse it hurt. The pain her parents gave her - how they cut off contact, the misgendering, the coldness - hurt just as badly at thirty six as it had at twenty six, at twenty, at fifteen, at nine. It had always hurt. 

So stupid. Sasha deleted the text messages. She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t a child. She was thirty six goddamn years old, that was way too old to still care about your parents. To still need them.

She clicked on Martin’s texts next. The first one had a timestamp before the murder, the rest afterwards.

Martin: where are you?? I found Tim (he tried to kill me w/an axe but we’re ok now) and were trying to get out of here. I explained everything to him. We’ll meet you in the archives. 

Martin: Police are looking for you. I know you didn’t do it so call me back. Tim’s worried. Jon doesn’t seem that worried...

Martin: Shouldn’t text you anymore. Please be safe & careful. 

Jesus. Jesus, she had been terrible to Martin. She was a rotten friend. Sasha hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes. She needed to get him a gift basket. Five. He was a freak, but he was her freak. Maybe. 

Finally, almost holding her breath, she pressed on Tim’s messages. There were a lot of them - more than was safe, Sasha distantly registered. The first five were from the same time Martin had sent the second text. She guessed it was right after the police finished talking to them. He had called her slightly before - likely when they found the body - but there were also two texts from two am last night. 

Tim: pick up your phone

Tim: pick up your phone are you okay im so sorry

Tim: baby please please pick up

Tim: we need to talk & im sorry & i hope ur safe

Tim: dont text me back 

Then two texts from two am:

Tim: to warn you im drunk but im sorry (AND DRUNK) but in my defense im a shitty boyfriend. If you want to break up its fine but id like to make it work but i get if you cant because cops i guess. Bitch tonner wont stop bothering me make her stoppp

Tim: I love you and I wish that was enough. 

Sasha rubbed at her eyes, exhausted. She wished it was enough too. She knew it wasn’t. Strongly, like burning, Sasha wished so desperately that she had never met Jonathan Sims. Maybe, in that world, things were okay. She and Tim were happy. 

She scrolled through the rest of the notifications. Strangely, she even had two texts from Melanie. 

Melanie: Hey, I heard what’s going on. I know you couldn’t have done it. A LOT of cops are bothering me - Hussein and Tonner have called like five times. I think you know them? For legal purposes I’ll say that you should turn yourself in or whatever. 

Melanie: oh and Martin said to tell you that Mr. Bouchard’s been asking me a lot of questions about what im doing and my job situation - dunno y tho

That….probably wasn’t good. 

No texts from Jon. She wouldn’t know what to do if he had. She doubted he knew her number, or how to work a phone. The last thing she could deal with emotionally right now was an apology. She didn’t know what to do about Tonner or Hussein or Melanie. Those were all problems she couldn’t fix right now. 

Really, there was only one problem she could fix right now. She walked over to the door to the balcony, carefully stepping out onto the 20th story balcony. She carefully ejected her SIM card, snapped it in half, looked underneath her to make sure there were no passerby in the exclusive London neighborhood, and forced her fingers to release from the phone so she could watch it fall twenty stories onto the concrete. 

She imagined a smash, a crack, but it didn’t make any sound at all. Sasha forced herself to step back inside, leaving the past behind her. 

There was a lot Sasha had to force herself to do that day. Georgie owned a few laptops, but she hadn’t given Sasha permission to use any of them yet, and she didn’t want to intrude. Despite Sasha’s own...reservations about her personality, she really was being incredibly kind by letting her stay and trying to cheer her up. She did, however, have a great deal of antique books, and Sasha eagerly cracked open the first edition copies of fiction novels from the 19th century. Was that a first edition Pride & Prejudice? Oh, score!

She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, but that always happened whenever she was upset. She forced herself to take a shower, impossibly intimidated by Georgie’s small army of hair care and hygiene products, and even cautiously let herself take a bubble bath with a bath bomb. It was...weirdly luxurious, but maybe not surprisingly. Georgie’s bathroom was like the Queen’s, and you could practically swim in the bathtub. It was intimidating and weird and uncomfortable, but Sasha forced herself to appreciate it. How many people got to take a shower in a stall with five different showerheads?

Halfway through the day the housekeeper came in, terrifying Sasha deeply, and she retreated to her guest bedroom to let the woman work. She inspected her newly painted toenails glumly, halfway through Pride & Prejudice, forcing herself not to think about how Jon could have been a background character in the novel. Wasn’t he in his twenties in this time period? Wasn’t that when he and Jonah Magnus had -

Sasha drank more wine, and put on another cooking program. She hadn’t watched telly all day, so technically she could tell Georgie that. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything productive to do. No work, which sucked when she was a workaholic. No computer to waste time on. No friends she could talk to without the police investigating her. She couldn’t go outside, again due to the aforementioned cop situation. Her life was her work, and her bosses had just framed her for murder. 

Somewhat buzzed, Sasha stole several pieces of intricate stationary and wrote down everything Leitner had told her before he was murdered. It wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted, yet far more than she knew what to do with. Halfway through her notes deteriorated into a bizarre sort of mind map, lists of cases connected together and obscure monsters and figures pointing to each other. Salasea and his endless array of dangerous trinkets, mysterious yet lonely ship captains, Michael and his gently twisting deceit, Gerry Keay and his bizarre heroism, Leitner and his ruinous imprints, Agnes and her desolate fate, and the oft-mentioned yet barely understood man, whose name was whispered by shadowy figures entrenched in  the supernatural world, Jonathan Sims…

Did he know? How often his shadow stained her statements? Did he care? Did he know how thoroughly he had ruined her life? 

She scoured her memory for hints, writing down everything she could remember of his cameos in random statements. Of Leitner’s testimony, the immortal figure who so easily attained what Leitner and Mary Keay had spent their entire lives grasping for. Was there a hint to his true nature, his true allegiance? 

In the corners of the cute stationary, Sasha doodled a small eye. She stared at it, and couldn’t help but fight the notion that it was staring back. 

She scratched it out, feeling paranoid, not feeling paranoid enough. 

A few hours later, Georgie came home, and Sasha fought the pathetically hopeful trepidation. When she heard the front door rattle she left her room, intending on welcoming Georgie back and proving that she hadn’t been watching telly all day, but she stopped short in the hallway when she heard the loud sound of voices. Specifically, the loud sound of Georgie’s still slightly unfamiliar voice, and the quieter tones of a voice that was far too familiar to her.  

“ - if you’ll just let me talk to her, she’ll understand.”

“And she said that she’s not seeing you,” Georgie said firmly. Sasha held her breath, pressing herself up against the hallway wall. Next to her was a doorway that led to the living room, that led to a foyer. If she craned her head she could just barely see Georgie standing in the foyer, arguing with a figure holding a leather briefcase that made Sasha’s heart leap into her throat. “You really did screw her over, you know.”

“I know,” Jonathan Sims whined. “I want to apologize. It’s not my fault. Jonah got pushy again, you know how he is.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Georgie scoffed. “Did something happen between you two? Sasha was asking all sorts of weird questions.”

“Just Jonah being his usual insufferable self,” Jon said, so carelessly and casually that if Sasha hadn’t known better she would have believed him. “It probably alarmed her, seeing how that man really is. I’m sure she’s feeling very overwhelmed right now.”

“She really is, the poor dear,” Georgie said sympathetically. Sasha’s hands clenched into fists. “But you aren’t getting past this foyer, honey. I’m sure she’ll want to be friends again once Jonah gets the cops off her case.”

“Martin’s giving me a hard time,” Jon sulked. “Says this is all my fault that the dreadful little wolf girl is sniffing around. It’s not my fault. If my Archivist just let me explain, she’d see that it’s not my fault.”

“That Blackwood boy’s always giving you a hard time,” Georgie sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s overly moralistic and doesn’t know how to have fun. You spend too much time with him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Georgina Barker,” Jon teased. He stepped forward a little closer, and although Sasah couldn’t see his face she had the feeling he was smiling. “It’s a bad look on you.”

“Idiot,” Georgie said fondly, “everything’s a good look on me.” She stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Ditch him and come party with me, darling, I’ll show you a wonderful time. Maybe after all of this nonsense blows over.”

“Judging from what I can make out of Jonah’s monologuing, we ought to get our parties in while we still can,” Jon said glumly. He opened his briefcase, passing a manila folder to Georgie. “Give her these. She’ll be getting hungry. Tell her that the top one is from work, and the second is from me.” He hesitated for a second. “You really think she’ll forgive me?”

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you need to be forgiven?”

Jon was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I’ll talk to you later, Georgie. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie said easily, casually, as if she had said it a thousand times, a million times. “Take care of yourself.”

She stood in the foyer after he left, arms folded, one delicately manicured finger tapping against her arm. She eventually turned around, poking her head into the living room. 

“You can come out, darling, I don’t bite.”

Sasha guiltily stepped into the living room, crossing her arms defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Georgie just rolled her eyes. “Please. My best friends are Jonathan Sims and Jonah Magnus.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Well. My oldest friends. Anyway, if you’re in the same house as one of those Beholding types you aren’t getting a private conversation. I’m super used to it.” She held out the manila folder, and Sasha cautiously stepped forward and took it from her. 

“Beholding types?” 

“Oh, you know, you and your lot,” Georgie said dismissively. “Can’t do anything about that annoying little megalomania the Eye gives you. Have fun with lunch, I have to freshen up. It takes ages to get the scent of Jon’s musty old books off me.”

But Sasha was already tuning her out, because in the manilla envelope there were two Statements. They thrummed under her fingers, charged with energy and power and fear, and Sasha could feel herself gripping them. The first one was a classic Magnus Institute Statement, just like she would have read at work, but the second was what looked like a photocopy of a piece of paper. Judging from the ornate script, it was old, and when Sasha’s eyes wandered to the date her eyes widened. July 21st, 1823. 

She looked up, already frantically searching for a tape recorder, and immediately saw one sitting on the coffee table. She didn’t think twice about it, already sitting on the plush white couch and setting the papers out. Which one first - oh man, they were both so exciting - her fingers drifted to the one Jon gave her, and she picked it up. That one, then. 

Sasha James pressed play on the tape deck, feeling a familiar thrill go through her at the gentle whirring. She cleared her throat. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a letter sent by Barnabas Bennet to Jonah Magnus. Statement begins.”

And, as Sasha’s blood ran cold, she began to read. 

My dearest Jonah,

I hope you are well. It was an absolute pleasure to vacation at your estate this summer. I’ve never had such interesting conversations with a like-minded individual, and since returning to my own estate I have been sorely missing your company. You have introduced a great deal of brightness and acute interest to my life, and without you the luminescence of Heaven does not thrill me. How I wish you were around to thrill me again!

Do not concern yourself - I have maintained my studies. The library you loaned me is of great interest, and I have been spending many a quiet night bent over one of your occult tomes. I have never felt so enlightened. A world is opening up before us, Jonah, one of richness and wonder, and for the first time in many years I find myself excited to rise each morning. I thank our Heavenly Father each day that I was so fortunate as to cross your path. You must remind me to discuss with you the report by Smirke in detail - fascinating! Theoretical, of course, all theoretical - but the concept of classifying the devils that so bewitch man into fourteen unique taxonomies fascinates me. We must discuss it. 

Jonah, I trust that this letter reaches you in private, and that you shall not betray my confidence by discussing it with anyone. I have a private grievance I wish to address with you. It is regarding your boy, the one kept so close in your confidence and trust. 

I would never hasten to question any of your decisions, for I trust they are made with great deliberation and forethought. But I must question why you keep that boy so close to you. His air is strange and fey. While summering at your estate, I would frequently see him awake at late hours, pouring over some tome or report or another (I would swear that he reads better than I!). I know he’s somewhat of a project of yours, bringing him into Christianity and your charity, which will surely be rewarded etc etc, but I cannot shake my strange trepidation. 

If I were to be quite honest, my fear of him. 

He always asks questions. Disturbing and distressing questions. And when I deign to answer them, he acts as if he truly understands. Moreover, that he understands more than me - that he possesses some secret knowledge that only he has obtained. I catch him listening at doorways and around corners frequently, and no matter how many times I box him about the ears for it he will not cease. You encourage it, allowing this behavior. Even after I reported to you the pagan rituals which I am confident he is performing, you brush me off. You two are strangely close. I’m simply concerned for you, Jonah. Please heed my advice: that boy is trouble. I fear that he will bring you into trouble also. Do not allow this paganism to steer you away from the light of our heavenly Father. I understand that the occult is of great interest to all of us, discovering the secrets of the world and its many mysteries, but it is only an academic interest. I would never go so far as to partake of these devilish rituals myself, and you ought to dissuade yourself of such a notion also. Do not allow that John to lead you astray. 

I wish you most well. I am encountering some trouble of my own - debts and such - but do not concern yourself with them. The situation is well-handled. I hope to write to you again soon.

Yours, faithfully,

Barnabas

...supplemental.

Jon. Why did you show me this?

Is this your definition of vulnerability? Of honesty? What, are you trying to justify your decisions to me? I get it, it’s disgusting. These people were disgusting to you. I can’t know how you feel, but I think I - my parents -

What I mean is, I can’t understand. I can’t imagine how hard this must have been. I understand how Jonah was the only one to… ‘get’ you or whatever. How he was the only person to see how brilliant you are, how much you have to give. 

But, Jon - I don’t think Jonah thought any better of you than Barnabas did. He was just better at hiding it. I don’t know, I didn’t know him and I still don’t know him - but you get that the way he talked to you back then wasn’t right, right? You get that it was fucked up, right?

I don’t know. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think anybody does. Georgie’s too close to it, too used to you and Jonah’s ‘quirks’ or whatever. I...don’t know anything Martin thinks, but I feel as if you’d be pretty invested in keeping this from him. But I’m close enough to you to see it, and I’m far enough away from this that I understand. Something’s really fucked up about this situation. I’m worried I’m the only person who sees it. I hate being that person, the person who Sees it all, who knows it all, but is powerless to do anything about it. You understand, right? You understand how much this is hurting me?

I’m not sure you do. If you’re showing me this, trying to show me how hard you had it, how misunderstood you were, just so I forgive you...I don’t. And it’s manipulative, so cut it out. I’m not sure if you’re consciously doing that, I really don’t think you’re emotionally intelligent enough.

But you aren’t dumb, Jon. I know it’s a defence mechanism or whatever to pretend that you are, to act childish, but you aren’t. 

Ugh, listen to me. I sound like Martin. Disgusting. I don’t give a shit about this, I’m not your therapist. But you keep on making your problems my problems, and I’m not tolerating that. We’ll talk when I’m not fucking wanted for murder for something you were complicit in. 

Get your act together. I don’t forgive you. Statement fucking ends. 

As if Sasha’s life wasn’t hard enough, Georgie wanted to go dancing. 

“I am literally wanted by the police.”

“The nightclub’s so dark, nobody’ll even see your face,” Georgie promised. 

“Shouldn’t I be spending my time working on my conspiracy theory board?”

“Honey, no offence, that thing is so tacky.”

“I hate clubbing.”

“You’ll like the way I do it!”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Tough nuts.”

So, of course, that’s how Sasha ended up shoved into a tight dress, heels, and makeup, pushed into a taxi, and quickly deposited in front of a warehouse looking building. There was a long line out the door, of women with straightened hair dressed somehow identically, yet way worse, than Sasha, all looking very cold. Georgie looped her arm through Sasha’s, white teeth flashing as she grinned widely, and escorted them both straight through the doors and past security. 

She, it seemed, was a known quantity. Sasha, who had spent the last year working in a mill to feed evil psychic vampires and the ten years before that locked in academia, which was basically the same thing, was not a known quantity to any nightclub. She had not been clubbing since uni, which was approximately five lifetimes ago.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Sasha said into Georgie’s ear as they transitioned from the furiously cold February air into the swelteringly hot club. It was dim and smoky, the noise overwhelmingly grating at her ears. After so long in a quiet office, in a silent flat, she could barely handle it. 

Georgie said something to her. 

“What?” Sasha yelled. “Georgie, I don’t want to be here!”

Georgie frowned at her, and unlinked their arms so she could reach up on her tiptoes and clasp Sasha on the shoulders. “You have been accused of murder! You just split with your boyfriend because of clown trauma! You haven’t had fun in years! You deserve this, queen!”

You know...maybe she did. 

Georgie pressed a drink into her hands, mysteriously procured from somewhere, and without thinking too hard about it Sasha downed it in one gulp. Georgie whooped, clapping her on the back, and directed her towards the bar. She flashed her platinum credit card at the bartender, and suddenly Sasha was MVP of the night. 

You know, Sasha thought dizzily as she was given a toxic blue drink and pushed onto the dance floor, maybe she did deserve this. Didn’t she deserve to have fun? After the way things ended with Tim, couldn’t she just act like a normal girl and go clubbing with her friends to dance away the pain? She was almost forty, way too old for this, but maybe she could forget for a little bit. She had never had the opportunity as a teenager, not even as a young adult. Couldn’t she do this, before she died?

Maybe women closer to forty than thirty dealt with this with - with book clubs, with sisterhood, whatever. Maybe women closer to forty than thirty were married, had kids of their own. But Sasha was just Sasha, stuck in a literal dead-end job, going nowhere good, and this was all she would ever have. 

Maybe Georgie was right. Why not live, before she died? Everybody on earth died - everybody, that is, except for a small group of people who were willing to sell their soul for the privilege.  At least maybe this way she could have whatever joy she could fit into her life before all opportunity was lost, and she was lost. 

A man sidled up to her, asking for a dance, and she evaded him. But then there was another one, and another one, and Sasha found herself fleeing back to the bar and ordering another drink. Too soon. Way too soon. She found herself digging in her borrowed purse, searching for her phone, wanting to call Tim or talk to him or ask him if they really were broken up so she could have rebound sex with random dudes in bars, but the purse was empty of both a phone and a wallet. That’s right - she had destroyed it. Because the cops were after her. 

Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, a man sat down at a barstool. He said something to the bartender and leaned towards her, mouth spilling something obscured by the crush and heat and sound of the club. He seemed to be asking if he could buy her a drink. Sasha shook her head dizzily, confused and lost. Then he leaned in closer, and Sasha could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Are you sure? I’d like to dance with you!”

Sasha shook her head no again, frantically. 

“Aw, come on -”

Then, as if by magic, Georgie was at her elbow. Unintimidating, not more than one hundred and seventy centimeters, with teased hair and sharp black lipstick and eyeliner, she raised an eyebrow at the guy. But there must have been something in her eyes, or a lack of something, because the guy rapidly slipped off the barstool and melted into the crowd, leaving the drink the bartender slid onto the counter behind. 

As if she had planned it, Georgie easily stole the drink and knocked it back. She tugged Sasha down, yelling into her ear. “Come with me, darling, let’s check out where the real party is.”

Without taking no for an answer, Georgie grabbed Sasha’s hand and tugged her through the outskirts of the crowd, ducking and weaving between small clusters of people and women dancing the night away. Sasha’s vision swam, details and faces lost in the endless ripple of flashing lights and sound, until all she felt was Georgie’s cool hand in hers, and it wasn’t until they emerged from the choppy sea of people into a small hallway off the main room that she felt like she could breathe. Sasha’s head swam with movement and smoke, and she was barely cognizant that they were in a hallway for a bathroom or something. 

But Georgie walked confidently past the bathrooms, into what appeared to be a storage closet. She confidently opened it, halting at the door frame to glance backwards at Sasha. A smile quirked at her bow lips. 

“You coming?”

Sasha, slightly intoxicated though she was, couldn’t fight the skepticism. “This is where the real party is? A supply closet?”

“Oh, my dear Archivist,” Georgie said, smirking slightly. “The world is full of far more delights than you could understand. Follow me, and stay close.”

Then Georgie stepped forward, disappearing into the closet, and as little as Sasha wanted to step inside more dubiously supernatural hallways she wanted to be left alone in this club even less, and she ducked after Georgie into the unknown. 

The unknown, as it turned out, was another club. 

Or, more accurately, a pub. It was a nice pub too, all smoky yellow lights and burnished wood booths. The booths were upholstered in soft and cushy looking brown leather, and the sound where nowhere above a quiet murmur. It didn’t seem to be abandoned, the shadows at some booths deeper than others, but for the life of her Sasha couldn’t puzzle out the faces or figures of anybody at these shadowy corners. There was a single bartender, wiping a grimy glass over and over. He nodded at Georgie when he walked in, and Sasha was forced to wonder how many dubiously physical supernatural bars and hang-outs existed in random back rooms of mundane stores. Were these things just everywhere? Or were there only a few, and so long as you had the right key any door could be an entrance? It was just Sasha’s intuition, but she felt as if it was the latter. 

What would, could Georgie open up for her? What power, what majesty? What world of power and control could Jon give her, that Jon was trying to hard to give her that she kept refusing? Nobody was telling her the cost. Nobody was letting her make a decision. She was being swept up in the wake of giants, and Sasha was just trying to keep her head above water. 

Georgie was still walking confidently down the aisles, and Sasha stumbled trying to keep up. Finally, she came to a stop in a back corner, utterly secluded with a booth that stretched the entire corner, large enough for seven or more people. Georgie turned to Sasha, smiling broadly, and Sasha tried not to feel intimidated. 

“Honey, these are my friends. Girls, this is my new roommate, Sasha James!”

With a flourish, she made a little tah-dah motion, and the smoky yellow lamp above the table flickered on. 

The table was crowded with women, or women appearing people. Absolutely none of them were familiar. No - in the corner, there was one person who was familiar. Michael, blonde hair hurting her eyes in curly ringlets, hands in his coat pockets. He smiled crookedly at her, jarring her adrift. 

“Uh,” Sasha said, confused. Who were these people? “Hello?”

A short East Asian woman in a white tank top and black jeans scowled from where she was slouching in her seat. “One of those Beholding patsies? Please, Georgie, they’re so insufferable.”

“I like this one,” Georgie said cheerfully. She slid into an empty seat, and Sasha cautiously sat next to her. “Play nice, everyone.”

“You’re such a grouch, Jude,” a woman said, leaning forward and looking interestedly at Sasha. Her eyes were dark and big, her head cocked, giving her an almost insectoid air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally, Archivist. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re really making waves in our little community.”

“Patsy Archivist,” a tall and burly white woman with cascading brown hair said shortly, taking long gulps of a pint. “What’s impressive about that?”

“I’m impressed with anyone who puts up with Sims and Magnus long enough,” the insectish woman said. “No offence, Georgie.”

“Oh, they’re insufferable,” Georgie said cheerfully. “Have you heard how those two like to socialize? They go to galas. With those awful little Fairchilds and Lukases and whatever. It’s just tragic.”

“Word,” the insect woman said, raising her glass. The rim seemed to be coated in cobwebs, making Sasha feel vaguely ill. “Much rather have a pint at a nice little pub with friends. But we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? My name’s Annabelle Cane. I’m sure you’ve heard of me in all those little stories you like.”

Anabelle Cane. Sasha swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“A proxy Archivist she may be,” Michael said serenely, “but perhaps our most successful yet. She’s already coming along so much further than Gertrude ever did.” He winked bizarrely at Sasha. “Michael, but you already know that. They and them, if you please.”

Oh. Sasha blinked at them. “Thanks for...saving my life back there. And Tim’s and Martin’s.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said affably. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in awhile. Always nice to have the Eye owe me a favor.”

“They’re just mad they didn’t get to kill Gertrude,” the brunette said evenly. “Julia Montauk. You should know me too, I think. Is it true you killed someone?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sasha said heatedly. “It was a set-up.”

“Relax, we’re all killers here,” the woman in a tank top said. She scowled at Sasha. “Jude Perry. What the fuck do those old money ponces think they’re doing, installing another patsy Archivist this late in the game? I would have thought that they learned their lesson after that bitch Gertrude.”

“Archivists are quite slow learners,” a woman piped up. She sat in the corner, strangely oddly. Her skin was shiny and strange in the dim light, almost plasticish, and her dark eyes hadn’t moved from Sasha’s face since she walked in. “Nikola. A pleasure, Archivist.”

“Are you guys all…” Sasha trailed off uncomfortably. “You know?”

“Serial killers?” Julia Mauntauk asked flatly. 

“Inhuman monstrosities of plastic and flesh?” Nikola inquired. 

“Daughters of fear entities that control our every action?” Annabelle said. 

“Embodiments of unknown concepts made sentient, forced into a shape that cannot suit them, locked in flesh and fractal prisons, always screaming in endless turmoil, unable to understand the horrors of the concepts of ourselves, always searching for the sweet release of death that can never quite be obtained, because that which does not live can never die?” Michael said serenely. 

“Assholes?” Jude Perry said flatly. 

“The sexiest Avatars around?” Georgie asked. 

How did Sasha’s life devolve to this point. 

“...yeah,” Sasha said. “Hey, where can I get more drinks?”

Unsurprisingly enough, the drinks came very fast. Service was excellent when you hung out with eldritch women, Sasha supposed. 

The conversion flew thick and fast after that. In Sasha’s experience, joining a new group of established friends meant being ignored for favor of pre-existing dynamics. It was always uncomfortable, and no small part of why she just didn’t join new groups. Tim had never had that problem - he had a loud and persistent personality, the kind that made you pay attention to him. He dominated any room he entered, by force if necessary. It always seemed exhausting to Sasha, but Tim didn’t really seem to have anymore real friends than she did lately. His personality was like an ocean, overwhelming and everywhere, but when his mood turned sour it was just as intense. Gulfs of pleasure, intense pain - it seemed exhausting, to feel so deeply. God knows Sasha didn’t. 

But today, in this group, she seemed to be novel. Maybe new fear avatars were a rare enough thing, or at least ones with Georgie’s seal of approval. They aimed a barrage of questions at her, and Sasha did her best to keep up with each one.

How did Sasha know Georgie? Mostly through a mutual enemy. Oh, fuckin’ Sims, right - you guys friends? No, I hate him. You guys fucking? Ew. Right, right, Sims is a giant prude - actually I heard that he doesn’t really - no, Jon decided a while back he doesn’t do that, and we all respect his decision - ew, though, nobody wants to imagine that. So why are you two friends? We’re roommates, mostly, I’m kinda on the run from the cops. Who’d you kill? Nobody. Who’d that old fucker Bouchard kill? Jurgen Leitner, mostly. 

“Cheers to that!” Julia said abruptly, raising her glass. “Hate that fucker.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Annabelle said, downing her own drink and what seemed like an improbable quantity of spiders. She leaned over the table to where Sasha had hastily been stuffed in, beetle-black eyes gleaming. “But really. What are you doing here?”

“As I said,” Sasha said uncomfortably, “I got framed for murder -”

But Annabelle just waved her hand. “No, no, we know that. I’m asking what are you doing here? With people like us, in a place like us? You’re just a sexy librarian. Your highest goal in life was owning your own cottage house one day. How’d you get wrapped up in the tangled web of our world?”

Sasha’s mouth ran dry, her head spinning in a way that didn’t really seem to have anything to do with the alcohol. How had she ended up like this? Who was to blame?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha said dizzily. “He -”

“Didn’t know you Beholding types were in the process of lying to yourselves,” Annabelle said, casually yet brutally. “No, really.”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she said, “I guess I just asked all the wrong questions.”

It was a pretty way of dressing up the real answer: that Sasha didn’t know. 

Maybe her thoughts were obvious, because Georgie cooed sympathetically and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, honey, it’s not so bad. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s just your own rotten luck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude called, lifting her glass. “I love my fucking life. It’s hookers, coke, and blow from here to Scotland. The life of a woman with power’s a thousand times better than the life of a woman without, James.”

“What is with you people and hedonism,” Sasha muttered. 

“Why not?” Nikola asked, tilting her head strangely. “Life’s so short when it’s this long. It’s just bread and circuses, Archivist. We all need...entertainment.”

“Humans are always trying to make sense of it all,” Michael said arily. They were digging their fingers into the table, scoring long grooves in it. “When you know there’s no meaning, no purpose, then everything else just...falls away.”

Sasha didn’t know if she believed that, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she said, “What about those Avatars like Magnus or Raynor? They seem really...driven.”

Georgie giggled, light and airy, and leaned in. “That’s because they don’t know.”

She shouldn’t even ask. She shouldn’t - “Know what?”

Georgie smiled, sharp and wicked. “That there’s no point.”

And that was all she would say on that for the night: conversation after that devolved into parties, restaurants, drugs, and conquests. Maybe the women were right, in their own clearly demented way: that without death there was no meaning, when when there was no meaning only pleasure held any significance. If there was no afterlife, no reward or punishment - which Sasha didn’t believe, but they seemed to - then there was no reason not to do what you wanted. To have fun. To take revenge. 

If all Georgie wanted was to have fun, and if all Jon wanted was revenge, then what did Jonah Magnus want? Sasha didn’t know. She had the feeling that if she didn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to live much longer. 

Why had Jonah Magnus done this to her? What was the point of framing her for murder? She couldn’t do her job like this. What’s the point? 

Half-drunk, head spinning, she found herself vocalizing this. Somehow, Annabelle Cane had ended up sitting next to her, letting spiders run along her slightly too long and too jointed fingers. Annabelle Cane just smiled at her, jaw slightly slacking open to expose teeth. 

“Maybe it’s just to fuck with you,” Annabelle posited. “Why not? Do you think he has another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha groaned. “I don’t know anything. Everything’s confusing and terrible. I could never understand those psychopaths.”

“You won’t make it very far in this line of work if you never ask why,” Annabelle scolded. She paused a second, spider running thoughtfully across her eyeball. “But too many questions damns you just as effectively, I suppose. Hm. Jonah’s quite good, isn’t he.”

“Why me,” Sasha groaned. “Everyone’s trying to keep shit from me, it fuckin’ - it fuckin’ sucks, man. It sucks. Nobody would tell me what’s going on, but I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. Not even Jonah, or Jon, or - or anyone. Nobody but me.”

Annabelle blinked at her, somewhat curiously, before leaning in. Her perfume lingered in the air, a heavy rosy scent. “Do you know something that Jonah doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Sasha slurred, world fading in and out. “Jonah doesn’t know that Jon -”

Then the world faded into black, and Sasha fell asleep. 

If she had felt too old for this at the nightclub, she definitely felt too old for this hangover. Sasha spent twenty minutes crouched over a toilet bowl, reluctantly shoved the Eggs Benedict in her mouth that Georgie insisted was a hangover cure, somehow, and refused the Bloody Mary that Georgie also insisted was a hangover cure that her Mum used to feed her. The thought of Georgie’s Mum filled Sasha with a deep fear, incapable of imagining somebody who was both likely born in the 1800s and who had raised a hellion like Georgie. 

When Sasha mumbled this to Georgie, she didn’t look offended. She just smiled, strangely fond. “Oh, none of this is my Mum’s fault. She was a darling, her and my Da. My childhood was positively idyllic. All things considered, you know.”

Yes, Sasha thought, struggling to imagine 1910s London in her mind, idyllic. She took another look at Georgie, squinting slightly as her head throbbed. She definitely seemed younger physically than Jon, but Jon had a particular way of carrying age about him that had nothing to do with his appearance. “When did you stop aging?”

“I forget, honestly,” Georgie said airly, sipping her own bloody mary. For some reason, Sasha didn’t believe her. “It always takes a while to notice, you know. I suppose, logically, it would be about when I died the first time.”

That, more than anything, alarmed Sasha. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

“Not permanently,” Georgie said, as if this was somehow obvious. “Eat your eggs, they’ll get cold.” Sasha frantically shoved eggs in her mouth, desperate for the story. But Georgie just sighed and propped her chin on her hand, eyes distant. “You know how it is. Small town girl, grew up in North Birmingham, Alabama - back when it was just a tiny little thing, you know. I wanted to be a star. I always did. Scared of dyin’ in the dirt. If I was gonna die young, I wanted to do it where everybody knew my name. So long as they remember you, it’s no kind of death at all, really.” She sighed, lost in memory. “I could sing so good...so I went to Harlem, ‘cause all my friends and I always had dreams of going to Harlem and making it big singing in the jazz clubs. They didn’t get so far, staying at home with their babies, but I did. Wasn’t really made for babies and such, I think.” Something strange emerged in her words, the last vestiges of a Southern accent. “I was pretty, and I could sing, and I took to the spotlight like a duck to water. It was tough, but man - if it ain’t tough, it ain’t worth it. I worked so hard. Like I was working myself to death, almost.”

She trailed off, birds softly trilling outside, and Sasha was silent. 

Quietly, Georgie began speaking again. “Got into some trouble. You know how it is. I spent dozens of years wondering if it was my fault, if there was something I coulda done differently, zig instead of zag...but now, I don’t think so. Just my own rotten luck, you know. Put my trust in the wrong people. Had the wrong sentence whispered into my ear.” She shrugged listlessly. “Couldn’t handle the truth. Just another girl who couldn’t handle the limelight, that was what they said. But I was set up to fail. All those jazz clubs were ganger run, you couldn’t avoid it. Every girl in that golden age fell prey to those men, same as I did. I just wanted to feel again. Tried everything once, just to feel something.” She sighed, taking another drink. “Got shot. Got back up. I remember it, clear as day. Must have been 1923. I scrubbed the blood out of my show dress and went back on stage that night, cuz you can’t get a rep as a flake. They said, that day...that day was my best performance.”

She trailed off, Sasha finally alert. She wanted more details, almost desperately, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to risk putting the whammy on her host, even if she wasn’t sure that she could. If Georgie was being purposefully vague...well, Sasha wasn’t entitled to her pain. 

Instead, she said, “I bet you were good.”

Georgie smiled at her wanly, eyes far away. “I was the best.”

They sat in silence for a little while, eating their food, Sasha’s head ringing and mind buzzing. What about this picture was she not understanding? What was so important that she was missing?

Finally, Sasha carefully floated, “I bet you must have met Jon soon after.”

Georgie looked up from her bloody mary, surprised. “Oh, yes. Just a few months after. He must have caught the word on the wind, you know, of that singing girl who got back up after getting shot in the lungs.” She sighed, propping her chin on her hand again. “Saw him in the front row of my club. He was so handsome, and so finely dressed. But there had been something strange in his eyes, you know? Like little marbles, reflecting the lamps. He caught up to me afterwards, and I figured he was just another fan to squeeze dry, but he told me in his funny little accent I’d never heard before that he could help me.” She swallowed, looking away. “That he could help me understand what was happening to me. Why I was having those strange dreams, seeing those strange tendrils. I guess he was right. After I met him, I understood it all. Things moved fast after that.” She smiled weakly at Sasha. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She really didn’t, but Sasha understood the dismissal for what it was. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all of that.”

“It’s no secret,” Georgie said dismissively. She smiled cunningly. “A hundred years later almost exactly, and what I did to those gangsters was still my finest work. They say that if you pass by an old building on St. Nicholas Avenue, you can still hear the screams. Anyway, I have a meeting with my land development company in an hour, must run, ta!”

On that distressing note Georgie swanned out the door, and Sasha was left alone with nothing but a stack of conspiracy theories, an opulent flat, and bad memories. 

Time seemed to move quickly, yet sluggishly, after that. After another day of writing down literally every Statement she could remember off the top of her head and trying to fit them into the weird and seemingly kind of arbitrary categories that Leitner had given her, she had hit a roadblock. She couldn’t remember any more Statements, she didn’t have access to them, and the ones she did remember she either already sorted or couldn’t dredge up enough memory of them to sort them in a satisfactory way. Either that, or the Statement itself was just incomprehensible - Sasha still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Tessa’s problem. She tended to have a better memory of the ones that seemingly mentioned the Avatars in the background, just because it had been so startling to actually meet them - and a few even mentioned Jon, usually in context of Salasea or any Eye Statement. 

When Georgie came home that night, they watched another movie and they both studiously avoided mentioning anything supernatural. Best not to take work home with you, even if Sasha had never quite been good at that. 

The next day Sasha did what she should have done in the first place, and hacked into the Magnus Institute server. 

It was seriously, comically easy. Sasha had installed a backdoor connection to the desktop of her work computer from her laptop ages ago, and all she had to do was borrow one of Georgie’s laptops and redownload the program. With an easy virtual desktop she was already in. It was somehow satisfying to see all of her work programs pop up on the borrowed laptop, and it was almost a relief to access the Archive drive that connected all of their computers. More importantly, where they all put their research follow-ups and the spreadsheet that documented the debunked, uncertain, and verified statements. It had gotten to the point where if the statement refused to record on the computer they automatically put it on verified, but what Sasha really wanted from that spreadsheet was the one sentence description they had all put for each Statement. 

From there, it was much easier. Sasha, sick of the disorganized conspiracy theorist aesthetic, made her own spreadsheet and began categorizing the verified Statements that way. Much more reliable than working from memory. 

If only she could actually access the Statements...Sasha’s life would be so much easier if everything could be digitized. The debunked ones were typed up, filed, and recorded, but the verified ones only existed on paper. Couldn’t be typed up, couldn’t be recorded. It was so stupid. 

Sasha checked the clock. Eleven am on a Wednesday. They were definitely all still working. Maybe…

It was an invasion of privacy. Did she actually care about that? No. Was she worried about apparently being locked into an employment contract with an...entity of some sort that preyed on invasions of privacy? No, although she felt like she should. Was she concerned that Jon and Jonah were trying to turn into her a conduit of this entity’s power into the world, probably gradually turning her, if not evil, at least into a giant dick? Somewhat. 

Words echoed through her mind, and Sasha’s fingers halted over the keyboard. Her powers manifesting differently than Jon’s...her unique skill with hacking…

Well, that was just kind of offensive. Sasha had worked hard for her skills. They weren’t given to her by Jon’s weird god. Also - seriously, a god? It was just a malevolent eldritch entity living in a separate dimension that encroached tendrils into Sasha’s life. There was nothing divine about it. That was just offensive. Sasha was a good feminist, transgender Catholic on the run from the law and didn’t worship false idols. 

It was only then that Sasha noticed a folder on the drive that she hadn’t created. It was labelled ‘For the Archivist’. Despite herself, she clicked on it. 

It held a few pdfs. Sasha clicked on one curiously, and saw that they were photocopies of statements. No - of Statements. She was already recognizing this one as one of those spider ones. She quickly printed them all out, conscientious of how easily supernatural files corrupted, and quickly exited the drive and the virtual desktop.

It wasn’t until Sasha was already in the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack that she realized what she was doing. She sighed, replaced it, and fetched herself some sparkling water instead. She drank it slowly as she returned to her laptop and logged remotely into the police database, which she already had a backdoor into. 

It occurred to Sasha, perhaps belatedly, that if the police found her laptop and the incredible variety of highly illegal programs meant explicitly for accessing secure servers she was probably triple going to jail. This time, for something she had actually did. 

All of the hacking had never felt illegal. It had just felt...well, fun and necessary. It had never been about whether or not she should, it had been about if she could. 

Was that how it had started for Jon? Collecting household secrets because he had to, so secure the money and influence he desperately needed, because he could, because it was fun? 

Whatever. Sasha shook herself. She could have her moral crisis after she was no longer on the run from the cops for murder. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish about something that wasn’t hurting anybody. She knew, as Jon probably did, that just because something was illegal didn’t make it wrong. 

It was easy to log onto the police database and check out her own open case. She frequently checked out open homicide cases for fun, but it somehow hit a little different when it was her they were talking about. Incident, Senior Citizen, Offence: First Degree Murder, Location of Arrest: N/A, yeah, yeah, yeah…

One victim, a John Doe. Foul play was suspected...yes that’d be the gunshot wound. No witnesses. Reporting officer’s narrative...Elias Bouchard and Jonathan Sims the Fifth had walked into Head Archivist Sasha James’ office to discuss work with her when they found the body. Both were shocked and called the police...gun found at the scene had her fingerprints and the ballistics matched...suspect still at large. Friends and family had been contacted, everyone denied knowledge of where she was. Suspect had a noted history of mental illness...great…

The officers dispatched had been Alice Tonner and Basira Hussein. Sasha found that strange: Basira had history with one of the witnesses and the suspect, wouldn’t it be unprofessional to send her out? 

There couldn’t be that many sectioned officers, Sasha reasoned. Even if the incident hadn’t officially been sectioned, because the police report still existed, as a general rule if something happened at the Magnus Institute it was sectioned until proven otherwise. Even if the murder itself was seemingly mundane. 

Out of curiosity, she searched up Detective Tonner’s records. Been on the force for a long time, worked her way up the ranks. Very, very few cases and incident reports for a detective who had been on the force as long as she had. Sectioned, obviously, but even Basira had more official cases than she did. When Sasha clicked on the incident reports, they were extremely spotty and strange. Obvious details were omitted or censored. 

Something cold began to creep down Sasha’s spine. She found the arrest records of the latest four people with official records of Detective Tonner arresting them. 

Almost all of them had entered custody with bruises, cuts, and in one case a broken limb. They all had records down as ‘resisting arrest’. Sasha felt sick. 

There was one case that stopped strangely short. A clear perp, a rapist but one with little evidence, who Tonner had quickly caught. That was where the case ended: the report that Tonner had found his hiding spot, but no arrest, no trial, no prison sentence. When Sasha investigated the perp, she found that he had unceremoniously vanished shortly after Tonner had reported that she had found his hiding spot. A month later, a death certificate had been filed. 

Sasha stared at the death certificate, nauseated. This was who she was dealing with. A vigilante, some batshit pig who had obviously decided that the law was best taken into her own hands. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but...if anybody looked at Sasha’s case on paper, they’d say the same thing. 

And that was just the cases on record. It was the only obvious instance Sasha could see of Tonner having offed someone just because she felt like it, but cops were good at covering shit like that up. How many other arrest records had fallen in the cracks? How many other dead perps that nobody gave a shit about? How many sectioned cases? 

God, Sasha was fucked. 

She begged off hanging out with Georgie that night, instead staying in bed with the covers pulled tight over her head as if that could ever protect her. Why was Jonah doing this to her? What did he have to gain? If he wanted her to die a mysterious death in the bottom of a ditch, why wasn’t he man enough to do it himself?

Tonner was going to murder her, Sasha thought hysterically, and she was going to pat herself on the back for keeping another monster off the streets. 

And Jon knew. The fucking hypocrite. He wasn’t going to help her. Nobody was. But, god, she was so alone…

The next morning, as if she knew, Georgie slipped Sasha a burner phone over the breakfast table as they both robotically ate quiches. 

“It should be untraceable, but just know that anybody you call you’re putting at serious risk,” Georgie warned, before her expression softened. “This’ll all be over soon, honey. I promise.”

“Did Jonah tell you that?” Sasha asked bitterly. 

“Nah. I just know those two.” Georgie delicately ate a forkful of quiche. “They get bored of terrorizing humans pretty quickly. Now, Michael’s a different story. They’ll terrorize someone for decades. I’ve seen them do it!”

“Great,” Sasha said. 

It seemed to be at this point that Georgie realized she was actually making Sasha feel much worse, because a slightly panicked expression crossed her face and she quickly reached out to pat Sasha on the hand. “But I’m sure they won’t do that to you,” Georgie said quickly. “They love you! Jon especially. Jonah’s just on another of his little power trips right now, he’ll get over it. And Jon, like, feels really bad about this whole thing. He’s been super annoying about it, actually -”

“See,” Sasha said, standing up to clear away her dishes, “I would rather handle an enemy who obviously wants to kill me than a friend whose good side I always have to be careful to stay on, who I can’t afford to ever make mad. I guess that’s the only difference left between me and you people.”

She angrily put her dishes in the sink, where the housekeeper would do them, and stalked to what was rapidly becoming her room, slamming the door. 

Flopping down on the bed, she stared at the burner phone. Tim wouldn’t be at work yet. They could talk. They could - 

Do what? Get back together? Split up? Could he explain, beg for her forgiveness? Did she have to apologize too? Sasha didn’t understand. 

That was rare for her. She understood a lot of things, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she had been lying to herself, about everything: that her and Tim were a good idea, that Martin was sketchy,  that Jon was evil, that Jon was kind, that Georgie just wanted to help her, that there was nothing that Jonah Magnus would do to her, that she was safe and human and a good person. 

God, her capacity for self-delusion was ridiculous. But maybe people needed a little bit of self-delusion to survive. Nobody could live in complete honesty, in full sight of their flaws and shortcomings. You could burn away, living like that. 

No. No time or space for fear. Sasha wasn’t afraid of anything. If she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true. She desperately punched in a number that she didn’t remember memorizing, holding the phone desperately to her ear, her one connection to humanity. 

It rung, and rung, and one, and Sasha’s heart thumped in her chest. 

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a slightly sleepy voice punctuated the dead air. “Hello?”

“Tim, it’s me,” Sasha burst out, everything she wanted to say to him rushing through her throat and choking her, and she burst into tears. 

Distantly, through the sound of her crying, she could hear Tim on the other side losing his shit, and eventually wrangling himself to calmness. 

It was almost funny, how they could work each other up like that. Eventually, by the time Sasha had managed to wrangle her own crying, Tim had calmed himself down enough that he was able to clumsily try to cheer her up. 

“We’re all fine. Everyone’s perfectly safe. Martin’s gotten, uh, even more annoying since you left, and we’ve technically hired Melanie, which is - not good but it’s funny? Are you still crying? Please don’t still be crying.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha hiccuped. She rubbed at her red eyes. God, she’d missed him. “Tim, what happened?”

The line was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Is this line secure?”

“Uh - probably? I mean -” Sasha quickly checked herself. She didn’t want to mention Georgie. The less he knew the better. “ - it’s a burner, if that’s what you’re asking, and I’m not the one who bought it.”

“Where are you living?” Tim asked harshly. “Are you homeless? You have to come stay with me, I can -”

“You mean the first place Tonner will look?” Sasha shot back. “No. I’m safe, I’m dry, things are fine. That’s all you need to know.” She softened her voice. “I promise, if it was safe I’d tell you more. I want to see you again. Tim, I - I’m really sorry.”

Tim laughed hoarsely, without humor. “Shouldn’t it be me saying that? I’m the one who thought you were a monster.”

“...yeah, that one’s on you.” Sasha sighed miserably, lying down on her bed, wishing Tim was next to her. “I am, though. A monster, I mean. Tim, I - I’m definitely not entirely human anymore.”

“God, Sash, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Tim said, laughing slightly again. “Can you just tell me what happened? I know you didn’t fucking do it. That dick Bouchard keeps playing dumb and his shitlead lackey keeps on avoiding the Archives. I bet Sims killed that old man, right? He totally did. Martin keeps on saying that his precious Jon wouldn’t let you take the fall for something he did, but I’m not so sure.”

“I...it’s more complicated than that.”

Sasha explained in short order. For once, Tim was totally silent the entire time, letting Sasha dispassionately recite the entire sad story. She finished it at Michael helping her escape, not detailing where she had been dropped off. 

Finally, after a long silence, Tim said, “So this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sasha said harshly. “You were manipulated, same as I was.”

“I’m the idiot who -”

“Yes, you were being an idiot. You should have talked to me, talked to anyone. You should have done anything other than your homicidal partner in crime. You definitely shouldn’t have been buying a fucking black market gun when I know for a fact you have no idea how to shoot. But you tried playing hero and you played straight into Magnus’ hands. You fucked up. Okay? Now let’s try to do better.”

More silence, until Tim sighed. “Can’t believe the Douche’s Jonah Magnus. Explains why Sims is always playing lackey for him. Can’t wait to spill to Martin how his boyfriend framed his boss for murder.”

Sasha chewed her lip, uncertain. She hadn’t shared the details of Jonah and Jon’s conversation too closely - it had seemed private. “See, I’m not sure this is...entirely Jon’s fault.”

Tim groaned. “Not you too! Why is everyone but me and Melanie a fucking Sims apologist?”

“Jon and Jonah are...they’re weird, okay?” Sasha moved to chewing her hair, uncertain of how to describe it. If it should even be described. It seemed so private, so unsuitable to name...but maybe everybody thinking that was how these things stayed perpetuated for so long. “I think Jonah’s kind of, you know, abusive?”

The line went silent again. 

“Wow,” Tim said finally, “Martin’s going to be so disappointed his boyfriend’s taken.”

“They’re just friends! I think. I’m like, ninety percent sure. But you didn’t hear them, Tim. They’re really...it’s messed up. Trust me.”

“Jesus, Sash, why are you defending someone who fucked all of us over like this? Sims is a big boy, he’s responsible for his own shitty decisions and the shitty company he keeps.” Tim snorted. “I’ve heard them talk, anyway. If anything, Magnus is the one always giving into Sims and his little tantrums. Jesus, I just want to throttle the both of them.”

“Maybe you need to get over your anger issues and focus on actually solving the problem for once,” Sasha snapped. “Nobody has time for your revenge fantasy, Tim! We need to fix all of this.”

“Which one is it, Sash?” Tim asked coldly. “Was I manipulated, or was it my anger issues and hero complex? Are you going to decide if this is my fault or not?”

Sasha’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t know how to explain to him what she knew - that it was everything, that it was all of the above, that he was manipulated through his anger issues and hero complex, that Tim had been pushed in a direction but he had taken the steps all by himself. But she couldn’t blame him entirely, because Sasha had been manipulated the same way, and so had Jon and Martin and Georgie, and if she started thinking like that then she would have to start hating the whole damn world. 

“Tim, are we going to stay together?” Sasha whispered, broken-hearted. “Can we even still be together? I love you. I want you here with me. But there’s so much ugliness that’s growing between us. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

A long silence again. Sasha wanted to be there with him, to read his face, to see what he was thinking. She had always understood him so well, or at least she thought that he did. 

“I love you too,” Tim said finally. “I want to fix this too. I - I don’t know, Sasha. I love you. The thought of you alone, in danger, and not even knowing where you are, is fucking me up. It’s like Danny all over again, Sasha, I can’t handle this. Can we have this conversation again when I know you’re safe?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, and she knew that this was probably the best both of them could do right now. “Are we staying together?”

“...I don’t know.”

“...are we breaking up?”

“...still don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sasha repeated again, and sighed. “I won’t call you from this phone twice. I’m doing the best I can here. I’m safe, I think. Things will be okay, Tim.”

“Sash,” Tim said, “I don’t remember the last time things were okay.”

And neither did she, and they both knew it, and she hung up on him without saying anything further. She lay on the bed, listening faintly to the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming, staring up at the fan as it beat in a steady rhythm on the ceiling. 

Was Tim right? Was she reading too much into Jon and Jonah? It wasn’t her job to fix Jon, to puzzle out his weird psychology. Maybe he was just an asshole without a spine,and there wasn’t anything more to that.

No. Sasha didn’t believe that. This was a puzzle that she hadn’t solved yet, and she had the feeling that at the heart of this puzzle was the key to finally keeping herself and Tim safe. She couldn’t abide a mystery, couldn’t trick herself into thinking that the truth wasn’t important. The truth was all Sasha had. She couldn’t close her eyes to it, that awful and ugly reality. 

Tim...he had been such a bad idea. But he had always been her favorite one: the way he could always cheer her up, his bright and bold smile, his courage and heart and sensitivity and vulnerability. He had loved her, truly and wholly, for who she was. He knew the ugly corners of her and loved them as much as he loved her best attributes. 

Was that still true? Was Sasha turning into a person that Tim just couldn’t love? Was Tim turning into someone that Sasha couldn’t love? 

People changed. Sometimes they changed apart. And for some strange reason, Sasha just couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

Lying on the bed of a grim reaper, crying like a broken-hearted teenager, Sasha didn’t notice that the housekeeper’s vacuum had stopped running. She didn’t notice the knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the gentle rise and fall of voices. She only heard it when there was a soft knock at her own door, and she was forced to roll off the bed to open her bedroom door. 

Standing in front of her, looking nervous, was the housekeeper. Standing behind her was Jonathan Sims. 

He looked pretty bad, Sasha noted clinically. Eye bags, even more pronounced than usual, stood starkly under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as cropped short and styled as it usually was. It had grown out a little, making Jon look more like a tired modern guy walking the streets of London than a centuries old immortal psychic vampire. He was still dressed in a suit, as he always was, but the suit jacket was off and his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow.

He stared at Sasha, probably registering every minute change in her appearance as she did his, before glancing down at the housekeeper. “You’re excused for the day. Thank you for your time.”

He passed her something - probably neatly folded bills - and nodded at her as she shakily nodded back and escaped the flat as quickly as possible. Jon stepped backwards in the hallway, gesturing for her to come out, and walked back into the living room. Because Sasha was just slightly too prideful to barricade herself in the bedroom, and partly because she wasn’t sure that Jon wouldn’t break into a woman’s bedroom, she stepped out into the grandiose yet cluttered living room with him. He stood in the center, hands in his pockets, looking over the flat with a clinical eye. 

“Georgie’s sense of interior decoration is as immaculate as ever,” Jon noted clinically. “She used to spend months getting every house we ever lived in just right. Said it was her job as lady of the household. She had never been a lady of any household, of course, not in the way that Jonah and I had once known - but her fun’s important to her, and it doesn’t hurt anybody important.” He sniffed slightly. “You coming to stay here was for the best after all. She’s been lonely, I think.” 

“I’m staying here because I’m homeless,” Sasha said flatly. For the first time, she noticed a small manila envelope under his arm, tucked slightly into his back pocket. “Because of you.”

“I’ve kept your flat for you,” Jon said eagerly, stepping forward, and letting his cold mask fall. In him now was something eager, something almost pleading. Sasha forced herself not to step away. “All of your possessions are intact, and I can get your bank accounts unfrozen easily enough. Once all of this blows over, your life can be right back to normal.”

“Wow,” Sasha drawled, crossing her arms, “how kind. Were you so busy being this nice to me that you forgot that Georgie barred you from this flat because I don’t want to fucking look at you?”

“She’ll get over it,” Jon said dismissively. “She’s been wanting us to make up, anyhow.” He stepped closer again, fluorescent green eyes fixed on her large and warm brown ones, and Sasha fought the tingle crawling up her spine. “Sasha, I really am sorry. Jonah was out of line in what he did. But - but you know, he really does know best. Even if it doesn’t seem so. What we’re doing now, it’s for the best for your development. I promise this will all blow over soon, and things will be better. For all of us.”

“For a subject of a truth god,” Sasha said, voice dripping sarcasm, “you have a unique ability to lie to yourself.”

Jon puffed up, scowling down at her. “That’s ridiculous. I -”

“Does Jonah Magnus respect you?” Sasha pressed. 

Jon...hesitated, and they both saw it. Jon frantically tried to cover, quickly saying, “Of course he does. I’m his partner, and we’ve been partners for two hundred years. There’s nobody on earth he respects more than me. There’s nobody he respects but me.”

“Then why does he talk to you like you’re an idiot?”

“He talks to everyone like that.”

“Because he doesn’t respect anyone but you. You just said that. But if he respects you, then wouldn’t he talk to you differently?”

There it is - Jon’s shoulders hunched slightly, unconsciously on the defensive. “Does he give you equal input on decisions?”

“I always give my -”

“Does he listen to them?”

Jon was silent. Finally, slowly, he said, “Jonah was right. He said you’d get like this.”

Fuck. Sasha’s heart sank, even as her jaw dropped in incredulity. She had lost him. “You must be kidding.”

“He said you’d get jealous.” Jon crossed his arms, turning slightly away from her, but what he clearly meant to be a closed-off stance just seemed defensive. “He said that you’d get upset that I’m more loyal to him than to you. What we’re doing now is for your own good, Miss James. You’ll see one day that this - this unpleasantness is helping you grow.”

Unpleasantness? Unpleasantness?! Putting her life at risk was an inconvenience? “I’ll see, huh?” Sasha said bitterly. “Just like you saw? Just like how you changed your mind from this being cruel and traumatic to it being a momentary unpleasantness?” She barked a short laugh, not very humorous at all. “I was there. He called you stupid, he said that you couldn’t trust anybody but him, and he called you an idiot. Are those the words of someone who respects you? Of someone who even likes you?”

Jon stiffened, mouth tightening, and he broke eye contact and looked away. “Don’t concern yourself with the private business between Jonah and I.”

“When you’re having the conversation over a cooling corpse that you framed me for then you’re making it my business, you absolute shitheel!” Sasha yelled, finally losing her temper. “Your bullshit is ruining my life! Your complete inability to stand up to that sack of shit is ruining my life!”

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, seemingly having taken her losing her temper as permission to lose his. Distantly, Sasha was aware of his stupid this must have looked: two fully grown adults, yelling in a living room like children. “You’re a spoiled child who doesn’t know anything! All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and you spit in my face! You’re no better than Martin!”

Abruptly, strangely, Jon stopped short. He seemed almost embarrassed, almost in pain. 

And just like that, Sasha knew. “He’s not letting you see Martin, is he.”

For just a split second, Jon’s expression crumpled, but he forced it back into his haughty mask. “I decided that it was best I didn’t waste my time with manipulative traitors.”

“Was that your idea?” Sasha asked flatly, abruptly extremely tired. “Or was it Jonah’s?”

Jon was silent. They both knew the answer. 

“If you walked up to Jonah now and told him that you wanted to start dating Martin, do you think that you’d leave that conversation still wanting to do it? Or would you somehow decide, all by yourself, that you’ll end up doing what Jonah wants anyway?”

Jon didn’t say anything.

A strange mix of emotions swirled in Sasha’s stomach. Anger and disgust mixed with pity and sadness. What had Jon been like, before he met Jonah Magnus? Had he been a good person?

But maybe that wasn’t so important. Maybe the question that had to be asked was - what kind of person would Jonathan Sims be without Jonah Magnus in his life?

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Jon. His shoulders sagged, and he abruptly deflated. He looked down at the ground, ashamed and aware of it. He had always been aware of it. He had just been lying to himself. Maybe it was impossible to live without it. 

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jon said quietly. “I’ve never - I need him.”

“You don’t,” Sasha said, abruptly exhausted. “You want to help me, Jon? You want to protect me and Martin? You can’t do that while staying friends with Jonah Magnus. You have to choose. So long as you stay close to him, you are going to stay within his complete control. That’s what he does. He controls everybody and everything. And you’re letting him. You’re justifying it. You’re doing his work for him. Everybody around him is - even Georgie. There are two people in your life who are trying to get you away from him, and he’s trying to convince you to cut them out of your life. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Weakly, he said, “You’re wrong.”

“I need your help, Jon,” Sasha whispered, and to her shame found her voice cracking. “I need someone on my side. I can do it alone, but - but I’m scared. And I don’t want to. I need help. I’m scared.”

But she knew, even as she said it, that Jon was scared too. He couldn’t reach out a hand to her - not now, not here. Jon had carried around his fear for hundreds of years, pushing it down and pretending it wasn’t there, and it informed everything he’d ever done. Scrambling for power, exerting that power, desperately dominating even as he was dominated - it stemmed from that fear, all of it. And Jonah Magnus kept those flames fanned, because a Jon who was afraid was a Jon who could be controlled. 

A Sasha who was afraid, who was isolated, who was trapped, was one who could be controlled. 

The realization was dizzying. Somehow, the thought that kept running through her mind was - who’d do that? Who was such a terrible person that they’d go through all that trouble, all of that plotting, just to make someone suffer? Not because they disliked them, not in revenge, not because of any human emotion - but just because it was convenient? Useful?

Because you could?

So this was what power did to a person, Sasha realized. So this was what power and immortality and money and supernatural gifts did to you. It made you someone who Sasha could never hope to understand, whose depths of depravity she could never truly rationalize. To Sasha, who prided herself on knowing people and being able to understand them and their motives - it was almost a relief, almost a blessing, that she couldn’t possibly understand the motives of Jonah Magnus at all. 

Jon stared at her, fluorescent green eyes wide, and for just a minute she could see the fear that she knew was there written all over his face. For just a minute, Sasha and Jon were scared together, both trapped in tumultuous waters that they couldn’t control. For the first time Sasha empathized with Jon. 

Jonah Magnus was somebody that Sasha could never understand. But Jon was, and for the first time Sasha knew what Martin meant when he said that he felt as if Jon had been a good person, a long time ago. 

You can’t understand someone and hate them. Not really. You could be angry, upset, betrayed...but if you really understood someone, backwards and forwards, true hate was difficult to find. 

“I have to go,” Jon said, almost dizzily. He shoved the manila folder at her, both of them having forgotten that it was even there in the first place. He glanced at it, frightened and guilty. “Be - be careful when meeting Jude Perry. Don’t take her at her word. I have to go.”

He fled, as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels, and Sasha was left standing in an opulent hallway, clutching a manila folder as if it was a time bomb, completely certain that it was meant to hurt her and cause her pain and damage her, completely certain that she was going to read it anyway. 

Like Jon - what choice did she have? 

But as she stumbled back to her room, as she sat down on the comfortable chair and thumbed on the tape recorder that sat at the desk, the words of Jonathan Sims ran through her mind. His warning. A clumsy attempt at protection. At the very least, a signifier of desire. 

Sasha knew, as she sometimes knew things, that Jon had started out somebody who deeply desired to protect others like him. To take revenge, to grab power, yes, but also to spread that precious knowledge and resources around. He had never stopped thinking of himself as one of those vulnerable people, people who society had stepped on and ground into the dirt. Deep down he had just wanted things to be fair, wanted some justice in the world. Jon, at one point, had only wanted to help. 

Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist…”

[kitkatopinions]

Can you do Blake for the RWBY ask?

Blake for the RWBY character asks. This one’s going to be fun!

My top three ships for the character

BlackSun all the way, Blake/Sun is my OTP for her character. I shipped them from Sun’s first appearance. I think my second ship for her would probably be Ilia/Blake. They’re a little dicey in canon due to the failed WF arc, but they do have some nice, tender moments, and could develop a strong relationship. My third favorite ship might be... Oof, that’s a hard one. Maybe Blake/May, they have very little juice so far, but they could be something and their personalities could really compliment each other well, I think.

My three least favorite ships for the character

Adam/Blake is for sure my absolute least favorites. In some alternate universe where Adam’s character was treated better, it might be different. But with the way that RWBY was written, Blake/Adam is incredibly uncomfortable for me and I just can’t stand it. This might seem like kind of a weird thing to say, but Blake/Ren really annoys me and I don’t know exactly why. Maybe because they’re so similar, maybe because they just don’t really interact, idk. And if I’m being honest... Blake/Yang. I feel bad saying that, because I do think they had some pretty good moments in volumes 2 and 3 and some good chemistry, plus some set up in their character growth in volumes 4 and 5 that could’ve led them to being good together. But I hate the way the ship was executed and more than that, the fandom shippers just... Killed them for me. XD

My biggest criticism for the character

I have two really big complaints and I can’t pick between them. 1. The way that the RWBY writers wrote the White Fang arc made Blake seem really self-righteous, preachy, and hypocritical. Whenever she isn’t talking about the White Fang in the first five seasons or preaching about the way she expects the Faunus to make themselves more palatable to humans, she’s a good character with some great traits, but when the writers use her as a mouthpiece for their views, she’s awful. 2. In the sixth season a little, but much more in season seven and eight, Blake doesn’t act like herself and instead acts like a very passive, co-dependent, damsel in distress character. They stripped away a lot of her traits and her moral code and diminished her role and fighting style. Blake could be removed from the story and it’d pretty much be the same except with no forehead nuzzles.

My favorite thing about the character

I feel like my favorite thing about Blake is that she’s a survivor and (until volume six) her ability to come back stronger and even more caring was inspiring. The White Fang arc was terrible, but I honestly loved Blake (though I didn’t at first) because she always pushed through her pain and tried to do what she could to find happiness even if she sometimes thought she didn’t deserve it. After her falling out with her parents, she tried to fight for a better life with Adam. After Adam turned into someone she couldn’t believe in, she had the guts to leave him and try to fight for a better life through Beacon and being a Huntress. When that blew up in her face and she was traumatized yet again, she resolved to return home and try to reconcile with her family and rest and find peace. When that blew up and she was faced with an old friend who wanted to kill her and the threat of being taken back to Adam, she learned from her past, learned to open up to Sun, resolved to save Ilia, and fought to protect her family and herself. I get when people can’t look past the way the writers wrote Blake to talk about and think about the Faunus/racism issues, but her survivor story is inspiring to me and probably is my favorite thing about her.

A headcanon I have about them

Blake and Qrow don’t really interact much in canon, but I headcanon that the two of them actually connected and get along well, and that instinctually trusting him, Blake has opened up some to him about her past, and he sees a lot of himself in her. 

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

I’d change Blake’s backstory. If I were re-writing, I’d alter the White Fang and the Faunus/racism allegory to huge extents or even remove it completely (replacing it with issues of classism, which I’m better equipped to write like @why-i-hate-rwby-now suggested in a recent post,) but I think having Blake be connected to a criminal past she’s ashamed of and having made mistakes is a great concept that’s pretty integral to her character. If I re-wrote her, I would change her story. She, Adam, and Ilia could’ve been disconnected from the White Fang (if it exists) and could have been recruited by or for Hazel or Watts without knowing anything about who Hazel or Watts are working for and being tricked into thinking they’re working for a good cause. They could have started getting wise, but while Blake was horrified to realize they’re not really doing good, Adam could have maybe leaned into things and fed his bitterness and anger, and Ilia was caught between the two. Blake could’ve run away then (and after Adam started being abusive,) leaving Adam and - more importantly - leaving Ilia with him, something she can feel guilty about and talk about later. I don’t know exactly how I’d tie this into Blake returning to her home, but I think this would be a good change that would keep Blake’s storyline about the same and also add more interest, as she’s connected to and gets Team RWBY connected to Salem’s group a little earlier on even if they don’t know exactly what they’re messing with.

What I I think of their character allusion and what (if anything) I would change about it

There are a few things that make Blake the ‘Beauty’ from the Beauty and the Beast. She has a couple of gimmicks - pretty, dark haired, well read, kind hearted girl with a connection to a ‘Beast’ character with rose theming - and also desires nothing more than the safety of the people around her. Her relationship with her father plays a fairly big part in her season 4-5 arc, and Beauty loved and returned to her father. And although Yang isn’t meant to be the Beast, Beauty was incredibly guilty about her ‘wrong choice’ to not return to the Beast after visiting her family, and only when she says that it was her fault and she’s sorry does the Beast turn back into a human. And Blake was incredibly guilty about her wrong choice to leave her friends and return to her family, and proclaims that she’s not going to leave and is going to stay with Yang, who’s PTSD disappears... A bit uncomfortable. Personally, I don’t like this allusion much for Blake, but if I was keeping with it, I would make Ilia be the Beast that Blake leaves, but instead of having Blake having ‘realized she should’ve just learned to love them even though she felt only friendship for them’ and ‘realizes that leaving her bad situation she’d never wanted to be in was wrong so she blames herself’ I would not do that. I would have it so that Ilia has been realizing Adam - and her - have been wrong (in the storyline where they were working for Hazel or Watts) and assuring Blake that getting herself to safety when Ilia wouldn’t listen to her or believe her about her abuse was the only thing she could’ve done and wasn’t wrong to care about her own mental health. This would carry into Blake’s relationship with Yang (romantic or platonic) and Blake would realize that she wasn’t wrong to have left, wasn’t wrong to try and find peace with her parents, but would still apologize and admit she was wrong to leave without warning (which is the opposite of what Beauty did in the story.) Idk, I think this would be good.

[anitacoknow]

I'm feeling my emotions pretty hard today (June 14th, 2021), so it might be a good idea to start writing.

Trigger Warning:

This text post mentions suicide, death, abortion, and could be an uneasy read.

About two months ago, I almost died during a routine abortion. The way that sounds, my stomach turns and it makes the tears fall like a monsoon. Nothing about getting an abortion is easy, it is humiliating and it's a huge personal hurdle to deal with - my heart goes out to any woman who has been in that tough position. That being said, I'm not writing this for sympathy nor am I looking for negative comments or death threats, I put myself through that enough already with my own mental.

Starting this attempt to release my emotions is difficult because I'm not even sure what to say to myself. I guess I am also hopeful someone will have the right words through experience or just in general because I'm struggling to find the words within myself.

To begin, I can't have children anymore and that is the worst part; I made a decision that took future decisions, future generations, future plans away from me. So, to anyone who wanted to go in on me at the sight of the word abortion: fate ironically beat you to the punch.

I made a decision that my heart wasn't wholly in and it almost cost me my life and it cost my daughter's life (I don't need scientific fact proving she was just a clump of cells and hadn't begun processing pain or emotion or whatever, doesn't change shit as far as empathy goes, so please shove it).

Her birth name was to be Juniper.

To give some insight, Washington State allows abortions up to 28 weeks. For those who aren't aware of pregnancy cycles/trimesters, 28 weeks is still half way through the pregnancy and the beginning of the second trimester. The fetus during this stage has become more human like and all that science stuff. I had my abortion at 21 weeks, in a clinic and the process shouldn't have gone the way it did.

On the second day of my procedure, I was put under anesthesia and when I woke up I wasn't all there. Before this, I had never experienced being put under anesthesia to my recollection, so what I thought I was feeling was normal. It wasn't until I realized I had been losing conciousness that things started to feel unnatural. I was laid on the floor of the "recovery room" and I started to regain conciousness fast. There was a lot of blood between my legs and mentioning it to them seemed to make the blood pool more. It wasn't long after that the doctor that performed the procedure squated next to me to tell me she needed to put me back under.

For the next bit, I apologize to the squeamish.

There was another woman in the room with me who had just come out of her own anesthesia, she was ironically a CNA, who started to show signs of worry when I wasn't making the anticipated recovery. The doctor had her removed from the room and leaned back in to tell me that they couldn't locate the fetal head and a few limbs. When they attempted to have me walk back to the room, I fainted and was placed back on the floor. The nurses wheeled me into the surgical room and helped me back on to the table, to which I protested them allowing me to see my ride. I'm hesitant to mention the father in this because it is sensitive, so I apologize for how he is mentioned in further comments. It wasn't until I saw him that things started to blur and I started losing conciousness again.

I feel it is also important to explain what I felt, which was extremely cold. My nipples were harder than they had ever been and despite the numerous blankets, warmed and otherwise, that were placed on me, my body didn't feel warmth until the EMTs carted me to the ambulance and the sun touched me; and again when I was placed on the surgical table at the hospital. Mentally, I don't think I was aware of anything bad happening to my body. Even after hearing they lost the fetal head, I don't think I ever reacted. If I had to say, I was mentally blissful - which isn't something I have ever experienced. I literally couldn't care less, everything was a joke (which is also part of my personality when dealing with assumed stressful situations) to me up until I arrived at the ER and they put me under before telling me that they might have to remove my whole uterus. My last words would have been: "oh, this table is so warm!" to the doctor who saved my life. When I woke up 24 hours later, there was a tube in my throat and I was tied to the bed (which Hollywood doesn't show in movies or T.V. so when you are experiencing it, it is really scary and it fucking hurts.) in ICU.

So, what the fuck happened?

Well, my uterus at the time of the abortion was about 2 pounds heavy and 2 feet long; Juniper was about the size of a sweet potato to give you an image. During the abortion, the doctor perforated my uterus, the length of the tear was about a foot long according to my surgeon/aftercare doctor. The abortion itself was supposedly no more than 10 minutes, but I was apparently under for roughly an hour. My ride expected me out in two hours, but after speaking to him, started to worry when I hadn't responded to texts and the elapsed time came to four hours. During the removal of the fetus, after perforation had occurred, I laid there internally bleeding for several hours. The human body can hold minimum 5 litres of blood (or to give you an physical idea, a gallon [US] of milk about) depending on the size of the body and health. A human can die from losing 2 litres of blood, but I survived after losing 4 litres internally, which is probably what saved my life. I vaguely remember being lifted on to the gurney and I vaguely remember the ride to the ER. I was given 7 units of blood, my uterus was stitched in 8 layers and the fetal head had nestled itself behind my kidney, so I had an emergency cesarean, plus a JP drain placed to remove all the blood that pooled in my abdomen.

The hospital experience itself is a different story and makes the whole ordeal just as sad. The only solace I had were two nurses that really didn't judge me, outside of that, everyone there had an opinion and wore it on their face and in their treatment. My last interaction with one of the doctors who helped performed my "miraculous" surgery and was probably the most surprising bit because it included a little racism. My partner is white and he is cisgender. Before his appearance, said doctor largely made fun of my pain tolerance when removing surgical tape from my incision area and inner thighs. If you haven't had a cesarean or don't know exactly what it is, after making the initial incision, the doctors have to literally tear the muscles apart to get to your uterus. In my case, I also had to have my intestines removed to get to my kidneys. Needless to say, my midsection was very sensitive outside of my low pain threshold. During the stint, he very angrily asked me if I wanted to remove the bandage myself while showing his frustration in his whole body and face. At that point, I just said fuck it and let him tear the bandage from my body with a little skin along with it. After a quick look, he stood up and asked if I cared if he left to deliver a baby and he didn't wait for a response, I assume because my face probably said exactly what he wanted. I sat there and cried until my partner got there and when he showed face again, his bedside manner gave me whiplash. He released us after I made a large fuss about my care and I left holding back tears until we were out of sight of the hospital.

The day before I almost died, I sat with the owner of the clinic who also doubles as a nurse there, and cried to her about my fear and the little consolation I had because she was kind. I have had two previous abortions during a previous marriage that I also didn't want to have, but being in an abusive relationship, you give and take a lot, that included. I confided in her that those two experiences, both at Planned Parenthood, were riddled in racist bedside manner and left me uneasy about abortions and clinics in general. Being a woman of color herself, she cried with me and assured me that things would be fine, in fact the woman doing my abortion would also be a woman of color. She called me two days later, I could hear her sadness, but it also left me in such a state of panic that I ended the conversation without saying much.

Women of color do not have great mortality rates when it comes to medical intervention, especially during pregnancies/child birth. However, uterus perforation during an abortion only occurs at a rate of .3%, so I'm part of a medical anomaly (it isn't an anomaly at all, she just fucked up). Beyond that, women of color, specifically black women are more likely to suffer from medical racism during aftercare. One of the biggest glaring problems being that black women are percieved to have a high pain threshold, something a lot of people lack.

Since this experience, which is missing a lot of detail, I've gone in an out of depressive mania. Which, to say the least, I can handle because I've dealt with it for years. What I can't handle are commercials, or even cherub faces in person, or the fact that my step-sister announced her pregnancy to our parents on mother's day. I can't handle the notifications of memories from my pictures that spotlight some of the photos I took during my pregnancy. I can't handle that my neighbors had just moved in and had just given birth right before being released from the hospital. Movie montages about children growing up making lumps swell in my throat. For the first few weeks I would wake up screaming, or crying, or begging whoever not to take my baby from me. I tried to cope with sex that I couldn't realistically have because I was healing. I took up smoking cigarettes again because it is the only thing I could physically feel relax my incision area. My daughter, who is 9 years old, asks me how I'm doing when I don't realize I'm zoned out and crying.

Overall, I wish they would have let me die. It isn't like I haven't tried to kill myself before and I always secretly hoped I'd find a way to just go peacefully. Of all my attempts at suicide, the most serious was drinking bleach and all I got from that was minor chemical burn in my esophagus.

Sitting there during my last follow up, knowing damn well I wasn't going to get good news, I asked the doctor who saved my uterus and life if I could safely get pregnant. I was told by another I could have a child, but it would most likely be harrowing because my uterus wouldn't be able to house a full term fetus and they would most like be born premature. There was also another possibility she kept from me, which my doctor with a penchant for being very frank said: "would end up taking my uterus or almost killing me."

Word for word: if I get pregnant, my uterus would rupture at the healed incision.

And what, what am I supposed to think or feel now that my worst fear finally materialized? I'm realistically mad at myself for materializing my greatest fear. I also hate myself for being so upset at something I caused because I know others are in my situation for reasons beyond their control.

I thought writing this would make me feel better, would make it so I wouldn't have to mentally relive it, but I just feel worse. My partner lost his job because he took a leave of absence to take care of me and that's to say nothing of him taking time off at the beginning of the year because he needed brain surgery. The job I had interviewed for earlier in the week kept my position open, but on returning to work found I couldn't keep my anxiety to a minimum and eventually asked for leave of absence. So now, we are struggling financially and I blame myself for that too, which I know I shouldn't.

I can't begin to explain how unsure and confused I feel every day. Some times I find myself pacing or walking around and I don't even know what I'm doing. Hearing or seeing emergency vehicles makes me panic. I've had to force myself to look down during driving because I'm so fucking scared.

Idk, I'm sorry to whoever is reading this. I just needed to vent.

[ltbroccoli]

Warning: Tony/brashir is a bully.

EDIT: Tony has had the callout doc taken down twice. Please see the post linked here to access a new version of it.

Anyone who knows me knows that I despise getting myself involved in drama. However, there are times when it's necessary, and one such time is to defend a friend. This post is rather long, but I ask you to please read it in its entirety. This is a summary of a full length callout, which you can read here.

Some of you may have seen the post by Tony (brashir) calling out Serena (empathicstars) -- if you haven't, I'll link to it here. It's pretty shocking, and horrifying to read. There's just one problem: none of it is true.

Tony had a bad breakup with his fiance, Ray, back in August of 2019 (some of you may remember him as seamworn). Tony claims that Ray was abusive towards him. This is a lie. Ray has made mistakes, certainly, and their relationship was not a healthy one. But all of Tony's claims of abuse simply don't line up, and most of the evidence points to Tony as the abusive one. The same is true for Tony's other claims -- that Ray is racist, that he fakes his triggers, that he's stolen money, that he forces survivors to write r*pe with him, etc. -- all are untrue.

After their breakup, Serena chose to remain friends with both Tony and Ray. She was extremely upfront about this decision, and Tony told her repeatedly, for months, that this was fine. He did try to manipulate her into dropping Ray, but she never did so, as Ray had actually apologized for his actions and was working hard to become the best person he could be away from Tony's influence.

In regards to Tony's claim that Serena is best friends with a racist white person: this is referring to me. About a year and a half ago, someone in the Doctor Who RPC added the character Krasko, who is canonically a racially motivated mass murder, to their multimuse. Tony and others in the RPC burst into action, calling this person out and harassing them over their choice of muse. I am someone who is very open about separation of IC and OOC -- it's featured prominently in my rules that I do not believe writing something is the same as supporting it -- and felt very uncomfortable watching this go down.

I did not address the situation directly, but I did reblog a rather targeted PSA post. Ray (still together with Tony at the time) messaged me to confront me about it. I then blocked him at his request, and took the chance to cut off Tony and several others in the RPC that I had been growing more and more uncomfortable with. In hindsight, I was not as open to conversation as I could have been, and I don't think I would defend that person's writing today, not unless I actually knew them and could personally vouch for the respectfulness of their portrayal. However, I would still defend them from harassment, as that is never an appropriate response under any circumstances.

Serena and I did discuss this at the time, and she made it clear that she did not agree with my stance. However, we still remained friends. Serena was again upfront about this, and no one ever told her to drop me. The claim that Serena is ignoring BIPOC voices is untrue. The BIPOC voices he's referring to are only him and his friends, and those voices have lied to her face. Serena was told clearly, directly, and repeatedly that it was okay to be friends with Ray, that it was okay to be friends with me. Then a few months ago, Tony dug up the incident I had with Ray so he could turn on a dime and attack Serena for it, triggering her and driving her out of their friend group for good.

Additionally, since this has happened, Serena has been directly harassed and most recently doxxed. A friend still in Tony's server gave Joel (Serena's husband) a warning that Serena's phone number had been shared in the group, and that they were signing her up for spam. Since then, Serena has received various Trump and Republican propaganda texts, as well as explicit imagery and videos. The group has also evaded blocks to harass her on Tumblr. Ray has been dealing with similar forms of harassment for over a year now, and I've even had a small taste of it myself when one of Tony's group made an alt Discord account in an effort to sneak into one of my servers.

At this point, I frankly don't care what Serena or Ray supposedly did or did not do. This behavior is unacceptable. This behavior is illegal. Both Serena and Ray have tried to apologize, tried to ignore everything and move on, but Tony keeps dragging the same issues up, over and over, refusing to let anyone let it go.

And this is not motivated by racism, whatever Tony claims. If racism were the root of the problem, I would be the target, not Serena. Yet I have received almost nothing about this, while Serena has been doxxed and harassed. The root of the problem is that Serena did not cut Ray off like Tony wanted, and he lost his control over her. He's masked his anger as social justice to rally his friend group against her.

I cannot stress the following statement enough: Tony is a bully. He is a liar, an abuser, a manipulator, and so much more. This has reached the point where legal action is being seriously considered, and that is not a decision any of us have made lightly. We have also been reporting this to Discord and to Tumblr, in hopes that something will force this to come to an end; this process is ongoing.

Over the past several months, I have been working on a callout to bring all of this to light, in the hopes that others will see how bad the situation has been and hopefully take measures to protect themselves from being targeted in the way that we have. That document is now complete, and it's linked here. It's quite long, but it debunks Tony's many false claims and provides evidence for everything I've stated above. It also namedrops everyone in Tony's friend group that has been directly involved in his harassment and doxxing, for awareness.

If you feel that Serena, Ray, or I have done something unforgivable -- I understand. If you feel you must cut us off, we will miss you, but we will not fight you on it. But please, please do not trust Tony, and be extremely wary if you choose to keep him in your life.

And if you feel so inclined, please reblog this post so that others can see Tony and his friends for the bullies that they truly are. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact me or Joel directly and off-anon (he can be reached on @solitaryskies or @themekets). Serena has requested not to be contacted about this, for her own mental health; please respect this.

[poi-bigbang]

Art Claims

(Thank you @caviezeldaily​ for this amazing banner!)

Here are the remaining summaries up for claim in the POI Big Bang: 

1. Title: Carbines and Capacitors

Relationships: Gen (Joss & Cheyenne, other Team Machine friendships); background John/Joss, brief Harold/Grace and Laskey/OFC, brief unrequited Shaw/Cheyenne, mention of past Joss/Cal and Cheyenne/Irene Travers, two staged scenes that are explicitly not preludes to romance Characters: (in order of appearance) Cheyenne Bodie, Joss Carter, Mike Laskey, Lionel Fusco, John Reese, Harold Finch, Bear, The Machine, Sameen Shaw, Zoe Morgan, Patrick Simmons, Raymond Terney, Genrika Zhirova, Timothy Sloan, Root | Samantha Groves, Peter Collier, Anthony Marconi, Carl Elias, Peter Yogorov, Grace Hendricks, Andrew Monahan, Alonzo Quinn, Fermin Ordoñez, Arthur Claypool, Tom "Sugarfoot" Brewster, Bronco Layne Rating: Teen Summary: A routine day for Team Machine turns into anything but when a cowboy from 1880 falls out of thin air and lands practically at Carter's feet.  Getting him well and acclimated to life in 2013 is only half the battle.  Computers are out of his line, but he does have other skills Finch can use… so the best laid schemes of Greer and Quinn are about to run into a 6'6" tank named Cheyenne Bodie. (Season 3 AU, crossover with Cheyenne, with cameos from Sugarfoot and Bronco)

(Wikipedia links: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheyenne_(TV_series); https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sugarfoot; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bronco_(TV_series); Fandom wiki: https://cheyenne.fandom.com/wiki/Cheyenne_Wiki; IMDb: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0047720/) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply; References to historical atrocities, uncomfortably timely conversations, canon-typical violence, canon-typical threats of violence, crude remarks by Shaw, Cheyenne comes from a 1950s Western and speaks/thinks/acts accordingly (but as in canon, he hates racism and injustice) Art Wishlist: Open to any media, although traditional/digital might be more suitable than manips because most available images of Cheyenne are B&W--as was the show, so vids and gifs might have the same problem.  Podfic would be welcome, and the story is finished (and long!), but recording could be a challenge because Cheyenne's voice is lower than John's and because there are lots of footnotes and a few words in the Northern Cheyenne dialect, Dutch, Spanish, Sioux, Russian, and Hebrew.  Cheyenne wears a very distinctive hat (brown with silver arrowheads around the band) that could be drawn as part of a still-life banner or divider, possibly with a Colt Peacemaker and a Desert Eagle (crossed?).  Also, if you're interested in illustrating a scene, there are... rather a lot to choose from, but I think I'd go for one of Cheyenne with John, Joss, and/or Shaw.  I will happily work with any artist to find what source/reference materials are needed--I don't know where Cheyenne is available to watch outside the US, but there are at least clips posted on YouTube.

2. Title: Spare Me Relationships: Lionel Fusco/John Reese Characters: Lionel Fusco, John Reese, Lee Fusco, Harold Finch, Bear, Root, Original Characters Rating: (use AO3 system) T (for a kiss and Fusco's bad language) Summary: (<100 words) "I don't need a genius to tell me that you're lonely." Fusco invites John to join the NYPD bowling league to give John something normal and fun to do for once. But soon Fusco realizes that John isn't the only one who's lonely. Warnings: (use AO3 system) None Art Wishlist: (what media you're open to, hoping for, any ideas) Anything is fine by me! I've never had someone make art for a story of mine, so I'm easy to please! 

3. Title: Kingfishers

Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese/Grace Hendricks

Rating: M at the moment, maaaybe E by the time I’m done

Summary:

One morning, a handsome stranger walks up to Grace Hendricks in a park and introduces himself. His name is John, and he likes her paintings.

That afternoon, Grace meets a wealthy insurance executive who offers her a sizable art commission. He’s intelligent, interesting, and easy to talk to. His name is Harold.

(A different-first-meeting story, in which Harold ignored the Machine’s attempts to set him up with Grace in 2006, only to receive her number in 2012 after he and John have been working together for over a year.)

Warnings: inexplicit references to child abuse and alcoholism

Art Wishlist: Grace’s paintings and sketches, and her feelings about the art and artists she admires, are pretty important to the story. There are passages where I describe pictures and paintings she’s created, or beautiful objects of various kinds that she and Harold both admire. An illustration of any of that stuff would be amazing, or maybe a kind of Pre-Raphaelite picture of the characters. Also, kingfishers are kind of thematically/symbolically important, and very beautiful, and would make lovely art.

Two requests: please don’t make art of Harold and John that excludes Grace, and please no NSFW art.

4. [Fic previously claimed! Should not have been here! Apologies!]

5. Title: More Than Words Relationships: John Reese/Harold Finch/Grace Hendricks Characters: John Reese, Harold Finch, Grace Hendricks Rating: General Audiences Summary: John and Harold have a lot in common. They've loved. They've lost. They've done their best to help people. And now they have a matching pair of soulmarks- tattoos bearing the first words your soulmate says to you. The marks aren't what bring John and Harold together. But they might end up tearing the two of them apart. Warnings: Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings (this fic should be tagged for some of John's suicidal ideation pre-season 1 and in the fic) Art Wishlist: Looking for visual media/graphic design. Since this is a soulmate/soulmark AU, I would be very happy if someone could design the tattoos I have in mind, in their medium of choice. I am willing to collaborate, or just see what they come up with. But while that is my ideal art pairing, I am open to anything!

6. Title: Untitled Relationships: Harold/John Characters: Harold, John, Bear, Shaw, Fusco, Carter, OCs, *possibly* an appearance by Root Rating: Teen & Up Summary: When a number goes wrong and Harold is stabbed, his entire life is thrown into disarray. Seriously injured, he's left with no choice but to rely on someone else as he recovers. He chooses John (or, rather, John chooses himself) and invites John into his home and his very private life as he slowly heals from the trauma and the wounds.

What happens when he realizes he wants John to stay close? Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply (additional warning for panic attacks and memories of a violent attack) Art Wishlist: I'd especially love illustrations (traditional or digital), but I'm game for anything.

7. Title: Bonds Not Broken - Maybe??? Relationships: John Reese/Harold Finch Characters: John Reese, Harold Finch, Sameen Shaw, OCs, Elias, Heralds of Valdemar characters, Rolan, Weaponmaster Hersch, King Jesse, Bear the dog, a cast of thousands Rating: Adult M/M Summary: An AU Person of Interest/Heralds of Valdemar crossover. John is not only a Herald, but the King's Own. The story begins with the death of the king, and this is John's journey to find his place in Valdemar. Warnings: Author Chooses None Art Wishlist: I like most styles of fanart except chibi. I love a good photo manip but really anything! If the artist is interested, I have an Instagram where I put pictures that helped me write this monster. The instagram is blackchaps with a Hawkeye icon, easy to find.

8. Title: Untitled (for now) Relationships: Harold Finch/Lionel Fusco, Lionel Fusco & Sameen Shaw, Harold Finch & Sameen Shaw Characters: Harold Finch, Lionel Fusco, Sameen Shaw, Bear, Leon Tao Rating: E Summary: One year after the death of Samaritan, Harold Finch returns to New York City and reunites with his old friends. Sameen Shaw and Lionel Fusco, who have believed him to be dead for the past 12 months, are not exactly eager to trust him again. As Harold handles mysterious cases on the outside of their new organization, he works to repair his relationships with both. Sameen, who doubts his commitment, will be hard to convince. Lionel, who bears deep emotional scars, will be impossible. Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug/alcohol use Art Wishlist: I’m super flexible re: medium. I’m very into the idea of space-centric or detail-centric art, as opposed to character-centric art, if that makes sense. Re: space-centric, a lot of the fic is about loneliness and puts the characters in empty, uncomfortable, or sad rooms and the vibe is very like these Edward Hopper paintings, I think. Alternatively, it’s Finch POV and he’s doing a lot of focusing on tiiiiiiny details and significant objects, and I’d love some fancypants studies or edits of those.

9. Title: Degrees of Separation Relationships: Gen (but the whole point of the story is that they’ve all been separated, so there are no relationships in action) Characters: John Reese, Harold Finch, Sameen Shaw, Root, Lionel Fusco, Bear Rating: Teen and Up (due to a limited use of common profanity) Summary: The lives of the members of Team Machine in their new identities during the first months of Samaritan’s full operation, from the separation of the team at the end of “Deus Ex Machina” through the events that take place in “Panopticon.” Warnings: Choose Not to Use Archive Warnings Art Wishlist: I am open to any medium.  It would be great if the art focused on the separation that the characters are experiencing.

10. Title: If I Could Tell Him Relationships: Harold Finch/John Reese; Harold Finch & Root; minor Root/Sameen Shaw; past Harold Finch/Nathan Ingram Characters: Harold Finch, John Reese, Root, Nathan Ingram (mentioned) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Summary: Harold manages to tap on the fourth wall of 4x17 “Karma” and has some thoughts about the mirroring of himself with the victim counselor vigilante Shane Edwards. He and John go on their walk with Bear, but Harold keeps what he’s feeling to himself. Years later, after all of Team Machine survives the defeat of Samaritan, Harold comes across Edwards and realizes he never talked with John about all of the emotions that number still fosters, specifically regarding Nathan. Root gives him some advice, and they all work on a happiness that encompasses the past, present, and future. Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Art Wishlist: I’m open to anything, from digital art to fanmixes and anything else, really. This is a rinch fic but it’s also basically a Harold character study (entirely from his POV and a lot of internal narrative) so any art could probably focus on him.

11. 

Title: The Mysterious Human Heart in New York Relationships: Jessica/John, Harold and Jessica, Harold and John Characters: Jessica, John, Harold, Fusco Rating: Teen Summary: Agent Jessica Reese has managed to claw her way back from Ordos after being betrayed by her partner and the CIA. Gutshot and purposeless, she spends her days haunting the hospital in New Rochelle, watching her ex, John. John has his happily ever after: got his nursing degree, married a great guy, lives in a beautiful house. Jess is glad. He should be happy with Peter.

When she bumps into the mysterious Harold Finch, who knows too much about everyone, he tells her the unpleasant truth about John's dream marriage. Jess must face up to the fact that John needs her help to find safety and happiness. Warnings: Show level violence, some medical detail as John is a nurse. Art Wishlist: I am open to any medium except audio.  

12. Title: To my God, I sacrifice Relationships: John Reese & Root, John Reese/ Kara Stanton Characters: John Reese, Root, Sameen Shaw, Hersh, Kara Stanton, Harold Finch (mentioned) Rating: Mature Summary: Former soldier and CIA agent John Reese has condemned himself to a slow death after being burned by the agency. After witnessing a strange woman answering a forgotten payphone, he suddenly finds himself entangled in a web of secrets, zealotry and violence. Warnings: Canon typical violence, canon typical torture, mentions of suicide and rape, abusive/unbalanced dynamics, alcoholism Art Wishlist: I don't have any particular requests in regards to the art, I'm curious about what will the artist choose to interpret. If I had to choose, a scene illustration or a cover would be very cool :)

If you’d like to make art for any of these fics, the sign-ups for artists are here: 

https://poi-fanworks.dreamwidth.org/27461.html

And the claim post is here: 

https://poi-fanworks.dreamwidth.org/31548.html

[dreamworksconvict]

She-Ra: Racism Problem Pt. 2

Thanks to everyone who said nice things about my earlier post!!!! I like am really invested in representation and media so I’m glad it’s being received well. 

I also want to add a caveat that I’m not trying to cancel She-Ra. I just want to hold media to a high standard and think that we can critique the things we like.

Next I want to talk about some pretty heavy topics: the White Savior trope and colonialism. Again, I’ll be pretty spoiler-heavy here. I also want to warn people that there will be mention of genocide and antisemitism. I’ll be writing about Hordak in the next part.

In the fourth part I want to add an addendum about Catra being coded as Latina, which I think is a valid interpretation. I also want to talk about the ableism present in the show with both Hordak and Entrapta, which is a separate issue so I’ll label it differently. 

Imagine a story like this: 

“I am a white-coded, able-bodied, implied cisgender protagonist who has a Special Trait that makes me Stronger and/or More Unique than other characters. I also have some connection to Some Evil Colonizers from Space. Oh no! Some Evil Colonizers from Space have showed up to threaten me and my Token Diverse friends who get about half as much screentime as I do! Wait a second, “evil?” There’s no such thing! They’re only Misunderstood Colonizers Who Didn’t Mean It, and/or there was More to the Story. Maybe they came from a Dysfunctional Family or were Abused/Bullied! I think the people/places they colonized may have been Secretly Bad or Just As Bad all along, too! Wowee! Let’s all have a Heart-to-Heart and/or sacrifice one of my Token Diverse friends to save the day!”

Which story am I referring to? Well...

Voltron... or She-Ra... or Steven Universe.. and probably others...yeah.

(And for those who claim that Keith isn’t the protagonist of Voltron, well... I mean he is... but that’s an entirely different essay. But notice how Lance and Hunk are actually smaller than the other characters on the screen and are partly transparent, and that Allura gets pushed to the back row and is mostly covered? Yikes...)

(On my previous post, someone also noted that Steven is half-Jewish. I was not aware that Rebecca had confirmed this officially. As I am not Jewish myself, I don’t want to speak over this, but I do want to point out that you can be white and Jewish, as it is a Diaspora identity. There are many Jewish ethnicities, such as Ashkenazim, Sephardim, and Mizrahim. I also wish that we had seen more of that in the show--like Steven celebrating Hanukkah, or learning Hebrew, or having a Rosh Hashanah celebration... From what I can tell, Rebecca only confirmed this on a Reddit AMA post. So I don’t know specifically how Steven identifies because that was never clarified in the show, but it seems like he is coded as white. Definitely feel free to disagree, this is just how I’ve interpreted the show, especially given its treatment of colonization.)   

On top of all three of these shows recycling a very similar plotline, they all share the White Savior trope. Teen Vogue has an article talking about how this is linked to colonialism and I highly encourage checking that out. I’m going to pull a large chunk of text from there because I think it’s really important and applies to animation, not just live action films. 

“Many white people in films based on the stories of POC are often subliminally depicted as godlike saviors, heroes who are rational and judicious to the core. They are usually deified men or women — glorified and righteous — like scripture out of a Holy Book. Look at Hillary Swank in Freedom Writers. The white savior somehow always ends up usurping the narrative. And in this centering of whiteness and white characters, the POC characters end up becoming props, which only perpetuates ideas of our otherness and unimportance, which then establishes a status quo of racism. Whiteness is again normalized, and POC are decentralized. This is particularly problematic because whiteness is not only favored in Hollywood but also in society at large; white privilege is ever-present and ubiquitous.”

Look at the center poster for She-Ra: Adora is pictured in white and gold and red as an accent. She’s bathed in a golden light. This color combination is no coincidence, because we already associate that combination with religious iconography, like the Vatican. 

(I also want to make a note that this is specifically associated with Christian/Catholic iconography. A lot of these shows could be classified as antisemitic in their handling of colonialism and genocide. I would argue--and will be arguing in my thesis--that Season 6-8 of Voltron’s plot heavily relied on antisemitic tropes, especially as it related to Lotor and the Alteans. But that’s for another day.) (Also see my discussion of Steven Universe’s Jewish identity above.)

So how exactly does She-Ra follow the White Savior trope, how is it similar to other stories’ utilization of the trope, and how does this all relate back to colonialism? I would say there are two main factors: setting up Adora as a white heroine with a darker-skinned foil (Catra), and setting up a narrative where Hordak “isn’t that bad of a guy, really.” For this part I’m gonna focus on Adora.

1: Adora as the White Savior

Adora is from the Horde. Keith is half-Galra. Steven’s mom is Pink Diamond. 

All three of these protagonists have some personal tie or connection to a group of colonizing villains. The Diamonds want(ed) to take over earth and suck the life force from it, as they’d done on other planets. They also used a super-weapon to with the intent to kill all the rebel gems. The Galra created an empire and also sucked the life out of planets. They also created a super-weapon that could kill an entire planet, and had already committed genocide against the Alteans. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Big Bad of She-Ra, Horde Prime, has similar goals. Hordak certainly does.

There is an ever-so-slight separation of Adora from the other two protagonists, who, at the start of the series, do not know they are related to the villain group in some way. (Steven doesn’t know he’s a Diamond.) Adora, on the other hand, starts the series as a villain. She’s part of a group that has actively been fighting and destroying the Princesses and the planet. The first episode notes that she is particularly good at her job, with Hordak nominating her for Force Captain. Adora also notes that “this is what [she’s] been working for her entire life.” When Catra and Adora leave the Fright Zone, it is not out of goodwill. They simply want to go for a joyride on a skiff. 

When Adora gains the power of She-Ra, she acts ignorant of the Horde’s actions. The first episode, Adora is completely defensive of Hordak. She even claims that “Hordak says we’re doing what’s best for Etheria.” It is not until the second episode that Adora begins to have any remorse for her actions--but also note that Adora’s main motivation during the first half of this episode is to continue onward with Bow and Glimmer because she wants to know more about herself, not repent for her actions. It is not until the end of the episode that she begins to become a bit more self-aware, but there is a key phrase that Glimmer utters that is very key to the White Savior narrative: “I feel like maybe you’re here to help us.” This line comes after Glimmer apologizes for not trusting Adora. Adora. The Horde soldier. The soldier from the group of colonizers who were responsible for the death of Glimmer’s father. 

Ok sure. 

Consider how realistic this is. (Not that fantasy has to be realistic, but when you’re working with a narrative based on systemic violence, you need to at least be considerate of how this works in reality.) Adora has been trained to fight and kill Princesses and their allies. She’s been trained to take over Etheria and strategically destroy and/or take resources to weaken them. Yet she acts as if this is all news to her. Suddenly meeting the people she’s been trained to destroy causes her to repent, and suddenly the people who have been victimized forgive her and trust her within two episodes. 

Here’s what I think is going on here: given the current hyper-conservative political climate and rampant xenophobia in the world right now, white creators feel the need to put a white person as the hero as if they’re claiming, “See, this character--and subsequently myself--aren’t like those other bad white people!” They want a degree of separation from the reality that they have white privilege and are part of the problem. 

There is no truly “woke” white person. White people have been raised in a society where they benefit off the oppression of the chosen “other,” in this case black and brown people. Even if you do your research like I’m doing, you still will mess up. White people cannot rid themselves of privilege no matter how hard they try, because in this current society, the legacy of colonialism, imperialism, and racism have made it so that white people will ultimately be more successful and have more opportunities for success than others. (Also, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, so even attempts to be considerate about taking advantage of laborers cannot be completely successful.) 

All of this results in a lot of White Guilt. Thus, we end up with narratives where the white colonizer character suddenly has a change of heart and fights against the system without really challenging the core mechanics that put that system in place. But fighting against oppression and violence doesn’t make a white person special--it just makes them decent. 

It also ignores the fact that white people, to be blunt, haven’t done shit to advocate for inclusion and equity compared to literally everyone else. I want to pull another quote from the Teen Vogue article:

[White saviors] perpetuate an idea that is essentially a historical banner of colonialism: People of color need white people to save them. To this day, some people still latently believe what imperialists such as Rudyard Kipling said, that colonialism was important for everyone: the conqueror and, most importantly, the conquered. That without the colonizers, the colonized had no hope of survival. And by constantly churning out movies with plots in which white people "save" people of color, Hollywood reinforces colonialist dictum.

Why does Glimmer think that they NEED Adora to be saved? Why is this white woman the only one who can do it? Sure, Adora has the power of She-Ra, but remember that giving Adora, a white woman, that power was a CHOICE made by the writers. They could have given the sword to someone else, they could have made Adora a PoC... but they didn’t. So suddenly, because Adora, ex-Horde soldier, is there, the Princess alliance can be reformed, people start working together, the rebellion is saved! etc. etc. etc.... 

So then it’s extra ironic (and honestly is pretty predictable given this White Guilt narrative) when the White Savior trope goes right along with The Colonizers Weren’t Actually Evil, Just Misunderstood.

This post is way too long so I’ll continue in the next part. 

[go-diane-winchester]

The Travis Aaron Wade debacle and why you should care.

I only write about my boys, Jensen and Jared, and any harm that I feel is coming their way.  That harm comes from Misha's mobilizing and his poisonous fanbase.  So why am I talking about this?  It's got nothing to do with Jensen and Jared?  Well, actually, it does.  And I am starting to feel, maybe Wade is innocent.  I am not saying he is, because the case is still pending.  But, thus far, he has only been accused.  He hasn't been proven guilty.  I am an abuse survivor, having dealt with this horror three different times in my life, twice as a child and once as an adult.  If Travis did do any of this, I would back up his accusers, I don't care how much of a friend he was, to Jensen and Jared.  Abuse of any kind is intolerable and in Travis's case, some minors were involved.  That is unforgivable. 

Travis Aaron Wade, in case you didn't know, was accused of sexually harassing and stalking fans at cons and then via social media around 2015.  When I first heard this, I believed it because the allegations came at a time when I was fast asleep with regard to this fandom.  Even then, I frowned when a recognizable name popped up in this debacle:  Emily Rose.  So I guess I wasn't as fast asleep as I thought.  Emily is the fan who got into a fight with William Shatner over destiel.  He even accused her Anti-Bullying Twitter page of being biased.  I don't just believe anything this person's name is attached to, because she is a very devious creature.  So recently, I decided to dig deeper and came across a report on this case.  Upon reading it, I realized something.  Almost every single person who has accused Travis is either a minion or heller or both.  People mentioned in the case are also minions or hellers or both.  That is too much of a coincidence.  This is the list of the accusers and the affiliated parties in this case:

Ashley McClintic  [first accuser]

Theresa Cotter/Lua James  [fled California after Travis's home was vandalized]

Monica Gleberman [lied that she has sex with Jensen and Jared]

Lexi (Alexis) Cooper (@lexicooperxo / @hugsforthemish)

Stacy LePore

Emily Cleghorn [Emily Rose - refused to help Travis when his account was hacked]

Michele Villery  [Monica's friend - defamed Travis online]

Jackie Bojarski [Monica's friend - defamed Travis online]

Kristin Justice [claimed Travis kissed her in crowded room]

Reba Snodgrass (@RebaWinchester / @Mishanews)

Jessica Halliday 

Jenna DeViller

Kim Swartz

Falon Yates

Janelle Clay Davis [stalked Travis online mobilizing fans against him]

Rike Marie, or Melanie Adeline (@mishasdiary [sent nudes to Travis]

Dominique Teagle

Sgt Stephanie Fiebke [mocked Travis's military career]

Sara Burnhope

Katie Maie Aucter

Elizabeth Wera [told the truth and then retracted statement]

Michelene [only name provided in this report]

Jenna [no other name provided]

What are the odds?  The only people Wade went after were Misha's fans, and the only people who tried to help them were Misha's fans.  Nope!  Something is very off about this whole scenario.  This case is a legal one now, so there are certain receipts that are unavailable.  However, most of the information, corroborated with many receipts, is on this site:  http://www.spntrollsvstravisaaronwade.com/.  Be warned the some information is withheld due to the ongoing investigation and the reporter does become subjective.  There is also some hearsay in the report, something I am not crazy about.  Hearsay has no place in an investigative reports.  But the report is thorough, and has various receipts.  I am not telling you to believe everything.  I am just telling you to keep an open mind. 

After reading these reports, about the accusers and their accounts of the events, I have to say the whole situation seems fishy.  The accusers made really far-fetched claims and there is proof that some of them not only lied, but some of the sympathizers were stalking Travis for years now, hacking into his account and stabbing a knife into his front door with a note threatening to kill him, his family including the family dogs.  Two of the victims confessed to lying about the accusations.  The first is Lexi Cooper. 

The second is Reba Snodgrass [Mishanews] who was doing a con called Wayward Con, which is why she apologized to Travis.  She wanted him to do the con.  She did a video confession, but after being reprimanded by hellers on social media, she recanted the apology.  Many of the accusers set up gofundme and similar accounts asking for money for legal fees, but never approached lawyers.  The more I looked into this, the more sorry I feel for Travis.  I am not saying I know what happened, but so far, they look more guilty than he does.  Why was there such a full blown ambush against him?  If he is innocent, then there were some possible reasons. 

Travis was threatening the spinoff

Travis, and I didn't know this, is quite a popular actor, even amongst SPN fans.  Fans were choosing him over Kim and Briana.  If CW got wind of this, they might have cancelled the Wayward idea and pushed for something with Cole, Travis's character.  The hellers didn't want this because their logic was that if they could make Wayward happen, they could make destiel happen.  So they couldn't afford for Wayward to fail.  That is why Travis had to go.

Travis threatened Cockles

Apparently Travis has said something sweet about Jensen and Jared's friendship.  Clif [who is an idiot] made a big deal out of the whole issue because of the possible tinhat angle of what Travis was saying.  As a PR person, I would like to tell Clif: stop acting like a suspicious idiot.  No one is drawing more attention to the tinhat thing than you are.  Try being subtle, stupid fool.  You are causing more ripples, instead of letting it just slide.  Well, Clif was not the only one that was affected by Travis's lighthearted comments.  The hellers were adversely affected too.  There are tinhats amongst them, who believe that destiel is cockle's fault.  This man's admiration for a friendship rubbed them the wrong way.  He needed to be punished.

Threat to Misha's ''popularity''

Misha has been on the show for ten years.  No one is demanding for a spinoff for him.  Not even his own hellers perhaps because they know Jensen wont join Misha, and Castiel is not entertaining by himself.  This new guy pops up and suddenly he is very popular.  An account called Tara Larson appeared on Twitter, on the 22th of December 2017, accusing Misha of sexual harassment during his photo ops.  Any idiot can see that although none of the pictures are tasteful, they are requested and paid for by fans.  So that is not sexual harassment.  Fans gave their consent and none of them look like minors.  Neutral fans are many things, but they are not stupid.  The over-reacher's in our fandom are hellers.  The hellers allege that Travis's assistant Vicki did it to tarnish Misha's name.  Why would she do that?  What does Misha have to do with this debacle.  The evidence they use, is this one.  Vicki is grey.

However, if you read the whole exchange, you see this:

So Vicki knows what a bibro is?  She used to be a fan long before the word bibro was born, so she knows the fandom lingo that is not even part of all the fan's lexicon?  I know of hellers who don't know what a heller is.  Read the whole exchange here:

http://www.spntrollsvstravisaaronwade.com/events-by-year/2017-2/

Nope, the whole thing sounds suspicious.  Especially since, at the time when the account was started and active [it has probably been reported and removed now] Vicki and her daughter were, allegedly, both in surgery.  Possible scenario is that one of the hellers set up the Tara Larson account to make Travis look like a bully and to make Misha look like a victim.  Because why would Vicki do something like that and then confess to it like an idiot.  And on social media no less, even though monitoring social media is part of her job.  Either that, or they doctored the screenshot.  I think the hellers feel Travis was competition for Misha.  According to one heller, who knows Misha personally, this is what she said to Travis about Misha.

Now, a few of them are starting to feel the same way about Alex Calvert perhaps because he is a younger, handsomer, shinier new replacement for Misha.

Why I care and why you should

So far, I have received messages from hellers about Jared's ''bad working conduct''.  I have posted on people saying that he abuses his power and Misha on set.  One heller told me, Jared intentionally cracked her rib by hugging her too hard during a photo op.  I made a post about that.  Travis's reality today might be Jared's reality tomorrow.  They have accused him of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia etc.  Whose to say they don't take this route tomorrow?  I mean, it hypothetically worked on Travis.  It might work on Jared.  Especially since, they hate Jared more that Travis.  And Jared is a friendly ''run across the road to meet the fans'' type of person.  One big accusation and boom! it's over.  Ironically, everyone distanced themselves from Travis when the scandal hit except Jared.  Eventually even he had to distance himself, perhaps by the behest of his manager.  It was far too sticky a situation.  Travis has dealt with the stalking, harassment and vandalism for three years and counting.  I think that is too much for anyone to deal with. 

Who knows what the legal outcome will be.  I don't know Travis well enough to make any claims about him.  Although from what I read, he does seem like a very stupid man with a big mouth.  A gullible sucker, if you catch my drift.  However, if someone out there does know the truth, please speak up.  Remember, if you know something about Travis that is incriminatory, and you remain quiet, you are part of the problem.  If you know of his innocence, help him, the way you hope someone will help Jared one day.    Either speak to Travis's lawyers or send a confidential email message to this reporter at:  info@spntrollsvstravisaaronwade.com.  Informant names will be kept confidential.

[sher-soc-the-famder]

MIRACULOUSLY THEIR OWN- CHAPTER 8

Not Every Card’s A Trump Part 7

Word count: 5904

Pairings: Romantic Royaltiy, Platonic LAMP

Warnings: Child abuse, Homophobia, Violence, Racism

Notes: I’m totally slaying at this being productive at writing thing lately, have yet another thing from me XD This chapter’s a dozy so feel free to come scream at me on the Discord that Milo set up! They also drew an awesome banner that y’all should also scream about! Art by @the-pastel-peach? yeah that’s relevant now

ANYWAYS huge thanks to @wisepuma23 for being best Alpha and @my-happy-little-bean for being best beta! Enjoy!

Read On AO3

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The lobby stood silent. Roman just breathed for a long moment, glaring down at Ms. Trumpbull. Dillan's hand still touched his arm lightly, and it was only years of working with the man that kept Roman from shrugging it off in his anger. Lauren's hand covered her mouth, Kai on the other hand looked darkly satisfied about the outcome.

"Assault!" Trumpbull screeched, breaking the silence. "This is assault! How dare-!" 

She took a step towards Roman, who bared his teeth, more than ready to accept her challenge to throw down. Dillan's hand on arm increased in pressure before Dillan moved to stand in front of him. Roman breathed deeply, staring at Dillan's dreadlocks rather than the accursed woman.

"Hey, hey, let's all calm down," Dillan suggested. Roman couldn't see it but he knew the mild smile that would be on Dillan's face. One that wouldn't quite reach the anger in his eye. "We wouldn't want the manager to get involved." 

Kai snickered from Roman's left. "Oh, please. Let's get that bastard involved with the bitch. You could sell tickets for the ensuing cat fight." 

Lauren elbowed him in the side. Roman felt some of the anger and stress flow off of his shoulders at the familiar banter. No matter what came of this, his theater crew- apologies Kai- Pirate Crew would have his back. Kai smirked at Roman, and Roman felt his lips twitch into a real smile at the action. 

"No!" Trumpbull shouted. "Let's do get the manager involved! I demand to speak with the imbecile in charge of a circus like this!” She pulled herself up to her full height and her arms clawed through the air, not so different from the dragon he had compared her to once. “How dare you speak to me like that, boy! How disrespectful! Who’s in charge of this place? I demand to speak with him!" 

Roman could see the tension along Dillan's back at her words. His blood boiled, and it took all he had not to snap back at the woman. He could get away with so much more than Dillan and Roman knew that. He had already taken advantage of that already. Violence now could get Dillan in trouble. That and Rebecca's arm ghosting over his right arm as she entered the scene held him back. 

"Dillan," Rebecca said softly, "Larry wants to know why he's missing half his cast with only fifteen minutes until opening curtains." 

Dillan didn't look away from Trumpbull. He swept his hands out in a 'look here' gesture.

"Well we have a rather rowdy audience member," he said in the same smooth tone. "She wants to see the manager of 'this circus' is how she put it?" 

"Ah," Rebecca said. Her shoulders straightened as she turned to face Trumpbull. “I am a manager. What can I do for you tonight?”

“You?” Trumpbull screeched. Her eyes racked down Rebecca, catching on her hijab. Roman’s eyes flickered between the two women. “You’re a manager? No wonder this trash heap is falling apart if someone like you is in charge.”

Rebecca quirked an eyebrow up and Roman heard Dillan whisper from next to him, "Oh shit. Don't forget to leave something to bury 'Becca."

"Not the manager I was thinking of, but tear her to fucking pieces Rebecca!" Kai shouted, crossing his arm. Lauren hissed something at him; Roman couldn't catch it through his pounding heartbeat. Dillan reach down to grip his wrist and Roman almost wanted to cry.

He hadn't meant for this to happen. He should have been able to control himself. It had been years since he lashed out at anyone, and god, Patton was going to be so disappointed in him. They were never going to let them see Logan again. Any progress they made was chucked right into the bin because Roman couldn't hold his emotions back for a full stupid thirty seconds.

"I have to ask you to refer to this work space and the employees that work here with respect ma'am," Rebecca's calm voice cut through his thoughts. Her eyes flickered over to him for a moment before returning to Trumpbull, "We accept people of all walks of life here, being a community theater. I am more than happy to speak to you about your complaints, but if you continue to yell I will have to ask you to leave the premise."

Rebecca paused, a shark scenting blood in the water. "There are children present after all."

Trumpbull's heavy breathing echoed through their lobby. One brave man inched past her with a look of contempt as he went to his seat. Her hands opened and closed into fists and Roman tensed up again. If she attacked Rebecca then he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.

Rebecca, on the other hand, looked unruffled by the threatening actions. She stood her ground, waiting for Trumpbull to speak.

"Your employee–” Ms. Trumpbell shot a sharp glare at Roman– “assaulted me. I demand that he be dismissed on the spot for this transgression!" Roman thought he could hear her teeth grind from the way Trumpbull growled out her words. She pointed at him and he stiffened.

"He attacked me out of nowhere, and having such a violent individual on the premise has to be a danger to your customers!"

Rebecca nodded, and Roman's heart sank. 

"You have a point," Rebecca said steadily. "And we do have procedure for dangerous individuals." She turned, winked at Roman and then addressed-

"Kai, could you, perhaps, tell me what happened here?"

"Excuse me-!" Trumpbull's screeched, and Rebecca turned back to look at her with a hard stare. Trumpbull's jaw clenched in frustration but her volume dropped. "Are you saying that my word isn't good enough for you?" 

Rebecca waved her hand in a soothing motion. 

"I am simply getting the full story," she said, her eyes glittering with something fierce and steady. Roman had seen that look directed at him once. He tried not to let it ever happen again. "We wouldn't want there to be a misunderstanding, would we?" 

Trumpbull whole body shook, and it took everything Roman had not to step in front of Rebecca. He trusted that she could take care of herself, but he was never quite satisfied with that. Not when Rebecca and Dillan tended to walk home together for safety, and not when Trumpbull looked ready to throttle someone.

“No,” Trumpbull gritted out. “No, we wouldn’t.”

Rebecca nodded sharply and turned back to Kai. He looked over the scene with lidded eyes, a cat having found the perfect moment to pounce.

“I have no fucking clue what the bitch is going on about,” Kai said lazily. “All I saw Roman do was make a bomb-ass kid’s night with Lauren’s makeup.”

“I would say it was more than the makeup,” Lauren said with a grin. She nudged his side before threading her fingers through his. Roman stared at the two of them, confused, but heart fit for bursting anyways. “Just because you refuse to acknowledge their acting doesn’t mean it’s not here.”

“So you didn’t see anything?” Rebecca pressed.

“Will it get you off my ass if I say I did?” Kai asked dryly. Rebecca shot him a hard look before turning to Dillan, who leaned into Roman’s side. Fuck, what did he do to deserve friends like these? Dillan clearly didn’t need any more prompting from Rebecca, opening his mouth right away.

“I came in later, but all I know is that Ro’ was upset. He’s a chill gay- I mean guy, you know that ‘Becca. Anything that can get him riled up isn’t good in my books.” He waved his free hand, face incredible steady for what Roman knew was a bald faced lie. Roman got worked up over everything and everyone. “I just wanted to defuse the situation because high emotions can lead to bad acting.”

Rebecca stared at them all for a long moment, and Roman could have sworn that her lips twitched upwards before settling back into her smooth unworried expression. She turned back to Trumpbull.

“Unless you can find someone to collaborate on your story, ma’am, I am inclined to believe that you are making things up in order to harass one of our employees,” Rebecca said, hands folded in front of her. “Which, I should point out, is grounds for us to remove you from the premises.”

Trumpbull gapped at them, mouth opening and closing as her face turned back to an angry red. She pointed at Kai with a shaking finger, then Dillan, then Roman, and then back to Kai. Roman wondered if her head was literally going to explode.

“You’re all lying!” She shouted, eyes wild. “Slander! They want to slander me with these lies! It’s all a conspiracy! You just want- want to attack me because you think that he-” She jabbed her finger at Roman again- “is an actual decent person! He’s a monster! A- a- a-”

She cast her eyes about, skittering away from their stone cold faces. Roman fought against the urge to bite his lips. The Crew would support him no matter what, but he didn’t know about the audience. They could fall either way.

Then, very quietly, from his side, the mother of the boy he had been talking too spoke up.

“Excuse me? Ms, uh, manager, ma’am?” The woman stiffened as all eyes turned on her, but she threw back her shoulders. “He was only talking to us when she came up to harass him. I didn’t see anything… untoward happen to her, only to him.”

Rebecca smiled at the woman, as an agreement rippled through the remaining crowd. Roman’s chest ached as he caught sight of the mother’s gentle smile, and he looked away before he did something embarrassing like burst into tears then and there. He didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t this.

“Then that it is all I need to know,” Rebecca said gently. She turned to frown at Trumpbull, steel in her eyes. “We don’t welcome people like you here. Please vacate the premises before we are forced to take drastic actions, such as calling the police.”

Trumpbull stared at them all. Roman’s shoulders crept upwards the longer that Rebecca stared her down and the matron didn’t move. Trumpbull sent him one last nasty glare, her black eye just starting to turn purple before turning on her heels and storming out of the building.

“Please let the door hit your ass on the way out!” Kai shouted after her, and Lauren snickered. Dillan’s hand slipped down to grip Roman’s. Roman could see Patton hurrying towards them through the crowd, worry clear on his face. Rebecca tsked under her breath.

“Such an unpleasant woman. I hope there isn’t anyone like that at Daliah’s new school.”

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” Roman agreed through his tight throat. Rebecca grinned at him, fleeting and bright before clapping her hands together.

“Five minutes to curtains, let’s get a move on actors!”

Patton threw himself into Roman’s arms. Roman pulled him tight against his chest. He buried his face in Patton's hair, taking comfort in the familiar scent and feel. He would have loved to stand there with Patton forever, but it was almost curtains.

“I have something to tell you,” Patton said quickly as Roman pulled back. He hesitated.

“Later,” he said, gesturing to the stage. “I have to-”

Patton squeezed his hands. Bright eyes searched his own. Patton gave him the sweetest smile before nodding.

“Later then.”

Logan tried to enjoy the more relaxed atmosphere that was around the group home that night. Trumpbull had gone to do something on her day off and the relief of the other children was an almost physical thing. Logan wanted to enjoy it like they did. He wanted to read his book in true peace while he had the chance.

Only his peace had been shattered and Logan wanted nothing more than to scream. Scream or cry, he wasn't sure quite yet. He wouldn't. He refused. He wasn't going to let anyone, let alone an adult, control his heart. He struggled to keep his attention on the book in front of him, shoving thoughts of Pat- adults away.

His eyes scanned over the words, not quite processing them. He stared at the picture of a family before shaking his head violently. He slammed the book shut, glaring at the far wall. Shrieks and shouts from the other room drifted through his open window. He didn’t need a family. He didn’t need anyone.

Logan stood up stiffly, and shoved the book back onto the shelf. He winced at the soft thunk and ran a finger over the spine in quiet apology. It wasn’t the book’s fault. He probably shouldn’t have been reading a fantasy based plot anyways. Tuck Everlasting was nice, but wouldn’t help him in the future. He needed to set aside fiction to be the best he could be.

Logan would need it to get out of here as soon as he could.

He swayed towards the wind that blew through the window. His eyes drifted to the flag that he knew marked the local school. Only a month and a half until he could return to the only place that felt marginally safe in his life. He would impress whatever new teachers he had and maybe, just maybe he would be able to get them to move him up another grade.

Logan leaned against the windowsill. He tried not to put too much weight on his cut arms. They had only just reached the point he didn’t need to bandage them anymore, and he would rather not have to come up with an excuse for more. The stock that he kept stashed in the back of his closet was starting to run a little low. Logan made a mental note to make his way to the nurse to swipe a few more when he had the chance. It was better to be prepared than to be caught off guard and have to come up with an excuse as to what had happened.

He closed his eyes and let the breeze ruffle his hair. His shoulders felt tight enough to snap, but Logan was determined to at least enjoy the last of the time without Trumpbull before she came back. He needed to center himself, to be ready for whatever came next.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, raising as a heavy weight settled on his chest. Logan opened his eyes, and he blinked, looking around for the source of his discomfort. His eyes landed on the subject of his thoughts, Trumpbull, glaring at the window he was in before storming into the group home.

The hair on his arms joined his neck in standing up straight. Logan shivered, wrapping his arms around his chest. He took a shuddering breath, hoping that she wouldn’t come up to find him. It wasn’t likely; it was foolish to expect anything else, but Logan wasn’t ready. He frantically wracked his brain, searching for what he could have done to set her off.

He had time to hide. The thought was a selfish dangerous one. She could end up even angrier at him for avoiding her. She could take her anger out on a different child who would turn the rest of the home against him. She could find him and punish him for avoiding what he had done to avoid discipline.

The closet taunted him.

Logan whimpered, biting down on his lips. So much for ignoring his feelings. He could feel the pounding of his heart beat against his chest, the way that his hands twisted in his sleeves to keep from shaking. He didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He didn’t know.

Logan hated not knowing. Power was knowledge, and power kept him safe. Knowledge and learning kept him safe. If he knew her habits, he could avoid the worst of her. If he knew what set her off, he could brace himself every time he broke one of her rules. If he knew, then he could act.

Logan felt his shaking increase. He hadn’t spoken back to her. He hadn’t sasses another matron, hadn’t been with anyone so he couldn’t have failed to live up to her expectations. His nails dug into his arm. He had done his chores. He had kept curfew and had put all books away at the time she had wanted him too. He had followed all her rules to the letter.

The shouts from the room over fell silent. Logan could hear the footsteps approaching his room. He backed up, shoulder slamming against the open window. He flinched and scrambled to close it. His fingers fumbled at the latch, his brain screaming at him that he was taking too long, he was taking too long, he was taking too long-

The window fell shut with a click. The door knob rattled. Logan struggled to swallow, his heart pounding in his ears.

The door slammed against the wall; the only noise along the entire hall. It echoed in Logan’s ears as his eyes zeroed in on Trumpbull. He couldn’t feel his fingers twisted in his sleeves. He could see the way her chest heaved. He bit his lip. He traced the way her hands flexed.

He couldn’t breathe.

Logan waited for the usual mocking words, the ones that would let him know what he had done wrong. He would be able to go from there. He braced himself, digging his nails into his arms until the cuts hidden there stung. His eyes caught on the bruise that bloomed blue and purple across her cheek into her eye.

He only had a moment to wonder what had happened before his head snapped to the side.

Logan could feel the heat bloom on his cheek from the slap. His hand flew to the spot in surprise as he stared at Trumpbull with wide eyes. Her face twisted, her eyes glittered with anger, and Logan’s feet tingled with nerves. She hadn’t said anything.

She had never hurt him without telling him why first.

Trumpbull wanted to feel like she could teach him to be better. She never shut up about how it was for his own good. Logan had taken comfort in the fact he could predict her most days because of how much she ran her mouth. He had thought silence would be a good thing. He would have thought it meant he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Terror crept into his chest and made its home there. He couldn’t stop his shoulders from trembling. He tried to shuffle a step back to give himself time to put his scattering thoughts together. His heel bumped against the bed frame. The bed rattled, just enough to draw attention, and Logan closed his eyes in horrified resignation.

The taunts he expected didn’t arise. Her hand snapped out, wrapping around the hand still cradling his face. She wrenched it away and Logan tripped over himself as she dragged him towards the door. He twisted in her grip. His skin pinched at the action, and Logan felt tears gather at the edges of his eyes. He couldn’t fight her, not really, but it gave him a false comfort to try.

He hiccuped, trying to hold his sobs back. Trumpbull shot him a glare. Logan brought his free hand up to try and muffle the sounds he was making. He hoped that one of the other matrons came to check on him. They never had before – not when he had proven to be perfectly independent on his own – but the terror making itself known in his chest cried for the opposite.

Her nails dug into his wrist. Their footsteps echoed in the halls. Logan thought he caught sight of some of the other kids scrambling to get out of sight. One almost met his eyes before slamming the door shut. Logan wanted to blame them. But he would have done the same in their place.

He squeezed his eyes shut as Trumpbull dragged him towards the basement. She yanked at his arm. He yelped at the pain, eyes snapping back open as he tried to keep from falling over.

Logan stared at the door to the basement, biting back sobs as she hurled it open. The doorknob hit the wall with a deafening rattle. Logan shrunk back. He didn’t know what he had done wrong. He didn’t know what to expect.  

She yanked on his arm again, pulling him towards the gaping darkness. He tripped over his feet trying to follow the path she wanted. He reached out with his free hand for the rail.

Later, much later, Logan would guess that Trumpbull simply wanted him to hurry up. At least, that’s what he would always want to believe. That she hadn’t thought about what her action could cause. Even in his worst times, he didn’t want to contemplate the worst of that moment.

Trumpbull let go of his wrist. Logan took a single step down the stairs. A large hand pressed against his back and shoved.

The world spun on an axis; Logan had read that in a book, had learned that in a science class. He couldn’t keep track of which way it spun anymore as his fell. His heart leapt as his hands snapped out in an attempt to catch himself. He felt something crack as his right wrist hit the first stair. The air knocked out of his lungs from the pain, leaving him unable to scream.

His feet flew over his head. His hand flew out, scraping against the wall as he tried to grab the rail. Fire bloomed along his fingertips. Distantly, he saw the flecks of blood he left behind.

A crack rung through his head. The world exploded into the stars. Logan curled into himself. His good arm coming up to protect his head as he rag-dolled down the rest of the stairs. His stomach twisted, and Logan had to fight down the urge to throw up as he slammed against the door at the bottom of the stairs.

His shoulders shook, and the smallest motion sent sparks up his arm and head. He sobbed, curling even more, until he was the smallest ball he could manage. He cradled one hand to his chest while the other covered his head. Blood dripped down his temple and Logan tasted tears on his lips.

Trumpbull’s calm steps down the stairs echoed in his head, doubling and tripling like his sight. He watched her descend with growing horror. The fire in her eye hadn’t dampened in the slightest. That, at least, he knew. She wasn’t done yet.

He couldn’t force himself to move.

“You could have killed me,” he whispered, the sound almost non-existent, a simple movement of his lips. “I could have died.”

Trumpbull leaned over him. The door to the basement unlocked with a soft click. Everything in Logan screamed as she stepped over him, calm as her normal days. He thought that he had seen the worst of her. He had thought that he would finally escape, that Patton and Roman would take him away.

Her hands reached down for him, and Logan tried to stop thinking at all.

It was warm. The summer stars shone overhead and Logan traced constellations against the window. A paradox of something that felt completely natural to do, almost mindless, and something that he needed to think about in order to make sure he got them right. Hercules, Libra, Big Dipper, Little Dipper.

He hissed as his left arm jostled his right. Pain radiated along the length of his arm and he curled into a tighter ball in an attempt to alleviate it. It wasn’t rational. It wouldn’t actually help. It was simply his body trying to protect his most vulnerable parts. The way his ribs ached with every breath declared that it had already failed at that.

He breathed, shallow and pained, squeezing his eyes shut until he could gather the energy to peel them back open. His hand shook as he turned back to tracing the constellations. If he wasn’t thinking about the way his arm had cracked against the wall when-

His breath shuddered. Logan glanced away from the window. He tugged his legs up to his chest carefully, biting down on his tongue as his ankle protested the movement. The crackling of his dried blood sounded all too loud in the silent entrance. But he could prop his right arm up against his legs, allowing his shoulders to finally relax.

Even if relax was a bit of a… hyperbole.

For all that Logan tried to occupy his mind, he still flinched at every noise. The crickets outside refused to fade to white noise. The wood of the group home groaned with the changing temperature. His ears strained as he thought he heard someone shuffling in their bed. His fingers on the window pressed down hard enough to turn white.

The cuts from the closet caught the moon light and Logan jerked his hand back. A sob caught in his throat. He brought his good hand up to scrub at his face. He winced as the action pulled at his black eye.

Logan didn't know why. Trumpbull always had a reason, but he couldn’t find it. He couldn’t figure out why, after being so careful, she would hurt him so obviously. His ears rang, and bile clawed at his throat. His thoughts had scattered from the moment she had thrown him down the stairs and it had only gotten worse after-

He squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the thought before it could fully form. He already knew that shaking his head was a bad idea. Logan wondered if he should have read more about head injuries.

More tears welled in his eyes and he scrubbed even hard despite the pain. Tears only brought more pain. Logan’s breath stuttered in his chest, his ribs screaming in protest at the action. He shouldn’t cry. Crying only made things worse.

He pressed his hand against his face, struggling for control.

A single thought crept through his mind and Logan shied away from it on principle. Maybe Trumpbull was right. He bit down on his lip, shoulders shaking even more. He hated the very idea of agreeing with her. She was a monster, inhuman, an alien, anything that lacked compassion and empathy.

-- But where had compassion and empathy gotten him?

Anger flooded his chest, washing away his pain for a glorious moment. It wasn’t fair. He tried and tried and tried. If he was too smart, they hated him. If he was too dumb, they hated him. Too loud, too quiet, too unnerving, too normal. No matter what he did the world hated him. Well he was done.

They wouldn’t make him play their games anymore.

Not when it was such a stupid one.

Logan’s hand dug into his chest. He didn’t want to feel anymore. Caring only got him hurt. Anger was useless when he couldn’t stand against the people who made him feel that way. Dreams were only his brain compressing memories from the day. Love only set him up for failure. There was no rational reason to keep hoping. To keep extending his pain the way he had all this time.

The wood of the home creaked above him, and his anger fled. His shoulders slumped and he leaned his head back against the window frame. He closed his eyes and could imagine the gulf that he stood over. No one would catch him if he fell.

Fine then. He’d been catching himself this long.

He tipped over, letting his heart disappear into the void below. He wouldn’t need it anymore. From now on, Logan would focus on what was logical; on what made sense and could be predicted. He’d protect himself by getting rid of the reason he needed to be protected at all.

A door opened, squeaking with unoiled hinges. Logan's head snapped up, eyes scanning the hall for whoever would be approaching him. Trumpbull had never come back after her "discipline" but then again, she had always said something and she hadn't. It was reasonable to assume that with so many of her other habits, her own little rules broken, that she would break even more. 

Or it could be one of the other children. 

There was always one on the Bad Days. 

Logan's shoulders relaxed at the small footsteps, not heavy enough to be an adult. Which meant that he was safer -- not safe, never safe, but at least in no danger of getting hurt more -- until the morning. They only came to check on him once Trumpbull's snore started to echo down the halls. 

Logan turned to stare out the window, trying to come up with what he would tell them this time. The world had shattered beneath his feet. What could he possibly tell them to explain how different things were? Seeing was believing but Logan didn't think that they'd believe him even with the blood caked along his neck and temple. 

He'd always been the exception after all. The one that made Trumpbull's blood boil over no matter what he did. He was never going to be enough- 

Logan shoved the thought and the feelings that came with it back down. He wasn't going to feel anything any more. It didn't matter. He needed to focus on the coming days. 

A small head peered around the corner. 

"Logan?" Emmet whispered. He inched closer and Logan watched him dully. Emmet shuffled his feet, eyes glued more on the door than Logan himself. 

"You wouldn't make it far," Logan said dully, thinking about his own wish to run away. They were too young to not attract attention. Nine and eight. Someone would notice; someone would call the police for their reputation if nothing else. 

"O-oh," Emmet startled, eyes glancing wildly around the dark, "I was just- I mean, you know that-" Emmet drew up short and stared at him with wide eyes. His freckles stood out on his pale face. His whisper dropped to more of just his lips moving. "Are you alright?" 

Logan shrugged his shoulder, biting back a whimper as it moved his right arm. Emmet flinched at the noise, wringing his hands together. 

"Ri- Right, stupid question, uh, right, stay there,  I'll just-" Emmet spun on his heels and ran back into the hallways. Logan watched him go, blinking slowly. Because of course not even the other children could behave the way he expected them to. He had just about figured out what to say too. 

He leaned his head back again, listening to the flutter of a bird outside. 

Whispers echoed down the hall, overlapping the pattering of feet. Logan sighed. They would have been quieter coming in one by one. He wondered if they were even bothering to avoid the louder floorboards. Not that it mattered with the noise they were making already. If they were lucky, the matrons were as exhausted as they normally were and would sleep through it all.

Emmet's head reappeared, and he gestured at whoever was behind him before hurrying over to Logan. He hopped over the one floorboard that they all knew creaked too loud, landing lightly on his feet before stopping in front of Logan. He chewed on his lip; Logan stared at him dully before turning to the other.

Amelia caught his attention immediately, whispering to one of the younger girls and adjusting the box she carried. Half a dozen kids spilled into the entrance and a familiar voice broke the near silence. Logan blinked. 

"So bookworm," Edgar snapped, stalking closer to him, "What's this about you finally getting the Bull to snap?" 

"Does it count as snapping if she's been on the edge for years?" Logan murmured, and blinked again at the silence that reigned. Logan glanced up as something flit through Edgar's eyes. Edgar sighed heavily, scrubbing at his hair. 

"Oh fuck you," Edgar said, flopping down to sit next to Logan. Close enough that Logan could feel his body heat but not quite touching. "I don't know why I bother with shit- don't look at me like that Sarah, a few curse words aren't gonna hurt the younger ones more than the Bull would." 

A couple of the kids giggled. Edgar cut a glance at Logan, who stared back at him. Edgar sighed and Logan wondered why he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck bookworm, at least tell me that you learned something useful while being beat to all hell and back." 

"No," Logan replied. 

Everyone froze. Edgar's teeth grit almost audibly. Logan idly hoped that his teeth would crack from the force of it before reminding himself that hope went nowhere. Statistically though, grinding teeth ended in damage, and Logan let his mind drift in that direction. Someone snapped their fingers near his face and Logan jerked back. 

"Hey Ed, I don't know if now's the best time-" Amelia started to say. Logan's eyes drifted from Edgar's hand to Amelia's face. She clutched the box in her hand tightly, knuckles an almost glowing white in the dark. 

"If we don't talk to him now, he won't remember anything in the morning," Edgar snapped. "He may not have the sense to stay on the Bull's good side, but I'm not going to be the reason more kids end up like him!" 

"You might not have a choice," Logan whispered. Edgar's head whipped in his direction. 

"What did you just say?" Edgar demanded. 

Logan's body trembled, and he tried to will it to stop. His control slipped from his fingers, his attempts to not think about what had happened falling through his barricades like sand. The whispers of the other kids sounded too distant and unreal. They didn't understand. They couldn't understand. 

Their reality was about to get so much worse. 

"I said," Logan croaked out, "you might not have a choice." 

"Bullshit," Edgar snapped. Logan leaned back as Edgar leaned in even closer. Edgar's eyes looked him over, slowly almost like he cared which Logan knew was a lie. He was like a book to Edgar. Useful for his knowledge and nothing more. Edgar scrubbed at his face again. "Let's just get this over with, bookworm. The faster you talk, the faster the others can feel good about themselves by wrapping you up like a mummy." 

"There isn't anything to say," Logan said simply, and plowed forward when Edgar opened his mouth again. "She certainly didn't say anything." His trembling worsened. "She didn't say anything. I don't know- I don't- I didn't do anything-"

He sucked in a sharp breath and ignored the clattering of Amelia's box falling to the ground. He shoved his emotions back into a small box. He could control himself. He chucked the box at a metaphorical wall and let his voice fall back into a near monotone. 

"She's not following her own rules." Edgar's eyes pierced through the dark, intent and determined at Logan’s words. "It's like she's so mad that she just doesn't care anymore. There- There's no more cheats or shortcuts. She doesn't- doesn't care." 

Logan's good hand snapped out to grip Edgar's arm, willing the older boy to understand. 

"There are no rules anymore."

Tag list:

@notveryglittery @milomeepit @ab-artist @i-read-by-lamp @honeythanvinegar @confinesofpersonalknowledge @bangthekobrakid @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl @unknownsandersfan @quietwords-loudthoughts @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @beach-fan @mirandatheangel @yourhappypappypatton @fandoms-winkitywonk @1totally-not-an-alien1 @nerd-in-space @sunshine-in-a-petal @selfdestructivecoward @probably-to-many-cheesesticks @lizziepopanime @darkle-elkrad @thatvexingvexen @the-kiwi-ghost @sanderstalker @himrachel @creepyfloof @tmntmlpandtfa @your-average-outcast @karmels-stuff @many-muses-many-loves @unknownpuppet @midnighttalex12 @idkaurl

[ncumenia-archived]

📱MOBILE-FRIENDLY RULES📱

OTHER LINKS:

lore

bio

headcanons

exclusive ship list

Since English is not my mother language, I apologize in advance if there are some grammatical errors or I use wrong words to describe an action. If something is not clear to you, just let me know, I’ll fix it as soon as I can.

Roleplay Rules:

TAG DUMP HERE!; (NSFW too)

Mun&Muse are both 21+. This blog is selective, 18+ exclusive, canon divergent, duplicates crossover, AU, fandomless, etc… friendly!  

Besides the obvious fact I won't rp smut or ship with minor muns/muses whatsoever, do not follow me if you're underage. This because I feel uncomfortable interacting with minor muns due to the huge age gap that might be between us. (Mun is currently 25 as I write this) Please, don't take it too personally, it's just for my own comfort. Furthermore, if your rules and age (mun is 18+, mun is 23, mun is of age and so on...) are not present on your blog I won’t rp with you at all. Lying about your age will result into a permablock and reported. The same applies if you're underage or your age is not stated and you dare to interact in any kind of NSFW way with me (This also includes liking/commenting my nsfw posts or sending me nsfw asks)

I refuse to ship/interact with: aged up muses (Nunu, Annie, Zoe etc…) and only smut-oriented blogs since they both make me uncomfortable. So, please, if you’re one of these blogs do not follow me.

No godmodding. If our muses are fighting, I’d like to discuss first with the other mun, in order to avoid it as much as possible;

I don’t like “follow for following me back, and if you don’t follow me I’ll unfollow you“ philosophy because I find this kinda disrespectful. I’m also available to interact with you even if we’re not mutuals! Usually, the reasons why I unfollow you are these: spamming too much without using a proper tag, talking shit about other people here on tumblr, spreading useless drama or rumors, posting stuff that makes me uncomfortable or if I somehow assume you’re not interested to interact with me.DMS are always open for plotting!

Currently available verses: Canon, Odyssey, Modern/Academy, Bloodmoon, Deity Please, before interacting with my muse in one of these verses make sure to read the lore and, if something is not clear to you, dm me anytime!;

I’ll try to match length more or less, so don’t worry about that. And please, TAKE YOUR TIME to reply. I have a life too, so don’t worry I’m not the one who runs after others! I tend to easily forget threads, so if I didn’t reply to our thread for like a couple of days dm me!;

I do believe in reblog karma, it’s your choice to send me a meme, but please reblog it from the source and not from me if you don’t want to send me one. If you reblog a meme from me without sending me one for more than once, I’ll block you. I’m sorry about this rule, but after some time this becomes quite annoying;

Any kind of hate toward a nationality/gender/sexual orientation and so on will result in a report and permablock. I believe everyone should respect a person, regardless of their gender/ethnicity/sexual orientation. If you don’t, you’ll get permablocked. Period. The same goes for every kind of insult or anon hate toward me, a ship or a friend: not only you’ll be ignored, but, if it is necessary, I’ll report and permablock you.

This blog is against any kind of fake/unfounded rumors and drama. I'll only reblog callouts that provide evidence about the problematic individual, and mostly about extremely serious topics (like minor hunters, abusers or if someone who is seriously in danger) I'm not afraid to callout people if they have a problematic/gross behavior or if they support/justify problematic/disturbing/traumatic topics.

I won’t rp and tolerate extremely disturbing topics like incest, rape (non-con/dub-con as well), pedophilia, child/animal abuse, and similar. The same goes for every kind of ship where these themes are involved. Mentioning these topics during a thread is okay (For example if you’re talking about your muse’s past), but I’d rather talk with the mun first so we can plot things properly.

Any jokes about child death, rape, racism, disability, sexism and so on are not allowed here. If I see one of them, I may go to your dms and telling you that’s not okay writing these things because they’re harmful, and to stop with that stuff. If you’ll ignore/insult/make fun of me you’ll be permablocked. [Added: 09/07/2019]

This blog may contain triggers such as blood, angst, smoke, drugs, gore, mental health etc. I’ll tag everything and I’ll use “read more”. (I’ll tag my triggers using, for example, “tw: blood” without air quotes) Before rping this stuff with you, I’ll always ask you if you’re okay with it, so do please tell me if you have any triggers or I should tag something specific in my blog! For example, my muse, when she’s overwhelmed by certain feelings or recalls what happened to her kin, she bleeds from her mouth and sternal scar. Please, if this makes you feel uncomfortable don’t be afraid to tell me it; Regarding sexual content, it will also be present, especially during Sinday, but I will always tag everything accordingly and put everything under read more.

Please, tag these two topics: needles and stepping on people. I feel extremely uncomfortable regarding the latter because it's heavily connected with animal abuse, and it makes me feel so sick I start to panic. I only ask you to tag these two topics.

I’m a human being, and sometimes I make mistakes too. If I made something that offended you/made you feel uncomfortable, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I want to learn from my mistakes.

Shipping rules:

Even if I’m more than aware of the fact an 18+ mun is legally an adult, I realized I feel more comfortable shipping with both muns/muses who are 20+, especially in the case there will be some nsfw. That’s my personal preference, and this is NOT negotiable and it will NEVER be.[added 06/05/2019]

If you don’t want to keep our ship going on, that’s TOTALLY OKAY. I will NEVER get mad at you, neither asking you the motivation. If you don’t feel comfortable anymore, that’s okay and I respect your decision!

This blog is multiship exclusive, that means I'll only ship with one muse/au of that muse. Furthermore, I'll be highly selective with whom I ship with, and I mostly prioritize people I've been friends with for a long time. [EXCLUSIVE SHIP LIST]

I state in advance I don’t ship my muse with Diana, since she sees her as a mother-like figure. So… This basically would be incest, and I feel very uncomfortable with it. Furthermore, I won’t ship with Taric, Leona, Aurelion, Soraka, Zoe (But this is almost needless to say since she’s a minor, but prevention is always better than the cure), and yordles.

Even if I’m extremely fine with a platonic/non-sexual relationship, I’m also okay with some smut and that may occur with a serious plot, and ONLY if I feel comfortable and I trust my rp partner enough. Unfortunately, I don’t feel very comfortable rping it on Tumblr, and I’d rather rp it on Discord. [Please check the smut rules here] DON’T FORCE IT WITH ME, otherwise the ship will be deleted and probably I’ll block you too.

My muse is a revenant (I’m talking about her canon verse. In Odyssey! and Modern! she’s a living being) and NO, shipping with her is NOT necrophilia (She’s NOT a lifeless, nonsentient, smelly and rotten body who cannot give consent. She has revived thanks to Targon/Moon’s magic, and she’s ABLE to consent and she doesn’t smell bad, she’s not rotting and so on). I’m writing this because I’m kinda sick of this subject because “Shipping with Ernye/Pyke/Thresh/Kalista/Yone is necrophilia1111!!1!!”, and I’m more than sure these people are the first who fall in love with a vampire. If I receive any anon asks about this stuff in which there’s written I cannot ship her with anyone or other offensive things toward me or my muse (both ic and ooc), I’ll ignore and permablock them. No matter who’s the person who sent this. Again: I’m sick and tired of this stuff because basically there’s no problem in shipping with a psycho who can basically kill/abuse you any moment, meanwhile, GOD FORBID a revenant/vampire and stuff like that. So, better safe than sorry. If this bothers you so much you can unfollow me.

Respect my right to say “NO” if I don’t want to ship with your muse. So, don’t force it or I’ll block you.;

About the Mun:

You can call me Silkie, and I’m 25 years old;

Discord for mutuals only;

Pronouns: she/her (They/Them is also fine, if you feel more comfortable with it, no worries);

Chickens, cats, chinchillas, and Castlevania addicted;

I consider myself as a friendly person, so if you wanna know me or rp with me just send me a message! I suffer from diagnosed GAD and depression, so I really need time to open up to people and my activity may be sporadic because of this. And, please: if I make/say something that makes you feel uncomfortable TELL ME ANYTIME since I never mean to hurt anyone here through my words or acts;

Remember Muse ≠ Mun. Ernye’s actions don’t reflect my personality, or what I think about you;

Please DON’T FLIRT WITH ME, it makes me extremely anxious and uncomfortable due to many awful experiences I had in the past, and also because rp is a hobby and I want to have fun, and I’m not looking for a romantic partner. If you ignore my warnings I’ll permablock you. And yes, this also applies to every NSFW question about me. If you dare to do so you’ll get immediately reported, permablocked and the whole chatlog saved. I will also NOT tolerate any kind of NSFW anon ask about me.

The cringy art you see on my profile is made by me unless stated otherwise. Constructive criticism and bits of advice are more than welcome and encouraged ♥

[ If you have read my rules send me “Has the killing moon come for them?” That’s optional, of course, you don’t have to send it to me!]

[percy-son-of-sally-jackson]

Dubstep’s for Pussies (Cable x Female Reader): Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Writing Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Buy a poor gal a Ko-fi

Summary: Reader is Domino's younger sister who has taken an interest in Cable, but both of them are too stubborn to admit their feelings, so instead they take turns pissing each other off until one of them snaps.

Warnings: female reader, mention of age difference, mild hurt/comfort, hurt reader, mild emotional hurt/comfort, will be NSFW in later chapters, spoilers for deadpool 2 ofc, mentions of previous trauma

Word Count: 1338

A/N: This was meant to be smut with a side of plot, but I accidentally added a little more plot (aka angst) into it, so y'all can't get smut yet, and this is going to be a multi chapter fic. I know I said I’d post it on friday, but I’m impatient and bored, so y’all get it a day early!!

Tag list (if anyone wants to be tagged in future chapters, please let me know!): @fantasticwizardnerd @cxsmicbrownies @roni-westbrook @the-wayward-unicorn @luisadevitt @booklover2929 @whovianayesha @thehuntress26 @peculiar-monstar

It was 3am and every room in the X-mansion was silent, every room except for yours. Loud, thumping dubstep blasted through the speakers in your room, not loud enough to wake everyone, but just loud enough to piss your neighbour off.

You'd met Cable the same time as your older sister, Neena, had, on that ICE Box transport. While your sister's power was luck, yours was the ability to go unnoticed; it wasn't exactly invisibility, if there was a camera on you, you'd show up, but you could stand in a room full of people with a spotlight on you, and still appear non-existent to everyone, including your own sister. It was some sort of telepathic ability you'd developed at the orphanage to hide yourself and your sister from your abusers.

So it really freaked you out when you tried sneaking up on Cable, and he promptly turned around to catch your wrist with his metal hand, twisting it till you yelped and dropped your blade. He'd made up for spraining your wrist later on by wrapping himself around you and taking the brunt of the impact when Juggernaut fucked the bridge up, but you were shaken.

It still jarred you whenever you were sneaking around the mansion, trying to play a prank on Wade or Colossus, and Cable's gaze would follow you. It didn't help that you both had similar sleep schedules, and he somehow always managed to find you especially when your insomnia got really bad. You weren't unhappy about it though, it was nice to have company instead of being left alone to your thoughts, and it allowed you to slowly drag information out of the stoic man.

You learned that his name was Nathan Summers, he was a kind of mercenary who hunted down bad guys, kind of like Wade and X-Force, he was divorced because his wife didn't want him doing that, and he didn't want to stop; that was part of the reason he didn't mind staying even after Wade got his time-travel device fixed, as long as he knew they were safe and alive, he didn't have anything in the future that required his immediate attention.

In turn, you told him about yourself, about your time at the orphanage; you showed him a couple scars they'd given you, even going as far as to let him touch them. Usually someone touching you would've triggered your trauma, sending you into a panicked frenzy, but you'd grown to trust him to a point that surprised you, and even though he was reluctant to admit it, he'd grown fond of you too, which was nice, but it was also the reason you were mad at him.

You were growing antsy in the mansion, anxious to get out on a mission again, so you were more than ready to go when Wade came back with one, but your joy was cut short when Nathan convinced the group to make you stay back because it was dangerous, and you would be of little use there.

So that's how you ended up blasting Skrillex in your room, which was conveniently located right next to Nathan's. You were sprawled out on your bed, reading a Star Wars book, when your door slammed open, revealing a pissed off, shirtless Cable. You tried to hide your mischievous smile as you sat up, your eyes wandering up and down his body for a second.

"Can I help you?" You asked, not bothering to turn down your music. He snarled through the bass, his eye flashing gold for a second. You'd be lying if you said that didn't turn you on just a litte.

"Turn that shit down."

"Nah, I'm good."

"I said, turn that fucking shit down, right now."

"Sorry, Daddy-o, no can do."

"Why are you such a stubborn little brat?"

"Oh, I'm stubborn? What about yo—," you cut yourself off with a shriek. Cable had just blasted your speaker system with a small energy pulse gun he kept hidden. "Nate, what the FUCK?!"

He ignored you, a small self satisfied smirk on his lips as he turned around and walked back to his room, not even bothering to shut your door. You growled at the audacity, stomping over to his room, and flinging his door open.

"Hey, dick bag, you fucked up my speakers," you marched over to where he was seated at his table with his weapons laid out in front of him. He turned to you, eyebrow raised.

"First of all, those were Wade's speakers, you stole them."

"Yeah, and now I'm gonna have to steal Colossus' speakers, which aren't as good!"

"If you'd lowered the volume as I asked, I wouldn't have had to fuck em up, so really, it's your fault, Princess."

"Why are you such an asshole?!"

"Why are you such a little shit?"

"Fuck you!"

"No, fuck YOU."

"God, you're so—."

"What is going on here?" The two of you flinched at the loud Russian voice, booming from the doorway. You slowly turned around, casting a sheepish glance at Colossus. "You two are like two cats fighting over bone, and we can hear at other end of mansion."

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, jabbing Nathan in the ribs with your elbow when he didn't speak up. He grumbled something under his breath, making Colossus sigh in disappointment.

"What the two of you need, is to have a good long fuck session," Wade popped up from behind Colossus. "Maybe that'll help with his racism too."

Both you and Cable groaned at his voice; Wade had been trying to get the two of you together ever since the team rescued Russell. While you definitely wanted to fuck the older mutant, there was no way your pride was going to let you make the first move, not when he'd pissed you off this much; if you had to guess, Nathan probably felt the same way.

"Just keep noise down, we have important mission in the morning," Colossus said, before retiring back to his room. Wade stayed back for a second to make a vulgar gesture with two fingers and his tongue.

"Get fucked, Wade!" You yelled, grabbing the nearest gun part and chucking it at your friend who quickly ducked out of the room. It flew half way across the room before being pulled back into Nathan's left hand like an iron nail to a magnet. You turned to glare at him. "You just looove spoiling my fun don't you?"

"This is exactly why you aren't fit to come on the mission with us," he said, his voice getting dangerously low.

"Oh wow, please feel free to elaborate," you said, crossing your arms as your eyes narrowed.

"You're fuckin immature, you don't know how to fight properly, your power is what? Being a fucking wallflower or some bullshit like that, and your judgment is way fucking off, you'd be a danger to yourself and a burden to us," he snarled, pausing a little too late as he realized what he'd said. A hurt look flickered across your face before you hardened your expression.

"Whatever," you spun on your heel and started towards the door. Nathan grabbed your forearm with his right hand, but you wrenched it out of his grasp. "Fuck off, Cable."

You slunk back into your room, locking the door before crawling into bed with a bottle of whiskey, and your laptop, hoping the alcohol and a mindless show would put you to sleep.

—————————————

Cable stood motionless in the middle of his room, fists clenched tightly as he tried to calm himself down before he punched something. He knew what he'd said was a low move, saying you'd be a burden was uncalled for. And the hurt look on your face that you tried to hide was more painful than any bullet he'd take for you.

He slowly unclenched his fists, looking down to see the broken pieces of the half made gun you tried to throw at Wade. He contemplated going over, and apologizing, but he knew you wouldn't open the door or listen to him. With a heavy sigh, he decided he'd wait till he got back from the mission, to give you time to cool down.

[falsemerits]

“I kept track of the violence done to Black people in my city, Toronto, and my country, Canada, as if it was being done to me, because it was, because it is, because that’s what Black people are facing in Canada and around the world, and I’d never been more aware of it.”

When Desmond tells of the violence that is happening to him metaphorically, through others who are experiencing it physically- All across Canada, I recognize this as truth. He is not being selfish in feeling that this violence is also done unto him, as it is for the person physically involved. It would be selfish to think that he could not relate, because that is not his problem in the moment. It would be selfish if because he lives in Toronto, and violence in British Columbia against Black people happens, that it has nothing to do with him. I will liken this to an experience of my own, and challenge others to think abstractly and connect the dots. September 11, 2001- A day of destruction, alleged terrorism, and global fear. I remember being in class when this happened, and my sixth grade teacher asked us to take a moment of silence for it and to discuss the event. This had nothing to do with Canada. I was not involved with these families that suffered, or the government that protected them. I was a little 10 year old girl, who only knew that if my dad, mom, uncle, aunt, or whoever I loved was in that tower that I would feel tragedy. To me, that is why I sympathized with this event. Because if something similar happened in my country, I would hope that others would share my same feelings.

Being metis, I share the same feelings that Desmond does for the violence Black people experience daily. Indigenous people are being profiled, and abused every day as well. Our causes are similar. I cannot attest that our origin stories are the exact same. I cannot say that one is more pressing than the other. All I know is that, if I can feel suffering for my ancestors, then I can share the same feelings with immigrants who were taken from their countries, forced into slavery, made to start their lives in North America, and to continue to be robbed of honour and respect every single day.

“A CBC News investigation that analyzed 461 fatal civilian encounters with police between 2000 - 2017 found that “70 percent of people who died struggled with mental health issues or substance abuse or both.” The combination of this violence with the police targeting of Black people makes Black people with mental health issues more likely to experience police violence. The CBC also found that, of the 461 deaths, “criminal charges were laid against 18 officers… With only two ending in convictions.”

To me, this is proof that our system of police and authority is grossly under trained and ill-prepared. Police are able to perform “wellness checks,” on civilians, but only when prompted by a person who has called and claimed that said person’s wellness is in question. Police feel that they do not have to assess, de-escalate, or consider external factors in an investigation, false or with merit. These are horrifyingly sad statistics, that I believe many people would just glaze over. The typical citizen doesn’t understand enough about mental health, to care about mental health. There is a culture of common socially acceptable misunderstanding, when mental health is in question. It is okay to not know. There are cues that one can detect about mental health, if given the chance. Crying, hyperventilating, excessive language, obvious frustration, resistance to identify, these are actually all signs that someone might be experiencing mental distress, or exacerbation of their pre-existing mental health condition. Police are here to enforce the protection of personal property and assets. Opting for violence against someone who is mentally unstable, Black, Hispanic, Indigenous, White, Asian any race is not the answer. Protect and serve. Protect lives of police, against usually unarmed unsuspecting vulnerable people, and serve to uphold the laws that help protect officers of wrongdoing. That is what that statement means nowadays. When officers use violence against people who have mental health problems, and do not question this as a possibility first, we see why this system fails 100 percent of the time.

“In my experience, the average white Canadian doesn’t know that British and French settlers enslaved Black and Indigenous people on these lands for two centuries, and simply shifted legislative tactics once they had abolished “legal” slavery. Those who do acknowledge slavery in Canada often add that it was “not as bad as in the States,” a nod to the white Canadian proverb used as a checkmate end to a conversation. No need to consider anti-blackness here. This idea that Canada’s racial injustices are not as bad as they could be- This notion of slavery lite, of racism lite, of what my friends calls “toy version of racism”- Is a very Canadian way of saying “remember what we could do to you if we wanted to.” Passive- aggressive racism is central to Canada’s national mythology and identity. White supremacy warns Black people against setting our own standards and pursuing dreams that stray too far from the global atmosphere of anti-blackness.”

My parents were never taught this, so they never had the opportunity to educate me. Years of public school didn’t ever teach me about slavery in Canada. Not even of slavery of Indigenous people. I remember being taught about the “trading,” and “successful negotiations” that would happen among settlers and my ancestors, sometimes after battles. Settlers considered themselves to be a type of saviour, to this land. Not once, were slaves given a voice in the education system that was taught when I was growing up. The reason for this, in my opinion, is that knowingly, this information directly contradicts the “hard work,” that British and French settlers did for Canada today. These settlers are the reason we even have an education system, the same system that blindfolds it’s students. That information would be detrimental to the foundation of Canada. This misleading information, this terrible kind of education is the reason why we have violence and racism in this country. This is why racialized groups are marginalized and oppressed. White Canadian citizens feel that they are the ones that are owed thank yous, and apologies. They are owed sympathy and rewards for “letting” immigrants take shelter in this great country.

“BLM-TO co-founders and their supporters marched into the 2017 parade close to the intersection of Yonge and College street where, a year earlier, they’d interrupted the festivities to call out Pride Toronto, the not-for-profit organization that runs the annual celebrations. This time the group’s signs read, “May we never again need to remind you that we, too, are queer,” and “May we never again need to remind you that WE built this” and that “we shut it down for ALL OF US.” I remember this as righteous, bold, inspirational and powerful- But not surprising.”

I wish I could have been there to agree with them. To rally beside them, and take honour in their pride. To me, this is a reminder that the society we live in today, no longer cares about history or where we came from. It no longer cares about the pain and suffering that was experienced, to get us to where we are today. When the executive of Pride misleading signed their list of demands when BLM-TO interrupted the parade and said the next day “What I did was move the parade forward,” I get that, however I felt distrust. I felt that having pride in your own dignity meant nothing, and that people are constantly misconstruing what this means. People mistake integrity, with entitlement. They confuse honour, with gratification. This was a great reminder that, where we come from, in all walks of life, our paths should never be forgotten. It should never be disrespected or looked down on. Everything that we go through, unjust or just, shapes, molds, and builds who we are today as a civilization and individuals.

“Canadians who do recognize historical injustice seem to understand it in this way:

Bad things happened.

Bad things stopped happening and equality was achieved.

The low social and political status held by Indigenous peoples is now wholly based on the choice to be corrupt, lazy, inefficient and unsuited to the modern world.”

Desmond quotes this excerpt from Chelsea Vowel’s novel “Indigenous Writes.” This three point bulletin explains exactly how most Canadians understand their country now. It highlights that things happened, and now there is a notion that those same things no longer happen. These days when government officials in Ottawa hold press conferences, or public meetings, they say “ We [I] would like to begin by acknowledging that the land on which we gather is the traditional unceded territory of the Algonquin Anishnaabeg People.” I am not disagreeing that they should not acknowledge it. However, I acknowledge that it is not enough, and never will be enough. Bad things happened to these people, and they get less than 2% of Canadian soil for reserves. Acknowledging that these lands once belonged, and still rightfully belong to these nations and tribes, only serves to coddle Canadians, and dismisses the conversations that many people are still fighting to have.