#into the body of primary school me where everyone is mad and not making sense

[loud-whistling-yes]

I've been describing this college semester's mood as the emotional equivalent of being dragged face down uphill through mud and babygirl today is a towed by a speeding car through a highway facedown kinda week

[1800-omi]

scared.

characters: sakusa x reader

warnings/genre: liberal use of italics, female reader, swearing, angst, fluff

notes: i tried to proof read as much as possible i swear

Saying Sakusa Kiyoomi was good-looking was an understatement. Everything — from his soft skin to the way his perfect black curls fell on his forehead to his deep brown eyes — looked amazing on him. From that description alone one might say Kiyoomi is feminine, but his well built body and strong jaw say otherwise. He was pretty. Perfect balance between masculine and feminine. With that said, you couldn’t understand how Sakusa Kiyoomi had eyes for you when everyone else had eyes for him.

In fact, Kiyoomi not only had the looks, but he had the smarts too. He had perfect grades, had won so many awards, so many certificates. He had been at the top of his class ever since primary school. You weren’t sure whether there was something he has not achieved. He is the golden boy every family wanted, so when your family found out you were dating him you could say they were more than pleased.

Having known him for more than 3 years and having dated him for 2 years, you knew that being Sakusa Kiyoomi’s partner wasn’t easy. To others, you weren’t Y/N, you were Sakusa’s girlfriend. The perfect girlfriend for the perfect boy, always by his side, always supporting him. This was not necessarily a bad thing, but at times you thought whether you’d ever be more than just someone’s girlfriend. Not to mention, were you just an accessory to him too? When with him, you had this terrible desire to be loved, and still there was a horrible fear of being left behind.

Once again, you decide to put all these thoughts and insecurities aside. Letting out a soft sigh, you open the door of the café you were supposed to be meeting your boyfriend. The edge of the door shakes a little bell, causing it to ring, alerting the people in the café that someone has entered. You look around the place, eyes searching for your boyfriend.

The café was decorated beautifully, with big lilac plants planted in vases placed at the corners of the room. Each table had a little vase with a small flower on it, you never were sure whether all of them were real or not. The metal chairs were each coloured differently and looked quite vintage, each of them had a cushion placed on top of it, to make it more comfortable. The pastry and desserts the café offered also smelled wonderful. This place calmed your nerves the moment you stepped in which is why it was your favourite place to spend time in.

Looking around the café, you see Kiyoomi sitting at your usual place, at the corner. You make your way to the table he’s sitting at and sit in front of him.

“Hello, love,” he says the moment you take a seat, “how was your day?”

You take your bag off and put it on the empty chair beside you. “My day was good. I'm quite tired, though.”

“Not getting proper sleep again?” he raised an eyebrow, “you do know that's not healthy, right?”

Another thing Sakusa Kiyoomi likes to do is make sure you’re living as much of a healthy and perfect life as he is. You knew he did this out of love but sometimes you couldn't help but feel as if you couldn't keep up with him and his perfect lifestyle.

“Yes, I know. Don’t worry, I did get sleep, I just didn't get my daily coffee today.” That was a lie. You were up all night studying for your exams. The exams you have not studied nearly enough for because of the responsibilities that came with being the cheerleader’s captain.

“That’s good then.” A waitress walked to the table you were sitting in, placing two coffees and two slices of cake on it, one for each of you. “I ordered for us, I hope you don't mind.” He says and he removes his mask getting ready to sip his coffee.

“Thank you, you always know what I like.” you smile at him before looking down at your slice of cake, grabbing a fork and begging to eat it.

You see Kiyoomi grab his phone and swipe a few times all before opening his mouth and saying. “The exam results are out.”

With that, you feel your stomach turn and you get hit by a sudden wave of anxiety. You are not sure whether or not you want to check your results right now. You know you did not do well, but you can't just stand there staring at your cake either. You slowly pick up your phone, hands slightly shaking. Kiyoomi doesn't notice this, actually, he does not know this side of you at all.

He sees you swipe a couple of times, all before freezing and gulping. You’re praying he doesn't ask about your grade, so you try to ask him questions instead. “So, what did you get?” you put your phone down and put both your hands on your lap, playing with your fingers under the table.

“Maximum points, as usual,” he answers, making your stomach feel even sicker.

“That’s amazing! Congratulation—”

“What about you?” he interrupts you, his dark brown eyes staring into yours.

“I did, um, I did alright!” you stutter, forcing a smile at him. You were proud of your grade, but you knew he would not feel the same. It wasn't even his opinion on his grade that mattered to you, it was the fact he did better than you. You used all the free time you had for studying, you truly gave it your all, and yet here you are, second, again.

“Let me check.” before you could protest, he grabs your phone.

“No, Kiyoomi, ” by the time the words left your mouth he’s already swiped a couple times.

He opens his mouth and lets out a soft sigh, a soft sigh that almost went unnoticed by you. “You know, I’m gonna need to tutor you more often.”

Here he goes, once again, making your heart ache. Making you feel so small, so useless, so ashamed. He does not know that you were expecting way worse. He does not know that if you didn't have him, you would be way happier with your results. To him, your efforts are small, so, so small. This feeling has been going on for years now, you can’t remember whether there was ever a time where you didn't feel like the second-best beside him. He made you feel so pathetic, it made you angry and unbearably sad.

“Actually, no, I don't think I need your tutoring. I did quite well.”

“I know you did, but you could’ve done better.”

“Oh? Well, I didn’t and I’m proud of my results.” You raised your voice slightly. Your tone made it seem like you were trying to prove something wrong even though there was nothing to prove him wrong.

He could sense you were mad at him and he didn’t even know why, which made him angry too. “What’s with the attitude? It’s not my fault you didn’t study. You literally had weeks to do it.”

That did it. You were at the edge of breaking. “You know what? You’re right, it’s not your fault. I was the one wasting time coming to all your games and getting your cheerleading squad ready. I was the one wasting time supporting you and your dumb fucking team.” At the end of the sentence, your voice broke and your vision was getting blurry by your tears. By now, everyone else in the café was staring at the argument go down. “Next time, I won’t even fucking bother.” You grabbed your bag and rushed out the door, trying to sob as quietly as possible.

His eyes had widened at your response. He put his head on his hands and whispered, “Fuck, I messed up.”

It had been two weeks since you last talked to Kiyoomi and there was not a day that passed in which you had not thought of your fight with him. Whenever you thought about what went down you felt sick. Yet here you are, sitting on your desk, homework waiting to be finished in front of you while you think about it again. All Kiyoomi was trying to do was help you, how could you be so selfish? How could you let your jealousy take over? Your failures are not his fault. You should’ve just studied, but you’re so fucking useless you can't even do that properly. Regret and anxiety had consumed you. Seeing him in the hallways of the school didn't help. You weren't sure what was going on with your relationship anymore, is he breaking up with you? Once again you were dragged away from these thoughts by the sound of knocking on your bedroom door. You shake your head, trying to make yourself sound as normal as possible before talking, “Come in!” you say, looking back at the homework in front of you.

“Hey, ” You’re shocked to hear a voice that didn't belong to any of your family members. You turn around to see Kiyoomi. “Your mom told me to come up, sorry if I'm interrupting.”

“No, it's alright.” you stay quiet, not sure whether you're gonna continue this conversation normally or not. Should you apologise? Should he be the one to apologise?

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi speaks up and continues before you can reply. “Can I sit down?” You nod and get up from your desk as he sits down on your bed. You sit down next to him and speak.

“ 'm sorry as well.”

“No, you don't have anything to apologise for. I shouldn't have said what I said.”

“No, you don't understand, it's my fault. I, ” you start tearing up, “I was so selfish and I was jealous and, and–”

“Jealous? Of what?”

“Of everything! I mean, you’re so perfect and you achieve everything you want to and I’m just so terrified of being left behind. I'm so terrified of always being second.”

“Love,” he pulled you into his arms, making you start sobbing.

“And I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better girlfriend, I’m so sorry.” You manage to get out through the sobs. “It’s just that these thoughts have been hurting me so, so much. I don’t think I can take it.”

He kept hugging you as he answered. “Love, I couldn’t have asked for a better girlfriend. You’re always so supportive and I know you always try your best.” He placed a kiss on your forehead, “I’m sorry for making you feel this way. Please know that to me, you’ll always be the first. I love you.” You hadn't expected Kiyoomi to say anything, he had always been the type to just let his presence comfort you. The fact he’s trying to reach out to you with his words made you realise how much you meant to him.

“I love you too.” you wipe your tears. “Thank you, Omi.”

Instead of replying, he kisses you. You missed his soft lips on yours, you missed the feeling of having him so close to you. You missed feeling so loved, feeling so important to someone and at the same time having someone who’s just as important to you. You missed him.

reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[missbrunettebarbie]

Has anyone tried to sort the characters from The Winx or the Barbie Movies ?

I assume you mean the original Winx Club and I am afraid I don't remember that enough to try and sort it. Buut I did a rewatch of (the more interesting) Barbie movies and with the help of @the-phoenix-heart @starry-sky-stuff @laufire here are the Babries we’ve sorted:

1. Clara (Barbie in the Nutcracker)- Lion Snake. The movie focuses a lot on Clara's dreams and goals. Her Snake is a bit more hidden, but she has the same quiet Snake secondary energy kids that grew up in controlling/abusive households tend to develop. Plus remember when she had to save Eric she straight up lied to the guards?

2. Rapunzel (Barbie as Rapunzel)- Double Bird; the brush is such a Bird sec tool and she has that Bird primary vibe. Not to mention this shows that you can have The (Mad) Scientist sorting with artists too 

3. Odette (Barbie in Swan Lake)-Badger Lion. Her secondary is a bit burned in the begining but she gets better. Badger because of how much she cares about literally everyone, from people to mythical animals.

4. Annelisse (Barbie in the Princess and the Pauper)- Snake Bird. Her People are her mom -for whom she might have developed a bit of a Lion model- and Julian and what other secondary would collect and classify rocks for fun?

5. Erika (Barbie in the Princess and the Pauper)- Snake Lion. She ~bonds with Annelisse which is the only reason why she goes along with Julian’s plan -her only other Person is her cat xD- and I will say Lion secondary because she is clearly Improvisional and so snippy to her employer

6. Elina (Barbie: Fairytopia series) - Double Badger. "For the friends you haven’t met” is such a Badger primary say and the only thing to get Elina out of her trance in the first movie. I hesitated between Lion and Courtier Badger but the last two movies made me choose the latter.

7. Teenage Barbie (Barbie Diaries) - Lion Badger. To quote Phoenix: “ People pleaser with dreams of being popular and a news anchor is a total Lion Badger ”

8. Genevieve (Barbie in the 12 dancing princesses) -Badger Bird. She is the one that is always willing to lend a hand and who keeps her mom's traditions alive. And she always go for logical solutions (dad is sick, call the doctor), makes the plan to defeat Rowena in the end AND when Rowena attacks her she defends herself using the fan skills she learned from the duchess herself :DD. Not to mention that she seems the most capable to rule out of all the sisters so The King sorting fits her well

9. Ro (Barbie as The Island Princess)- Bird Badger. We see her caretake in the very first minutes of the movie with Tika or how she chases away the crocodiles. I chose her primary mostly by elimination, but I think it’s fitting for a girl who has an entire song with lyrics that start with “why” and wears a peacock dress. Symbolism much xDD. Not to mentionBird Badger is The Survivor and Ro sure is one.

10. Mariposa (Barbie: Mariposa) - Lion Bird She's clearly an Intuitive primary abd the way she's carving adventure and visiting far-away places made me settle on Lion. Also it might be me, but the sentence "I don't know what's worse, failing or admiting it to people who believed in me?" sounds veeery Lion primary. She loves reading books, and uses the knowledge she gathers from them to accomplish her goal which is a very Bird secondary MO.

11. Liana (Barbie and the Diamond Castle) - Double Snake. Her Snake secondary is easy to spot: she tricks Slyder with switching the mirrors, she gets her and Alex to play music at the restaurant for a meal. It's obvious Liana is a Loyalist and for the longest time I thought she was a Badger, but a Badger would not have been happy living alone just with Alexa in their small cottage. Also, her very betrayed speech to Melody after Alexa leaves her is so Snake to me xD

12. Eden Starling (Barbie in A Christmas Carol). Snake Lion. Her primary is burned at the start of the movie and yet we can still see how she is loyal to both her dead aunt and her cat. The entire movie is about her unburning and it is cathartic to watch. Lion secondary because she is abrasive at the best of times and at the end she relies on grand gestures to make ammends.

13. Thumbelina (Barbie presents: Thumbelina)- Lion Bird. She's an inventor so the Bird is obvious. Her dedication to save her home, her adventurous spirit, and her confrontational attitude with Mackena all scream Lion primary to me.

14. Corrine (Barbie in The Three Musketeers) - Double Lion. Could the girl who lifted the ban on female Musketeers be anything else but The Revolutionary? Corrine is a dauntless improviser and very stubborn. She starts as a bit of an immature Lion who wants to fight for glory and has to learn to fight for what's right.

15. Merliah (Barbie on a Mermaid Tale)- Lion Snake. Another immaure Glory Hound Lion who learns to embrace her role as princess. I considered Lion secondary, but I am pretty sure her rival/co-protagonist in the second movie-Kylie- is one. And while they are similar, Kylie is much more direct and abrasive which makes me think Merliah is a Snake who loves to live in neutral. She's certanly charming enough to be one.

16. Actress!Barbie (Barbie in a Fashion Fairytale+Fairy Secret)- Badger Snake. She's an Exterior primary that's very affected by what the world thinks. Also note that when she wants to get away she does not go to a completely unknown place like her friends suggest, but to her aunt's fashion house because that's where she feels safe. Her determination to save both the fashion house and then Ken felt almost Lion secondary at times, but I think she's a Snake: she is an actress, the interaction with the crazy director in Fashion Fairytale points to Fluid secondary and The Advisor seems to pretty much sum up her role in the first movie.

17. Blair (Barbie in Princess Charm School)- Snake Badger. Probably the Snakiest Snake primary Barbie as everything she does is for her mom and sister. She's a hard worker as proven by both her job as a waitress than by the way she has to practice to do well in the charm school.

18. Kristyn (Barbie in the Pink Shoes)- Bird Snake. The Artist probably fits this ballerina best. She's an Improviser as the whole movie proves, yet has no Lion bone in her body. Also her glee at getting to play -not just dance the part, actually be- Giselle and Odette points to Snake secondary. Bird primary becauss when she's stuck in the plays her system automatically shifts to integrate the rules of the world she is in, no matter how crazy they are.

19. Lumina (Barbie: Pearl Princess) - Bird Badger. She craves adventure and it's most likely an External primary but has no sense of community the way Badgers do. Badger secondary because of how enthusiastic she was to have a job just because she got to work.

20. Alexa (Babrie and The Secret Door)- Bird Lion. All her daydreaming and escapist fantasies made me think Bird primary. I chose burned Lion secondary because in a lot of ways, Alexa reminded me of well, me.

21. Starlight!Barbie (Barbie: Starlight Adventure)- Badger Lion. She cares about people and animals a lot and well, she is an hoverboarder and a daredevil.

ETA: 22. Annika (Barbie and The Magic of Pegasus) - Lion Snake. Her sneaking out plus her Oedypuss style deception points to Snake secondary. Her rebllious and passionate nature as well as her determination point to Lion primary.

Wow, this was not easy. But also fun :D

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 2

Here we gooooo :) Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @remedialpotions, @not-steve42, @jamezbot, @gryffindorhealer, and the majority of the HG server for their help <3

If you’ve just arriving, here is Chapter 1. :)

_____________________

D A Y  +  T W O 

He’s driving her mad. Absolutely fucking mad.

Ginny grips the hose in an attempt to water the rose bush outside their window, but her eyes are unfocused, unseeing.

This entire thing was such a terrible idea.

She should’ve insisted on another Auror as backup on her first solo mission. Someone less attractive. Someone she hadn’t shagged up one side of the Burrow and down the next.

But the request was difficult to grant in the first place. It took Ginny a full year of documentation to prove this was a necessary use of resources. Attica (and Unspeakables in general) don’t tend to be well-liked by the older Aurors, which made Harry the best fit. The only fit. Everyone— from Kingsley to Attica to even Hermione— agreed. And even aside from the sheer convenience of it all, Ginny’s years of experience with the Thought Chamber and Harry’s ability to sniff out trouble like a niffler after gold made them a brilliant combination to tackle… this.

It’s just a pity, then, that she still finds him so bloody attractive. Even though he’s become a bit of a brooding, sarcastic mess.

Ginny blinks down at the bright pink petals, their leathery flesh beaded with water droplets. Maybe the problem’s that she hasn’t spent much time around him since then. He still comes around for Sunday roast, of course, when his work schedule permits. In spite of what Mum went through, she’d never allow Harry to feel unwelcome. It’s his house as much as theirs— and yes, Ginny still lives at home. It’s the least she can do to maintain a degree of normalcy, even though everything irrevocably changed when It happened.

Ginny’s hands begin to shake around the hose; her brain starts to spiral. The Burrow is less welcoming now. Their hugs are more forced. Their family more distant. And although everyone functions on a basic human level, Ginny knows in her gut that the remaining Weasley siblings — Harry most certainly included — are still going through the motions to cope.

And maybe it’s because she really hadn’t had a libido in nearly five years, but fuck, it hasn’t taken much to come rushing back. Her thighs press together as her head fills with another series of intrusive thoughts instead. But she can’t suppress the memory of Harry emerging from the shower this morning, his top-half dripping, his bottom-half toweled. Not that it matters much, not when she knows every fucking inch of—

“I think that bush is good now!”

Ginny jumps, a string of swears springing to her lips. “I— fuck.” She turns to the unexpected voice. “Sorry! Let me—”

But Oliver from last night merely leans over to turn off the hose. “You’ll quickly learn that sort of language isn’t great for Arcadia, Jen,” he intones, finger wagging.

Years of training allow Ginny to blush in chagrin. To shove aside the telling-off she’d have provided a long, long time ago. “Sorry.” She winces. “It’s just a habit, leftover from—”

“—London, right,” he finishes, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anyway. Listen. Sharon and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner tonight.”

“Did I hear something about dinner?” Harry strolls out of the house, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying thump. “Goodie! As my wife knows, dinner is my favorite word.” He rests his chin on her head, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. Ginny’s heart clenches in familiarity even as her face remains placid. They agreed to all of these terms beforehand… to feign public affection. To seem utterly smitten. It’s just funny how they’ve both relied on old habits.

Ginny reckons that makes sense, though. After all, it worked for them once.

She turns towards Harry with a pout. “But Pookie Pie, I thought your favorite word was snuggles! We certainly did enough of that last night.”

Harry’s chuckle rings out with false bravado as he tucks her hair behind her ears. “We did something, all right. Not sure if snuggling is the right word for it. What do you think, Oliver?” Harry whips around to face him. “What’s your favorite word for… marital relations?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively above his glasses; Ginny stomps on his foot to keep herself from laughing.

Oliver, however, does not find them delightful. “I think this is for you. From Mike.” He points to a box that he apparently rested on the ground while Ginny was drowning the roses.

Harry bends over to pick it up. This does nothing to distract her.

“Couldn’t Mike erm…” Ginny shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry. Couldn’t he bring it over himself? He lives just—”

“Out of town on business, I’m afraid.” Oliver’s voice turns cold as he peers at Ginny again. “He won’t be back for weeks. Months, maybe.”

Ginny makes a noise of concern and rests a fist on her hip. “Huh! That’s funny. What out-of-town business could a primary school teacher possibly have?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow, but his grin remains. “Teacher business, I guess.”

“When can we speak to someone about the trampoline?” Harry blurts, slicing the tension. “I’m missing my exercise, Ollie. It’s how I stay fit. You won’t like me when I’m not exercising!”

With that, Oliver’s grin finally fades. “Well, you can ask Mr. Gogolak, but I don’t think anything will come of it. He’s available tonight from 5 o’clock to 6:13, on the dot. He lives just up there, on the corner. Anyway, I’ll be off.” He gives a parting wave and turns to walk up the drive, but Harry isn’t done.

“Not sure how we’ll manage to make that and dinner, though,” he calls. “Don’t we have to be indoors by six?”

But it seems Oliver is absolutely intent on being elsewhere, because he opts to walk backwards and yell from the street. “Of course not!” he shouts. “Six is only the move-in deadline.” Then he barks out a cruel laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Any idiot knows that dinner starts at 7!” With that, he sends them a final glare before lumbering away, his brown loafers crunching on the pavement.

Harry and Ginny snort in unison; if Oliver hears them, he doesn’t engage.

“See you later!” Ginny confirms, ensuring it’s loud enough for him to hear. Then she drops her voice to a stage-whisper and cups her hand into a regal wave. “Hope Sharon removes that stick from your arse before dinner tonight, you miserable sack of shit. Suck my dick!”

Harry laughs. “As much as I appreciate the support, Muffin Cakes, that’s one insult that just doesn’t work when you say it.”

And Ginny doesn’t know what comes over her next… she really, really doesn’t.

Because in the blink of an eye, she’s pushed Harry against the front door with a petulant pout. The pulsing between her legs returns with humiliating swiftness; it’s a blessing, really, that Harry’s dreadful at flirting and picking up on cues. They’re in public, but this is the furthest thing from acting.

Nonetheless, Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs as her arms drape around his neck. She watches, rapt, as his eyes darken. Apart from that one slip-up last night, he’s excelled at his job… and as she leans into his hard chest, she realizes how she really feels: she's jealous. Dreadfully jealous.

How dare he be better at this? What in hell gave him the right to soak her knickers with a single look? She’s had years of professional training and a lifetime of practice, but it comes naturally to him— this pretending shit.

And for fuck’s sake… he’s a lot better at it.

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been in my knickers, Baby Bear,” she croons, batting her eyelashes. “How would you know?”

She intends it playfully. A gentle way to put him in his place. But to her surprise, something stinging and sober crosses Harry’s face.

The moment’s over… absolutely over.

In a flash, he pushes her away and gestures at the door. After you. She nods, still turned on but now confused. The whole thing reminds her of ancient history, where she waited for him after each quidditch practice and thought, wished, prayed that he’d touch her… all while hoping to God he wouldn’t.

It takes until they’re inside for her to figure out why he’s upset.

He locks the door behind them with a wave of his wand— and when he whips around, his face is twisted into such a brooding scowl that it pins her on the spot. Shit.

“It goes without saying,” Harry mutters, voice dangerously low, “that there are some things a bloke just doesn’t forget.” He lets out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering. “Ok?”

Oh.

Ginny’s cheeks flush as it all comes rushing back. She’s honestly forgotten how… attached he was to that ability. How much he prided himself on being able to please her. How he worshipped her body with such respectful, hushed reverence that it still features in her fantasies.

It seems there’s a limit to his acting skills, after all. A line that he just won’t cross. She should be chuffed that she got what she wanted. Instead, her stomach throbs with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He waves his hand over his shoulder and trudges upstairs, leaving her in hollow silence.

Right.

_________________________________

Mr. Gogolak crosses his left leg over his right and swirls his brandy tumbler. Between the ruddy patches on his cheeks and the way his words slip over each other, it’s not his first of the evening. Harry’s reminded of Slughorn. In the worst possible way.

“Anyway.” Gogolak waves at the massive tabbed binder to his left. “As the rules clearly stipulate, a trampoline would lead to other things. Unsavory things.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

Harry’s eyes flit around the room, trying to take it all in. The decor is… nice, he supposes, if you want every guest to be aware — beyond a shadow of a doubt— that You’ve Been Abroad, thanks. Multi-colored felt flower vases dot the floating shelves above Gogolak’s head, each a pop of color in a room that’s otherwise painfully beige. Scrolls hand-painted with renditions of Buddha and Lokta hang on the far wall. And above them… Harry cocks his head, puzzled, and tries to place where he’s seen that particular mask before.

“Of course,” Ginny agrees with a fervent nod. “We understand the need for decorum and cooperation, don’t we, Hen?”

“Where‘s that mask from?” Harry blurts, nudging his chin up.

Ginny rubs her temples in frustration, but if anything, Gogolak seems flattered.

“Oh! That.” His face flushes with pride as he takes another drink. “That’s a wrathful Mahakala mask. From Tibet! I bought it cheap off a street orphan during my last trip. Can’t say he had much need for it, what with being starving and living in the street.” His laugh booms over the sitting room.

Harry tries to focus. He’s there for Ginny. He’s there for Ginny. He’s only backup. But ah, bugger, after the other shit today it’s too much, and—

“Ha!” Harry returns his humorless laugh. “Isn’t poverty hilarious, Jen?”

There’s an anxious pause.

Ginny ends it with a fake giggle of her own. “As you can see, Mr. Gogolak, my husband is growing a bit testy without his exercise!” She nudges Harry in the ribs— hard enough to make her point, but not hard enough to hurt. “So if we could only have the trampoline, then—”

“‘Fraid not,” Gogolak slurs, peering down at his brandy again. “See, there’s a reason Arcadia has been named Best Village for so long: People simply love to live here!”

“Oh?” Ginny returns her teacup to the table. “Everyone loves to live here?” She rests her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to a discreet whisper. “What about the people who’ve gone missing, then?”

At first, Gogolak is unperturbed. Then his smile deepens, his eyes traveling from Ginny’s face down to her chest. For fuck’s sake. This arsehole can’t be serious! Harry’s gut swirls with something visceral and protective. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as his hand inches for the wand in his back pocket. Ginny catches his hand on the way and interlaces their fingers with an almost imperceptible, “Shh.”

“Well, well, well,” Gogolak drawls, leaning back to full-on leer at her. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Should’ve known. You’re a ginger, after all.”

Wrong answer.

“Not sure what the color of her hair has to do with her question,” Harry says stiffly. It’s the politest thing he can manage. Ginny squeezes his thigh.

Gogolak faces Harry instead, his face a mask of delighted malice. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Petri,” he drawls. “You must forgive an old man for noticing.”

“Pee-tri,” Harry grouses.

Is it possible to accidentally Avada Kedavra someone with your eyes? Surely he’d be forgiven for that, yeah? He counts five deep breaths, his face burning, as he waits for Ginny to take the lead.

He’s still a bit taken aback at how quickly things changed. He thought he was irritated with her earlier, but now he realizes that frustrated is a better word. They haven’t been together in ages, but she has to know what she still does to him. It wasn’t like she’d grown less beautiful. And while he’s not proud of how things ended, he’s spent the last five years taking pride in knowing her. In being her first, as primitive and knuckle-dragging as that sounds. Because no matter how bad things were, he was always able to make her…

Yeah.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Had he deluded himself into thinking it was as good for her as it was for him?

Ginny clears her throat again. “But what of the people?” she prompts. “The missing people? Like Eric Highland, who lived in our house until last August, when—”

“Oh, him!” Gogolak booms out another uncomfortable laugh and drains the rest of his tumbler. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but—” He makes a slitting motion across his throat and pours himself another drink. “Committed suicide. Quite a mess.”

Then Gogolak stills, his eyes widening; for the first time this evening, he looks vaguely embarrassed. “Oh, but not in your home, of course!” He waves his hand dismissively. “We’d never, you know, let someone move in after that. Would affect property values, you see.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his ears as Ginny clenches his hand, for once. He wonders if he’s ever given less of a shit about property values.

Another span of uncomfortable silence stretches between them… but this one grows more furious and heated with every second. The version of her he knew before would have Bat Bogeyed this wanker before she took a breath. But everything’s different now.

“That’s… not the preferred term,” Ginny finally manages, her voice strained. Harry grips her hand more tightly; that odd rush of pride returns. He knew she’d say something. There’s not a single version of her that would let that go.

Gogolak’s brow furrows. “What do you—”

“—Took his life,” Ginny interjects, her voice ringing with the righteousness Harry only dimly recognizes from the woman he knew before. “Or died by suicide. Or had terminal depression.”

He holds her hand even tighter as she draws a deep breath, shifting in her seat. Get him, Gin. Get the bastard. Whatever you need, I’m there.

“Committed is a word that… implies a crime,” Ginny finishes. But her words sound careful now. “It just adds to the stigma that people with mental illness are problematic. Words mean things. So.”

Gogolak presses his lips into a thin line. “Forget I brought it up.”

“I will,” Ginny says coolly.

Ginny hadn’t thought much could be worse than the meeting with Mr. Gogolak. Unfortunately, dinner with Sharon and Oliver is proving her wrong.

“This is free-range chicken, of course,” Oliver drawls, gesturing towards their plates. “Got them at the organic market. Anything for health!”

They’d already been treated to iceberg lettuce salads and glasses of generic Merlot. Perhaps she should have anticipated chicken breast and rice as the thrilling main course.

Harry cuts his chicken breast with a sigh. “That’s a pity, Oliver. We all know that caged chickens are tastier!”

Ginny muffles a snort with a cough and reaches for her glass of wine.

Sharon pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth, to peer at Harry, bleary-eyed and confused. Oh, for fuck’s sake; what was it about suburbia that removed one’s ability to recognize a joke?

Oliver changes the subject before Ginny gets the chance. “Where did you two meet, anyway?” he grunts. “And how long have you been married?”

Ginny smiles, preparing the canned response they practiced for months. They met in uni through mutual friends. They both work in computers, and last year, they finally realized it was time to leave the big city.

Harry shatters all of that with three words.

“Magic camp, actually!” he announces, throwing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

Fuck. She analyzes her chicken with newfound intensity and tries to imagine something sad.

“Huh,” Oliver says flatly. “Wouldn’t have taken either of you for magicians.”

Sharon has the grace to act embarrassed. “Now now, love,” she chides, reaching for the breadbasket, “I’m sure people have loads of hobbies that aren’t always obvious to everyone!”

“Exactly!” Harry grins and reaches for a piece of baguette. “Besides, it’s mostly Jenny who’s mad for it. Card tricks, pulling bunnies from hats, sawing women in half. Even—” he pauses for a dramatic gasp— “magic wands! You name it, she loves it.”

“Well!” Sharon raises her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s feigning being impressed. “If I’m ever in need of disappearing something, I’ll know who to call!”

Aha! The perfect opening!

“Speaking of disappearing,” Ginny starts, as casually as possible, “we checked with Saint Julian’s Primary. It’s not true Mike left on business.”

Sharon’s smile freezes and melts with such speed that Ginny feels a pang of sympathy. Poor Sharon. She’s really just doing her best to be a pleasant hostess. It’s Oliver who has the clear ulterior motive.

The man in question takes another sip of wine, unfazed. “And why did you have interest in contacting a primary school in the first place? Bit weird for a grown adult, that.”

Harry releases another fake chuckle. “Oh, Oliver, you’re such a prankster!” He bites off some bread. “Surely you’re not turning the tables on my wife and accusing her of being the weird one. After all, all she did was ask about the whereabouts of a lovely member of our community. Right?”

He gives Oliver such an exaggerated wink that even Ginny almost believes him. “And besides…” Harry’s hand wraps around her shoulder again. “Do you reckon we should tell them?” he murmurs, voice laden with his expectation.

Ginny rolls her eyes, fully intent on a thin-lipped, silent warning about making shit up… but Harry’s earnest expression stops her. His green eyes blink behind his glasses, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Before she knows what’s happening, one of his warm hands cups her chin while the other comes to rest on her stomach.

Oh. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding— because for a moment, she forgets where she is. She forgets they’re faking. She forgets they split up and chose separate paths, that they weren’t looking through a portal of what could have been, should have been, before their lives turned to shit.

“Not yet, of course,” Harry murmurs, appearing for all the world like he’s drinking her in as his fingers tap at her stomach. “But soon. We hope.”

And with that, he abruptly clears his throat and turns back to the Skinners. “Anyway, that’s why we called Saint Julian’s,” Harry adds, nonchalantly as you please. “Always good to be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sharon cries, clasping her hands together. “And yes, I agree— preparedness is key.”

“Knew you’d be happy for us,” Harry says with another wink. “Quite an exciting time, I’m sure you understand.”

It’s then that Ginny finds her voice. “So. Erm,” she starts, trying to focus. “They hadn’t heard from him. Mike. The school, I mean.” She takes another sip of wine to get her bearings back. “Any idea where he could’ve gone? You understand why we’re a bit worried, especially if we’re planning to—”

“No,” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. Sharon’s fork clatters to her plate; if swearing were allowed in this house, Ginny’s confident she would’ve let one slip. “I don’t understand, and you’ll find that snooping isn’t a past-time I appreciate,” Oliver finishes, drawing himself up taller to puff out his chest.

Ginny lets out an incredulous chuckle. “But Oliver… this is a matter of safety. We’re worried about our neighbor.”

“Yeah, Ollie-O!” Harry clucks his tongue, relaxing further into his chair. “Perhaps Arcadia isn’t as perfect as we were led to believe.”

Oliver just fixes them both with a stern glare. “Nope,” he says flatly. The p pops. “You’re wrong. Per usual.”

For six seconds, the four of them sit in painful, frigid silence. Ginny feels Harry’s hand reach behind him… inching closer to his wand...

“Jenny!” Sharon finally chirps, her voice a falsetto. Oh, thank fuck. “I need to walk the dog. Would you join me?”

___________________________

Captain Bone’s toenails tick on the pavement as Sharon holds his lead. Ginny peers at him with unexpected affection as he prances beneath the street lights. Dogs are too high-maintenance for her to even consider, but something about this one is undeniably appealing. As if he hears her, Captain Bone turns to Ginny with a slobbery grin.

Sharon laughs. “He likes you. He’s a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Ginny scratches beneath the thick leather collar with Captain Bone emblazoned on a bronze plate. He throws his head back for more access. Poor Captain Bone. The whole collar looked horribly uncomfortable. “I like him too,” Ginny agrees as he flounces away. “I’m afraid work keeps me too busy for a dog, though.”

Sharon waves this away. “Nah. I’ve seen the way Henry stares at you.” She flashes a knowing smile as they continue strolling, side-by-side. “I reckon if you really wanted a dog, he’d oblige.”

Captain Bone halts, mid-step, and picks up his leg. Sharon removes a waste bag from her pocket.

“You’re probably right,” Ginny mutters. She’s not sure why that feels like admitting to a scandal.

Sharon sighs. “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.” Her voice grows wistful, distant; Ginny has a feeling she’s not actually talking about Harry at all.

“Well, we are newlyweds.” Ginny mashes her kitten heel — a clothing acquisition specific to this assignment — into the pavement. “I’m erm. Sure that’ll change.”

But Sharon just stares at Captain Bone as he does his business. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But I don’t reckon Oliver ever looked at me quite like that.”

Ginny blinks at Sharon beneath the streetlight, the fluorescent throwing her features into sharp relief. Wrinkles fold the corners of her eyes. Bits of gray sprout at her scalp beneath the warm chestnut color. Her smile may have been natural once, but now it’s forced. Uneasy. Ginny grimaces. This poor woman… imagine thinking you couldn’t do better than a wanker like Oliver.

“Shit!” Sharon swears, ripping Ginny from her reverie— and soon, she sees why. Captain Bone charges down the street, his lead scraping the ground like a limp noodle. “I wasn’t holding him tightly enough,” she whispers, horrified. “I’ll have to—”

“No,” Ginny says, taking off her heels and thrusting them into Sharon’s arms. “Let me!” And with that, she’s off, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“Don’t blame you for trying to get away,” Ginny mutters, rounding a corner. “The place is bloody creepy. But next time, Captain Bone, could you do this in broad daylight? Nighttime ‘round here is—”

Wait.

Ginny stops, dead in her tracks. A weird sensation creeps over her, crawling against her skin. All the street noise vanishes. Crickets stop chirping; wind stops whistling. She looks around, panic rising in her throat, but nothing looks amiss. She can’t shake it, though… their eerie, numb ringing that fills her head, and—

Like a thunderclap, it all comes back. The faint wind returns. Bugs resume their buzzing. The electric lamppost makes a dull crackling just above her.

Weird. Very fucking weird.

Luckily, Ginny specializes in weird; in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was, she’s more confused than frightened. She takes a few more shaky steps, making every observation she can (temperature, cloud pattern, weather conditions, insect movement)... and that’s when she spies something glinting to her left. Something golden and stuffed in a storm drain.

No. Ginny’s heart pounds as she rushes over, sinking to her knees. It can’t be…

But the closer she gets, the clearer it is: Mike’s chain necklace… the medallion of Saint Julian. Right beside Captain Bone’s pretentious leather collar. For the first time, fear floods her stomach. She surreptitiously reaches for the wand tucked into her waistband. “Accio necklace.” It soars through the gate and into her hand just as Sharon’s footsteps round the corner.

Ginny shoves the necklace into her bra— and it’s only then she realizes that there must’ve been something strange and slimy hanging from it, because whatever the fuck that was is now pressed to her right nipple.

Blech. It takes every bit of her willpower not to shudder and gag. She manages to school her features into innocent concern as Sharon finally catches up.

“Well,” pants Sharon, hands on her thighs, “did you find him?”

“No,” Ginny laments, genuinely upset. She gestures towards the storm drain. “But for some reason, his collar’s down there.”

Even beneath the streetlamps, Sharon’s face turns white.

______________________________

Harry’s back muscles contract in agony as he hunches over the laptop. This whole assignment is a painful reminder that he’s not as young as he used to be. How many hours did he spend snoozing on the lawn at Hogwarts without so much as an ache? But a single bloody night on these shit couches, and he’s popping Paracetamol like sweets. He shifts in place; must be time for another dose.

“Hear anything?” Ginny emerges from the walk-in closet in a towel turban and fluffy white dressing gown, two evidence bags in her hands.

Harry glares at the laptop screen and tries very hard not to remember that one of those bags contains a lacy black bra— one he definitely hasn’t seen before. For the past hour, he’s been in an envious haze of wondering if she bought it for the mission or bought it to wear for someone else.

Either way, it consoles him that deep down, she’s still Ginny; she took this necklace and shoved it into her bra without letting on that something vile and gross was pressed to her ti—

He shakes his head to clear it, but that hurts his neck. For once, though, he embraces the pain. Anything to shift his focus.

“From the props department? No.” Harry sighs and retrieves the medicine bottle from his luggage. “I swear, I have no idea who they got to make the moving boxes and pick the couches, but I’m fairly sure Victoire could do better.”

Ginny scoffs at this. “Well, of course Vic could do better. She’s the most perfect, adorable human alive,” she says fondly, tossing the evidence bags in the transporter box.

It’s plain cardboard, easily disguised as a standard moving box. But with three taps of her wand, the bags evaporate, presumably materializing in a Ministry lab somewhere. Not that Harry cares about the specifics. This is a key example of the sort of detail that’s less and less intriguing the longer he holds this job.

“But I was actually asking if you’d heard anything about Mike and — hey, what are you doing?”

“Paracetamol,” Harry mutters, popping open the bottle. “I’m getting old, Ginny,” he warns, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grimace. “Dunno why you thought it would be a good idea to go on a mission with an old man.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the bathroom. “You don’t need to be so bloody noble. Please join me on the bed. We could make it longer, even, if you—”

He clears his throat to cut her off. That would be a terrible idea on all counts. Silence on the other side of the door tells him that Ginny either realizes this or chooses not to press the issue. Good...

“Erm. There’s no hits on Mike,” Harry calls into the bathroom. “I reckon he’s dead, Ginny. Credit cards and car haven’t been touched.”

The tap turned on behind the door. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” Ginny admits, voice muffled, “but— holy hell, who taught you how to squeeze toothpaste?”

Harry smirks and returns to the computer. “Myself, probably.”

Ginny lets out another irritated groan. “And the toilet seat’s up!” She strides out of the bathroom. “Strike two!”

Harry hears the distinctive sound of clothing hitting the floor beside her bed but wills himself not to turn around, not to turn around, not to—

“Well.” Ginny sucks her teeth as the bedding rustles. “I suppose I should take all of that as a good sign, really. You clearly don’t have girls in and out of your flat.”

Oh?

Harry’s heart thunders in his ears, his stomach flipping in hope. She takes that as a good sign? Really? He glimpses over his shoulder before remembering he’s not supposed to look.

And just as quickly, he regrets it.

Because Ginny’s sprawled back against the bed, her face so white that she nearly blends into the linens, but his eyes aren’t too focused on her face. They’re drawn down, down, down… down to her creamy chest, dotted with chocolate freckles. Down to her breasts, which he definitely still knows every inch of, even as they rest beneath a black lace vest he hasn’t seen before. Down to the shorts that hug her hips and graze the tips of her thighs… the same thighs he spread open and dipped his head between as she tugged on his hair, her cries breathy and panting in the garden’s evening mist.

Ah, fuck. That one does it. Harry adjusts his basketball shorts as discreetly as possible, but another glimpse at her face tells him he didn’t need to worry.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispers, eyes filled with horror.

Harry clears his throat. He honestly forgot she said anything. Now he just feels guilty for eyeing her up while she spiraled.

“I’m so… fuck. This is so unprofessional.” She sinks her head into her hands. “Please, Harry, forget that I said anything. I’m so sorry. That was—”

“It’s forgotten,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than he realized. “Legitimately. I’ve already forgotten it.”

She shoots him a weak smile through the slits of her hands. “I know you haven’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Harry offers his best expression of bafflement as he picks up a pillow from the end of her bed. “Haven’t a clue what you mean, Unspeakable GW. See you at 0-700 hours.” He stops halfway out the door and gives her a military salute. “Unless, of course, you decide to start a bit later,” he adds seriously, “in which case I’ll see you… erm. 0-whenever-the-hell-you-wake-up-hours.”

Ginny giggles, settling against the pillows again.

“Thanks,” she says after a moment, peering at her cuticles. “For… everything. And especially for forgetting—” She makes a vague hand gesture as her cheeks flush the most fascinating shade of pink.

Harry stills, one hand on the doorknob.

He wants to make her feel better… but really, it’s more than that. He wants to tell her that his heart still jumps into his throat when he hears about an Unspeakable being injured on the job. He wants to admit that he avoids Sundays at the Burrow not because he stopped caring, but because he cares too much. He wants to confess, in a rush of passion, that she wasn’t just his first: she’s his only. That he reckons she’ll always be his only. That exchanging work for Them was the stupidest thing he ever agreed to, regardless of the circumstances.

Oh, and of course, that he still fucking loves her. Harry rubs his forehead, frustration gnawing at his stomach. Why in hell did he admit that to himself? You never admit that to yourself. What an idiot.

Still, they have a mission… a moronic, suburban mission filled with every literal and metaphorical breed of Karen imaginable. But as worthless as Harry considers this whole assignment, her neck is on the line if they come up empty-handed. And she values her assignment— and her neck, he reckons— quite a bit.

So he makes the choice to both reassure her. And to be foolishly honest.

“Erm… for what it’s worth?” Harry croaks, staring down the dark corridor to avoid meeting her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted in my bedroom, anyway.”

Before she can reply, he closes the door and walks away. His cheeks burn as he pads downstairs, but Harry knows it’s best to leave it, really. To save them both the awkwardness.

Even if it means sleeping on this shit couch forever.

[yandere-mha-blog]

Chapter 4: Slice

Words: 2006

You had a hard time falling asleep that night, where you just wasted your time here. When you told your dad you wanted to become a doctor he was confused, saying maybe being a nurse was more up your alley, but he finally accepted the fact you would be going to school to become a doctor. He was even more excited to hear you were in the top 5 of your class and that things were coming easily to you.

But the tool of the same thing over and over again when you just wanted to get your hands in there already was boring you to death, once you got into residency it would just be more mundane boring stuff. Talking to people every day about their pollen allergies, even dermatologists took forever to get their degree. You were already a pro with a scalpel and stitching according to your teachers.

“It’s sad to see you wasting your potential.”

You punched your pillow in anger again, what right did he have, maybe you were only interested in him since he was the one who gave Akio his just deserts and he was the first one you could talk about your urge to use your quirk. Still, at the end of the day, he was a villain, he wasn’t going to come back huh, maybe it's for the best, just go back to where you were before, the sheer boredom of it all.

You couldn't stand that as you got out of bed, it was late but you put on some loungewear and headed out, you were not about to go back to living every day with mundane occurrences again. You kept looking around the campus for anything that would lead you to him. A few students were coming back from drinks and you kept walking only to see Akio letting a very intoxicated girl lean on his arm as he held up. You were pissed off now, not even a day out of the hospital and he is already back to his scumbag ways.

You followed the both of them and he was heading to the male dorm area, the girl was too drunk to even notice anything, you watched as he helped her up the stairs and you followed behind him as he closed the door. You went next to the door and put your nail against the lock before shooting your talon out breaking the lock, and you opened the door, and there was Akio on the couch with a passed-out girl.

“So this is helping a girl get home huh,” you said, and Akio head shot up

“You!?” he said getting up “This isn’t what it looks like, I was just.” “Going to take advantage of a drunk girl, the day after you got out of the hospital.” you said “I know your type, you act like a wuss to have girls let their guard down, how many people have been your victim.”

“Hey just calm down, I wasn't going to do anything,” he said

“Is that why your pants button is undone along with your zipper.” you said “You are the talk of the class right now, poor Akio getting attacked by a big bad villain, how much sympathy did this girl give you?” you asked letting your talons out

“I’m going to call the campus police.” He said

“Go ahead, wonder what the whole story will be when they see a drunk passed out girl on your couch,” you said

“What do you want?” Akio said

“Well I would like it if you left this school.” you said “But you won't do that, you won't curve your bad habit. you'd just end up doing this somewhere else”

“Stay back, I'm warning you.” He said, man, you really had him scared huh, you just want to get this girl out

“I really hate people like you,” you said walking over and picking up the girl who just kinda groaned.

Hawks was laying out on top of the building, maybe he had been a bit too hard on you earlier. Still, sometimes people need a wake-up call, he was twiddling Akio's wallet he stole, maybe it would be funny if Akio saw it returned like he was still being watched by him. Hawks stood off the end of the building and flew down to locate his dorm shouldn't be too hard, still, when he saw through his feathers the door was open he flew down to see Akio on top of you with his hands around your throat as you gashing on his sides for dear life, with a passed out girl in the doorway. Hawks was starting to see red or maybe it was just the feathers he sent on Akio pinning him to the wall by his clothes. You started to cough and tried to catch your breath.

“(name) what are you doing here,” Hawks asked taking off one of his Primary wings and it growing sharper

“Cough cough...it's a long story, he was going to assault that girl,” you said gesturing to the girl in the doorway

“Well I’ll ask later on how you got yourself into this situation, take the girl out I’ll handle him.” Hawks said, you nodded your head and picked the girl up and dragged her outside

“You..you know (name),” Akio said

“A bit, we meet when you attack her in the ally way.” Hawks said, “I thought I’d let you off with a warning but it seems like you didn't learn anything, and you tried to strangle her to death.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Shut up man, I know that look you had in your eyes, it's the one I have now.” Hawks said, “I'll make this quick.”

You dropped her off outside the female dorms, this is where your adventure for the night would end, you wondered what Hawks was going to do to Akio, you decided to head back, you knew that the handprints would be visible, lucky you had a couple of scarves. You sat down at a bench near the back of the school and let out a long breath before you heard a familiar gush of wind and someone landed behind you.

“Hey….so uhmm, your neck okay?” Hawks asked

“It's fine, I don't think anything has collapsed,” you said

“That's good, now can you tell me what happens?” Hawks asked looming over you

“I went out for a walk-”

“Late at night?”

“Yes, I couldn't sleep because of what you said earlier, ugh I must be mad for letting the words of a villain get to me.” “And I must be mad for saying that.” Hawks said, “Look (Name) I know you have something in you that drives you, but look you couldn't even defend yourself from one guy.” Hawks said, “If I didn't show up you would have died.”

“I know that.” you said “I wasn’t expecting to run into him doing that, I got so angry that someone would have been a victim, and no one was coming to help.”

“Well I'm just glad you didn’t die tonight.” he said flicking your forehead “Here hope on i'll fly you back to your dorm.”

“Hope into where?” you asked

“On my back in between my wings of course.” He said turning around and pointing to in between his shoulder blades

“I’m not so sure about this,” you said

“Come on I know you want to,” he said fluttering his wings

“No spins of loop de loops and you won't drop me either.” You said

“(name) if I wanted you dead I wouldn't just drop you and let you splatter on the ground, I have more class than that.” he said, which didn't help calm your nerves “Look I won't drop you either just hop on, it will be fun.”

Ah yes taking a joyride through the sky with a dangerous villain will be fun, still what else do you have to lose, so you decided to hope on

“This is weird,” you said

“Nah, now hold on.” he said, as he flew up and you wrapped your arms around his neck, shutting your eyes tight “ack (name) can't breath, look it isn't that scary see, hold onto my shoulder I won't let you fall.”

You reluctantly opened your eyes as you still had a firm hold around Hawks, the city lights looking more like fireflies now

“Wow so this is birds' eye view.” you said “But Hawks how are you flying if your wings aren't moving?”

“Haha well I move my fathers, I only really like to move them when I'm trying to get away, and I don't want you falling off.” He said, “also why there are no photos of my face anywhere, they don't have a camera that is fast enough.”

“Makes sense.” you said, “so Hawks why are you on the run anyway, you don't seem like the stereotypical villain.”

“Hahaha thanks, I guess?” Hawks said, “It's kind of a long story but to keep it short I don't want to work under some bureaucracy, I just want to relax and live my life, but at the same time, I can't help but see people in need and want to help them, but working under someone thumb isn’t for me.”

“I don't think I could see you working for someone either.” you said “Meanwhile what I'm going for, is that you are always going to be working under some.”

“Well, it's never too late to change your mind.” Hawks said as he landed in front of your dorm “Thank you for using the nighthawks delivery service.”

“Thanks, hawks, for everything,” you said

“Of course chickadee.” he said “Keep your head down low for the next couple of days though.”

And with that vague warning, he was off once again, oh how lucky he was to be able to fly off and be free whenever he wanted.

Still, all good things must come to an end as you saw police tape surrounding the boys' dorm, everyone was talking amongst themselves the next morning.

“What happened here?” you asked

“Someone was found dead in their dorm, they say it was break in.” Someone said

“Wonder why?” you said but you knew why, still you decided to just head to class but for some reason the door was locked, you rolled your eyes and checked your phone only to see a message that due to a tragedy on school ground class was canceled for the day, just great.MIght as well have a free day in your dorm then as the other students were watching Akio being pulled out in a body bag, Fumiko noticing your nonchalant to this and gulped.

You were enjoying some funny cat videos and enjoying a cup of tea when there was a knock on your door, just great wasn’t this support to be a free day. You got up and opened it to see Fumiko.

“(name) didn’t you hear about what happened.” She said

“I heard someone was found dead in their dorm room.” You said

“It was Akio (name), he is dead.” She said

“Okay and you are telling me this why?” you asked

“(name) even if you didn't like him, you should still care if he is dead.” She said

“Well I'm not,” you said

“You know (name) everyone in the class was telling me how cold and mean you were, and I thought they were wrong, I thought you were nice but I was wrong-”

“Oh can it Fumiko, you only talked to me because you felt bad for me is that right, you had no intention of being my friend, you just felt guilty of me being the weird person in the class, and mooched off my notes, now your shitty friend is dead.” You said and felt a harsh slap across your face “want me to turn the other cheek?”

“YOU ARE A HORRIBLE CRUEL HEARTLESS PERSON!” She said and ran off, oh well if that's what she thought no reason to try and change her mind.

[beauty-grace-outer-space]

you mentioned something a little while back about trauma anniversaries? would you be comfortable explaining what it means and what its about?

Sure thing. 

So.. trauma anniversaries are complicated, and vary from person to person, but the general idea is that when one experiences a traumatic event (or events, plural, centered around a specific time period), the brain/body stores that information and (as with other PTSD reactions) sometimes has an uncontrollable and unpredictable response to it. 

“Many trauma survivors experience challenging “anniversary reactions,”  which are defined as ‘unique set[s] of unsettling feelings, thoughts or memories that occur on the anniversary of a significant experience.’ When a survivor finds themselves in the midst of a trauma anniversary, they often are forced to re-live feelings from the traumatic event, causing symptoms like increased anxiety, depression, trouble sleeping, loss of appetite, nightmares, and irritable outbursts.”

Our bodies hold on to trauma in an effort to protect us, but sometimes those signals get mixed and bad feelings get tied to a time period, which is not particularly useful in most cases. 

This time of year makes me a bit wonky in general, with the changing of the seasons and the temperature drop, but October is also an anniversary for an event that changed my life and dramatically impacted my mental health... and I didn’t realize that it was affecting me until I was already deep in it this go round. 

I hate talking about it like this, because of the age old dichotomy of “it wasn’t that bad” and “it was bad enough and it’s affecting me”. I’m still working on accepting this stuff without falling into the mental trap that I’m “whining about nothing” and that “other people have it worse”. They do. Someone always does. But that doesn’t mean that the stuff that’s happened to me isn’t bad. 

I don’t know how much information you’re looking for, or if you’re asking about my experience specifically, but I’m still a bit off so what the hell. 

I already have issues with fall and the beginning of the school year for various reasons that I won’t go into. So this time of year is always tricky. But...

For those who don’t already know, five years and fifteen days ago, I called my grandmother and she told me she was going to kill herself. I was the only one home, I had just turned 23 years old two weeks beforehand, she had told me she was having a hard time affording some things, and I had offered to make her an appointment with a therapist and with a new primary care physician and to pay for it all so she could keep taking her medication. 

I called to ask her what day might work for an appointment so I could take the time off work, pick her up, take her to lunch, and then drive her to the appointment, and she told me she was going to kill herself. She told me she had been saving up her pills, and that’s why she hadn’t been taking them. She told me she had discussed it with my grandfather, and that he knew and was ok with it, and they were going through their belongings so there would be “less for him to deal with” once she was gone and that she was “surprised I hadn’t caught on sooner”. 

I kept her on the phone, kept her talking on my cell, and grabbed the home phone to start calling anyone I could think of. My mom, my dad, my aunt (with whom I had only reconciled five days before-- big misunderstanding, but still a lot), my mom’s cousin... no one would answer. 

By the time my mom got home, I had been on the phone with my grandmother for over an hour, mid panic attack, and I was hyperventilating so hard I couldn’t see and I couldn’t stand. Your limbs go all tingly when you don’t retain enough carbon dioxide, and I remember trying to walk to her and collapsing. I gasped out an explanation, my mom took the reins, and we were able to get in touch with my aunt and get the necessary medical professionals on hand to give my grandmother a psychiatric evaluation and put her on a 72 hour hold. 

We were at the hospital until nearly 4 in the morning before a nurse told us that they legally couldn’t release my grandmother because the doctor had mandated a three day safety hold, and that we should go home and get some rest. By the time we made it home, there was a message on our answering machine that a county examiner had released her and there was nothing more they could do. 

I found out later, much later, that she had never stopped taking her meds. She’d never said a word to my grandfather. She had no intention of killing herself. She wanted a reaction from me, and she got one. She called my cousins and told them I was a liar. She called family members who have never even met me and told them how awful I am, and that I make things up for attention.

I waited a little over a week to call her. I recorded the call, so that I’d have proof if I needed it. It’s still on my harddrive somewhere. Two plus hours of her calling me a liar, telling me that conversation never happened, telling me that she’s ashamed of me, that she hopes no one in their right mind ever loves me because I’m a monster, that she pities my friends and anyone who has the misfortune of knowing me because I’ll stab them in the back too as soon as I want some attention. The list goes on and on. 

That continued for a while. Whether or not it’s true, when someone you love tells you things over and over again, you can’t help but wonder. 

I started having dreams that she was hitting me, and that people were letting her do it. I started having dreams that I was in a loving, committed relationship but came home one day to a seething partner who had just gotten off the phone with her and realized I was a worthless liar, and of them, too, turning abusive. I started having dreams that I was alone at the bottom of a deep, dark hole, and no one could hear me or try to get me out. 

She decided one day that we were going to pretend nothing had ever happened, and I was forced to play along. All the while she’d still call and say awful things to me, then show up at family gathering like nothing was wrong. She’d say one thing to me, another to my family, and call me a liar to my face and behind my back. She kept telling friends and family that I was being abusive and manipulative to her. 

It hit the point that I truly, genuinely couldn’t remember what she had said in that initial call, and I worried I had made it all up. Gaslighting at it’s finest. 

It’s taken years to realize it, but every interaction I had with her following that date has been either abuse or manipulation. She spent months and months refusing to speak to me unless it was to tell me how horrible I am, then like flipping a switch one day I came home and there was a gift on my front porch from her. She’d ease up for a while, then suddenly be awful again. My entire life, she had always been the epitome of a perfect grandma... she’d take me on outings, buy me little gifts, bake with me at the holidays, sing songs with the grandkids, loved playing with us, we’d talk for hours on the phone, they came to dinner frequently. And now... it’s like a veil has been lifted and she’s unrecognizable.

I tried to maintain a relationship with her. She screamed at everyone at Easter a few years back that her silverware was more important to her than a relationship with me. I kept trying. She told a lawyer that my mom and I had “stolen her medical records” and were “forcing her to have medical procedures against her will”. I kept trying. She threatened to send a police officer to our house, accusing me of stealing. I kept trying. 

And finally, last fall, I called to wish her a happy birthday, she began a tangent, and I realized I was so tired. I asked her outright if she wanted a relationship with me. She told me she couldn’t be bothered to think about it. I haven’t spoken to her since. 

That one phone call cost me so, so much. I lost my relationship with my grandmother and my grandfather, by extension. Other family members have questioned if I’m lying to them, or if I made things up. I’ve questioned if I made things up. 

In the midst of all of this, my father also completely shifted and I don’t know why. He started picking fights with me, almost constantly. If I tried to change the subject, I was too stupid to have a discussion. If I stayed silent, I clearly knew I was wrong. If I said anything in reply, I was lying. He throws things, when he’s mad. He kicks things. He used to punch walls. My mom has since said to me that if she had any idea that he would turn into this person, she wouldn’t have married him. Sometimes he’s great, sometimes he’s awful. I never know which version I’ll be dealing with. 

I’ve spent nearly five straight years in therapy trying to deal with this. My original goal was not to hate my grandmother, or my father. It had to adapt to not hating myself because of what they said to me. 

So October is hard. Because October is when my mind and body unconsciously remember things changing. Relationships I’d always counted on turned abusive. Nothing I said or did was safe. It’s dangerous. 

I blew past the actual anniversary just feeling sort of... jittery. I’ve spent a few weeks feeling withdrawn and anxious and not knowing why. I had a noticeable uptick in old thought patterns and intrusive thoughts about self worth, self harm, etc. 

Whether or not it’s logical, whether or not it makes sense... my self preservation has locked onto this time of year as unsafe, and it falls into old patterns in an attempt at protection. Old patterns include anxiety, difficulty eating regularly, issues with self worth, withdrawing from others, emotions very close to the surface, and a few other things. 

And that’s where I’m at. 

I’m ok, and I’ll be ok. I’ve got some experience dealing with this under my belt now, and I still see my therapist regularly. I’m talking to her next week. At the moment, I’m just trying to take care of me however it makes sense, and not doing anything dangerous or dumb. 

So... that’s what I mean by trauma anniversary. 

[spirit-science-blog]

The Perks of Being a Wallflower is a story about the infinite layers between a person's ego and a person's soul, and in that, the self-discovery and expression of the soul through the connection we have with each other. Much of this coming of age story is centered around being an outcast in a world of sameness, telling us of uniqueness, individuality, and that each of us has the potential to live our best lives if we can just get out of our own way. While the story is based in 1991, it relates very well with most demographics of the last 40 years, minus all the mix-tapes, as much of the message is universal to our human consciousness today.

The story was both written and directed by Steven Chbosky, for both the novel and the screenplay - and while generally, we’ll be focusing on the movie, for those interested - the book adds many dimensions to the story that we don’t see in the film. With that, here’s your Spoiler Alert, and here we go!

The film opens and closes with the infinity tunnel, the place which - to the main characters - seems to be a place of pure experience, an experience of the infinite. We see Sam and later Charlie experience this by standing up in the back of a truck, holding their arms out in joyous surrender to the expansive and seemingly never-ending tunnel. There is where we find Charlie's legendary line that became the Tagline of the movie “We are infinite”.

What’s especially amazing and curious about this is that it subtly explores the line between danger and conscious expansion. In the back of the truck, there is a notable sense of danger, as if the truck bounced or a strong wind blew through in the other direction, these kids could fall off the truck and bump their noggins! Yet, in the surrender of the will of the soul, it opens for this expansive experience that few are familiar with, which deepens their connection to themselves, feelings of freedom, and each other.

Now, in the book and a core part of the movie, is that the narrative is told through Charlie writing these letters to us, the audience, essentially providing a more intimate look at what’s going on inside Charlie’s mind and heart. Throughout the story, we peel back the layers of his nature and go deeper into resonance with his soul, but what's more so, we can see the various layers of his personality, both ego, and soul, that are steering the ship of his life.

And truly, one remarkable aspect of this story in particular is that every character feels like real people, which makes it easy for the film to connect well with anyone, as opposed to some of those other Hollywood highschools where everyone is 30… or constantly breaking into song.

But perhaps one of the challenges of going back to high school through this movie is that in a lot of ways, this is really accurate, which brings up all kinds of memories. For myself personally, there’s a lot of this story that just feels like… exactly my high school life.

Take this girl for instance… *play the clips* WHO HURT YOU!?!

But yet - if the story gives us any indication, is that each of us, with our multitude of layers, has this incredible bank of life experience, and all of us have been hurt in some ways, though rarely we show it openly. Throughout the film, we slowly bury deeper into the layers of these characters and explore the abuse that was experienced in childhood, and how they were able to overcome it, and grow as people.

So even as we watch, for those with the heart to explore it, even the people who are not so nice, like the girl in Charlies class, the teacher who calls his student nothing, or Brad and his friends - are all people who are suffering in their own ways, but just haven’t yet faced it within themselves. Perhaps one of the most significant lessons here is that… Hurt people hurt people.

So getting to know Charlie, we learn that he is a young, budding writer, making these journals and describing his life experiences… If we go into our ancient past - we find many legendary sages telling us that it is through our words that we create and steer our lives and reality, and what’s more so, that writing our words give them lasting power, which is why things like journaling and even vision boards can be so powerful both in creating new things in life, and developing wisdom and meaningful self reflection.

Charlie actively demonstrates this throughout the story by the words that he uses while he’s journaling. Early on, he writes about how his old friend and people he used to know don’t want to connect with him, and he says  “well, i’m me, so who am I kidding?” Putting himself down and reinforcing the belief in himself that he’s not worth very much. Yet, he also writes that he wants to make new friends, because he wants to turn things around… and this very intention puts him on the path to actually make some.

Now, the first friend that charlie makes is really his teacher, Paul Rudd, however - charlies own shame prevents him from acknowledging this at the start, but throughout the story, Mr. Rudd essentially becomes charlies guiding mentor, providing him wisdom in the form of books, and supporting him in becoming an intelligent writer.

We are also introduced to Patrick. Patrick really represents the outspoken voice of those who are misrepresented in the world, and one who will stand up for those who are outcasts from society. When we first meet Patrick, he is drawing a beard on himself, pretending to be the shop class teacher, and the teacher comes in and calls him pattycakes. So Patrick says “Look, my name is patrick, so either call me patrick or call me nothing”. And the teacher calls him nothing! In the book, this plays out a bit differently, but we can gleam a lesson here nonetheless.

Because of this exchange, basically all of the kids in school refer to Patrick as nothing. However, by the end of the story we see the transmutation of this energy, as he puts “Nothing hates you” on the top of his hat - owning and even changing the energy, and demonstrating some wisdom and compassion all the same. Nothing hates you, there is only love, get it? Well, this probably went over most people's heads, which... might be a pun, because it was on the top of his hat.

Speaking to friendships, the final of the main trio in the story is Sam. Now the name Sam itself actually translates from Hebrew, meaning “God has Heard” or “Listen, Name of God”, and she plays a significant role not just in her own story, but helping Charlie to open his heart, and supporting him throughout his own self discovery. There is a lesson here too for all of us in the question of - who are we showing up for in our lives? The beautiful thing about Sam is that she really shows up for nearly everyone.

There is a subtle allusion to this in that the first time we see her, she has bright stadium lights behind, depicting angelic radiance. Yet at the same time, Sam herself represents the loss of innocence, for she used to have a reputation of getting drunk with all the boys and you can imagine where that train ends. We can see this in many areas throughout the movie, such as the red and black that she often wears, which falls in stark contrast to the pink wall and twinkly lights of her bedroom, and deeper still, with her story of being taken advantage of by her dad's boss at the age of 11, which twisted her own ego into becoming the girl with the reputation.

Yet, the quality of her soul allowed her to grow as a person - she is not defined by these aspects of herself anymore, moving beyond her past into a higher reality, and progressively does so even to the end, getting into penn state, sharing that things do get better. The tunnel scene, which we explored earlier, is a scene of soaring, flying, trust, and freedom, all things that help Charlie in embodying the same thing by the end too!

Having made some friends, Charlie is initiated into the group by attending his first party, where he experiences his first plant medicine experience, eating a cannabis brownie, and opening up to his new friends in a quirky way, where they essentially adopt him into the group. Welcome to the island of misfit toys, Sam says, after Patrick gives Charlie a toast.

One of the primary activities of this group is going to and participating in the rocky horror picture show. We spoke before about how the tunnel represents freedom, and this is another special place where freedom of expression reigns supreme and inhibitions go out the window. Honestly - these scenes deserve a shout out, both to Steven Chbosky for weaving this into the narrative in a really meaningful way, and also the actors for having such courage to get on stage in front of cameras and an audience of thousands, and perform the Rocky Horror Picture! Mad respect!

Now, one of the primary a

Now, speaking of freedom and big changes, a little while later, Charlie also experiences LSD for the first and probably last time.  In addition to exploring Cannabis, later on Charlie also tries LSD. Cinematically, it’s a funny segway between taking the eucharist at church, and doing a tab - which shows a direct correlation to entering the depths of spirituality and all of the ways we can do this. But nobody ever taught Charlie that the best way to practice with psychedelics is in nature or with meditation, so he doesn’t have the best time. At one point, he ends up shoveling snow in a circle on the driveway for a while... Wait a second, THIS HOUSE HAS 6 GARAGE DOORS. WHAT?! … That seems a little excessive but okay.

Anyway, during this scene Charlie says “I just saw this tree but it was a dragon, then it was a tree again, it just lied to me”, and, I’m certain that this was probably unintentional, but when you learn about Yggdrasil, the norse edition of the Tree of Life system, we find that there is this dragon called Nidhogg. In historical Viking society, Nidhogg was a great and terrible dragon whose actions intended to pull the cosmos into chaos, and who also chewed the bodies of those who were guilty of terrible crimes. This is curious, because it relates to the undercurrent of darkness that runs throughout the story, as both Sam and Charlie, and even Aunt Helen were abused when they were kids. Again - probably not intentional, but Charlie seeing the tree become a dragon could be indicative of uncovering the darkness at the bottom of his own inner tree of life.

See, this part of the story really does begin the inward spiral that leads into himself to uncover the truth of his past, represented by the end of his LSD trip, creating a snow angel - representing his purification and rebirth.

Speaking to this undercurrent of trauma, and how it shows up for us often in life, is this idea that “We accept the love we think we deserve”, a key point made throughout as we see so many characters accepting love that deep down they know is only holding them back from becoming more authentic versions of themselves. Whether it’s Candace and Ponytail Derek, Patrick and his secret lover Brad, Sam and Craig, and Mary Elizabeth and Charlie.

The film really explores the idea that we often do things that we don’t want to do for the wrong reasons. Charlie dates Mary Elizabeth and hates it, he has nothing good to say about it at all, and yet he stays in it - why? Because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. Even though it’s not a healthy relationship, Charlie can’t see past his own ego or what he’s creating by staying in the relationship. What's more so, even after the relationship ends, Charlie is still trying to make up with her because he feels bad, he feels guilty - and in this we even gain a subtle reflection for ourselves in how we weave our own traps of suffering…

We can see this expressed during one scene where he has this black dot on his third eye, a symbol of Ash Wednesday from his church, and Mary-elizabeth wipes it off. For much of the film, she seems to represent the spiritual ego, by her tendency to boast about spiritual concepts, but doesn’t really behave much like the buddhist she claims to be.

The story asks us to reflect on our own relationships and our lives in this same way, what are we doing, and why are we doing it? Are our actions in the highest alignment with our souls? However, we must also acknowledge that - as we go deeper, we see that Charlie’s guilt of feeling responsible for his Aunt Helen’s death, also stems into not being able to tell Mary Elizabeth the truth about how he feels. From this, we may discover within ourselves that all of our actions and feelings are interwoven together, far deeper than we know.

To the surprise of many people who first watch it or read the book, towards the end, Charlie goes through what resembles a dark night of the soul, a common thing during the awakening process, where we must face some aspect of our past, we must go through the trauma and the pain, in order to emerge on the other side of it and find healing.

Throughout the film, Charlie’s pain wells up within him in a number of ways, such as the fight in the Cafeteria. Later on, when he is taken to the hospital, he says something very interesting. He asks the doctor how to make it stop, how he can stop seeing everyones pain, that everyone is in pain, all of the time. Yet, the one thing he can’t see is his own pain. It reminded me of a bible verse from Matthew 7 - “First, remove the beam out of your own eye, and then you can see clearly to remove the speck out of your brother’s eye.”  Charlie can’t even see his own pain, but it’s so strongly there that it manifests itself as if he’s seeing everyone elses pain. It’s as if his pain itself has anchored him to this frequency of pain and suffering, but unless he faces the darkness within himself, he won’t be able to stop seeing it in others too.

As he faces his past, and comes to terms with it, he begins to let go and find healing. Something we all must do on our journey of reconciling our own pasts. Here we find another moving lesson, as Charlie lets go of his past, he must also let go of his friends, as they graduate and move on into new realities. Yet, not forgetting or losing their friendship, just adding some distance.

One final aspect of the story we must explore, is this very human moment where Sam and Charlie have a serious talk, and Sam asks… why didn’t you ever ask me out? Now - this might not be a fair question, because she was with someone for a long time and hey, maybe Charlie was just being respectful that she had a boyfriend… Yet, Sam reveals something very deep and moving, something we can all learn from. She says that she doesn’t want to just be someones crush, but that she wants someone to love her for who she truly is. It is a powerful and very heartfelt moment, revealing the deepest part of their characters, showing the soul from all of the ego, and for the characters expressing what they really want most, on a heart-centered level and a natural expression of the soul.

As the story comes to a close, Charlie discovers that we may accept the love we think we deserve but it is our duty to show people that they deserve more. We all deserve to fly through the tunnels, see “the light and everything that makes you wonder, with those who love most in this world, and realize that deep down, in all of our hearts... “We are infinite”!

[smartguyreviewed]

2x1 - Primary Brothers

Original air date: September 10, 1997

Season 2, what it do? Yes, the first season only had 7 whole episodes and now we are back. I hope everyone enjoyed heartwearming TJ in the last ep, because we’re getting a full push back into manipulative TJ. And what better setting for this little villain than politics?

It all starts with TJ, home from school and hoppin’ mad, slamming shit down and just letting his little lips pucker all the way out. The source of his ire is the broke ass science club at school. They have no money for anything cool. TJ, hon, you go to a predominately black public school that has no money for AP classes, so what did you expect? Go make some dry ice or something.

Floyd asks why Piedmont isn’t paying for its more intellectual extracurriculars and Yvette says the funds are allocated by the student council. It’s the reason why the Penguins got new gear even though their team is shitty. I get that Floyd is just trying to do his best here, but he’s completely out of touch by saying TJ should run for president. Yvette has to quickly shut that down by reminding TJ that it’s nothing but a popularity contest that a 10 year old has a chance in hell of winning. I personally remember when I foolishly ran for president in grade school. Quickly learned that nothing beats being tall, a guy and promising everyone Pokemon cards if they voted for you. This world is unfair, I tell you!

Even Floyd has to admit that Yvette is right, but TJ notoriously doesn’t take n for an answer and never accepts defeat. He decides to run anyway, with astoundingly bad results. These posters certainly don’t help. 

Yvette checks in on TJ after Mo chides him for not having food. He tells Yvette that he’s failing and she reminds him of the missing height and age that would make running easier. We know where this is going. In true political form, TJ decides to make someone his puppet. Enter Marcus, who isn’t interested at first, but the moment a cute girl shows up and strokes his ego just a teensy bit, he decides to run. TJ is so annoyed that he breaks the fourth wall.

Now we’re on the campaign trail and first up are the “science dorks” as Marcus so eloquently puts it. When they roll up on the clique, one of them actually flinches. I’m just confused because Marcus doesn’t seem to have a bullying bone in his body but apparently he pantsed this kid. Weird. After mispronouncing the name of a comet, Marcus gets clowned a bit, but reassures them that their issues will be heard.

Next up is the jock table and Marcus easily wins this one by promising them a peek at the new Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue after school. Ah, the days when you actually had to turn pages to get your fap on. 

Last but not least are the ladies. Now, if Marcus wanted to gain points in my book, he’d pressure the administration to get the girls free pads and tampons because they shouldn’t even have to buy them to begin with. Or he’d make sure to protect them from unwanted sexual attention on campus. But it’s okay because apparently, they don’t want those things either! All they want is a better sound system for dances. TJ is mad that Marcus is following his dick when the plan was to raise money for his science club.

Marcus however, has grown to like this and wants to continue to run alone. Good for you, Marcus! Don’t let that little pipsqueak boss you around. 

Yvette always seems to be around whenever she needs to point out the obvious to TJ, so here she is, reminding TJ that Marcus is popular and has a real chance at winning. TJ realizes he needs to nab someone else with that popular proximity. Enter Mo. Because TJ can’t just do one thing at a time, he figures he can both win this election and break up his brother’s only real friendship in one go. 

TJ is able to convince Mo that he’s in Marcus’s shadow because Mo is a lowly bass player and Marcus sings lead. But...it’s Marcus’s band! And what’s wrong with being a bass player? This doesn’t even make any sense for Mo to entertain because as we saw before, he clearly doesn’t even care what happens to the band as long as the puss keeps flowing. It’s really annoying to watch him blindly believe anything TJ says, especially when he’s not even really “friends” with TJ. Part of me would even think TJ is still mad about him getting kicked out of the band even though he deserved it. Wow, one bird and three stones, the third being possibly ruining Mackadocious.

Marcus comes around, being uncharacteristically mean to Mo and belittiling him for the plot’s sake. Mo naturally takes offense and now he has ammo to run against Marcus. TJ is a petty--yet brilliant-- little asshole.

At home, Marcus lets Floyd in on what’s been up and how he dropped TJ from his campaign that he didn’t even wanna run for in the first place. Daddy Flody is sad because for a moment because TJ and Marcus were actually getting along. Once he knows that Mo has replaced Marcus, he’s confused, The only one who wanted the damn science club fixings in the first place was TJ. I don’t get why he’s confused though. Doesn’t he remember what his son is capable of? He should totally know that TJ orchestrated all of this, but TJ just shrugs, pretending he doesn’t know why Mo of people is now his running mate. Do better, Flody.

Since this episode is about mudslinging and typical political treachery, Mo as TJ’s stand in is making fun of Marcus to the originally intended demographic. Yvette comes up to TJ and asks if he and his puppet are ready for the debate, and TJ deadass says Mo isn’t a puppet, “he’s a real boy.” Yvette just stopped by to say they’re filming the debate and she’s hosting. 

In the midst of all this sneaky fighting and smear campaigns, Marcus actually comes to Mo and tries to apologize for being a dick earlier. Aww, Marcus. Too bad TJ is about to shit all over this because he’s watching and once Mo hears this olive branch, TJ is able to convince Mo that Marcus is trying to bait-and-switch Mo to shake him up for the debate. Marcus insists that it is genuine but TJ wins Mo over by just telling him things to repeat. At this point, Marcus is over trying to be nice and says autonomy is the shit. Mo says fuck autonomy and leaves with TJ to prepare for the debate.

I love how Yvette leans into this husky, reporter voice for the television. She even put on her best two piece lilac suit. She introduces the candidates and is baffled when she realizes that Mo has had his extracurriculars beefed up. When Yvette asks when Mo was in all those clubs, TJ says since earlier that day and that he can prove it. I’m sure that he committed a crime here with these fake documents, but it’s pretty on brand for him to do, so whatever. The view count for the debate goes down when Yvette starts going off into how long each candidate has to talk about issues and honestly, I probably would have left, too. This is a high school student council election, for crying out loud. Her audience went from this:

To this:

Mo and Marcus get into a fight over the stupidest thing: who calls heads or tails. After they start elbowing each other, a physical fight breaks out. Again, TJ tries to break it up, even though he just, you know, only is the reason they’re fighting right now. Intervening gets TJ some new eye makeup. But TJ hasn’t learned shit because at home, nursing his black eye, he is still trying to manipulate the two into being friends again. 

Floyd has to remind TJ that hey, you can’t just play with people like that, even if you have good intentions. It finally sinks in that TJ could have very possibly ruined a friendship and broken up a band in one go. Floyd tells him to fess up to the boys and prepare for another ass whooping. Luckily, Mo and Marcus are guys and guys tend to resolve conflict--with each other--fairly fast. Mo comes over and gives something back to Marcus and just as he’s leaving, Marcus invites him back in to watch television. They chat and Mo reciprocates the olive branch with a pound. I really love these two together! They have so much chemistry that I honestly would be heartbroken if I learned that they stop talking after Smart Guy. Anyways, I ship it, Marcus x Mo forever. 

Stuff I noticed:

- Yvette is her middle name. Her first name is Tasha!

- Welp, guess the white guy is still president.

- Pretty sure this may not have been intentional, but I love that there is a black girl at the science dorks table. We love our black girl nerds!

[beaufortswan42]

The Forks P.1

This is my first ever fan fic for twilight Life and Death Reimagined. It was a really random idea that popped into my head 😅 I had a lot of fun writing this so here goes nothing, enjoy!

“Oh no, no no. There’s no way in hell im going to go up on that stage in front of the whole school. I’d rather scrape gum off every desk for the rest of the year.” I loudly exclaimed as I stood outside of my bio class.

“Oh come on beau! We really need you. You’re the only person I know who can sing those high notes. I wouldn’t be asking if we didn’t need you. ” McKayla stated in a loud whisper, gazing at me with pleading eyes.

The school talent show was this Friday and McKayla’s band needed a lead singer fast. Justin Salinger, the band’s lead singer, came down with mono. Thanks a lot ski trip from last Friday.

“Sorry McKayla I can’t do it. I already get sick and nervous from going up to the black board. If I perform in front of the school, the entire front row is going to be covered in vomit.” I shuddered at the idea of going up there and making a fool of myself. I’ve never been a performer and I don’t know how I could convince anyone that I am. Yes I took singing lessons as a kid and I could hit a few notes here and there but by no means was I made to sing. I also don’t want Edythe Cullen and her ridiculously good looking siblings to be there. They would think of me as a loser, more than I already am. If there’s any day that she could be absent I hope it would be this Friday.

McKayla must’ve noticed how nervous I got because she moved a few inches closer to me and not so subtlety placed her hand on my bicep as a way to “comfort” me. She looked up at me, turned on her puppy dog eyes, and fluttered her eyelashes. Her level of flirting dangerously increased over the last few weeks when she felt that Edythe Cullen was no longer a “rival”. As she tightened her grip on my bicep, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a perfect looking person gracefully sashaying my way. Edythe Cullen is the most beautiful and interesting girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. Her bronze hair was perfectly wavy today. Her purple turtleneck hung on her body so comfortably. Her pale face looked impeccable as always, her golden irises glimmered in the light. I felt a strong-intense-magnetic pull as she passed by me to go into class.

“Earth to beau....helloooooo, it’s me your bestieeee.” McKayla said while she waved her hands in front of my face. I didn’t realize I had turned my head when I was admiring the subject of my every night dreams.

“Huh? Oh sorry, umm, yeah I don’t think I can...what if i mess up the lyrics or freeze on stage?” I quietly whispered to her as I walked in class and sat down at my seat next to Edythe. Mrs. Banner was not in class yet which gave McKayla the green light to sit at the edge of our table.

“I promise that won’t happen beau. We’re going to work really hard to get this right. I’ll do anything beau...Uhhh, I’ll write your term paper for English class. Or I’ll wash your car! Ummm, oooo! I can even convince my dad to give you a raise. Anything...but please, we need you.” McKayla desperately pleaded as she pushed back the small hairs that fell in front of my forehead. Her fingers lingered there for what seemed like forever till she thankfully removed her hand.

I turned towards the black board frightened at the thought of performing in front of hundreds of people. I can’t do this, I don’t like attention. The very thought of attention makes my skin turn red, I get cold to the point where my teeth chatter. My legs wobble and sweat drips from my forehead. In other words, I’m a hopeless nervous introvert who would rather hide under a rock than to expose myself to people. I remembered the time I threw up in front of my whole class in elementary school when I was asked to read my poem about dinosaurs. The poem was great, I wasn’t. The thought of going up in front of an even bigger audience was making me shiver of nerves and anxiety already. I shook myself from the daydream and casually glanced to my left without really thinking. I noticed that Edythe had tilted her head in my direction. Huh, weird. Was she listening to what I would say? Did she care or was it all in my head? Was she hoping I’d say no? Or was she dare I say...jealous? No, that’s ridiculous I thought. It’s been a few weeks since I last spoke to her. She had told me she didn’t think we should be friends. It was so egotistical of me to think that Edythe Cullen would even spend five minutes of her day thinking of someone boring like me. Edythe was a queen among her ordinary subjects. There was no way she thought of me like that. I still think she regrets saving me from being crushed by Taylor’s van. That’s why she didn’t want to be friends with me, she’s way out of my league and she knows it. I can’t say I blame her. It wouldn’t make sense. She is a hard 10, I’m just 4, maybe even less. For someone like her to even have the slightest interest in me would be enough to tip the balance in the world and create utter chaos. I brought myself back to the primary issue at hand. I had to decide if I would help my friend or not. It might not be so bad...maybe you’ll enjoy it or it could even get canceled, I thought to myself. I hate public speaking and putting myself out there with a passion. But my friend needed my help and I’m sure she wouldn’t ask me to do it if she didn’t have another choice. As much as I hated this, I finally made a choice. A choice that I know I will regret as soon as I walk out of here.

“Ok! ok ok fine McKayla...I know I shouldn’t do this but you win...I’ll perform the song with your band on Friday.” I begrudgingly mumbled to her already regretting my decision.

McKayla’s eyes widened with happiness and excitement, “REALLY?! OMG that’s awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you so much beau! You’re a lifesaver! You won’t regret it! Ahhh! I’m so excited...we’re going to make beautiful music together.” I couldn’t help but notice the look of satisfaction on McKayla’s face as she smirked towards Edythe’s direction. Edythe didn’t look like she was paying attention but her hands were rolled up into a tight fist. Huh, maybe she’s in pain or something? I tried to look at her face but nothing indicated she would be in pain, in fact she looked a bit angry. Maybe she forgot her homework? I don’t know.

“Uh yayyy, sure...I definitely can’t wait” I tried to match McKayla’s level of enthusiasm but I obviously failed.

“Ok cool! So it’s a date then! Oh wait no, that’s not what I meant...ummm I meant to say-“

“Alright class please go to your seats and we’ll get started” Mrs. banner said as she wrote something about chromosomes on the board. McKayla quickly ran back to her seat next to some dude with a bowl cut. How did I get myself into this? I mentally groaned. It’s all jeremy’s fault. He heard me singing in the locker room and felt the need to brag to everyone that I could freakin sing like some rock god or something. I could feel my stomach drop as I pictured myself on stage singing. I hope the world swallows me whole. Why did she have to save me from that van? May the angel of death take me, I am ready to die.

Without thinking I turned to my left and met her gaze. Edythe’s golden orbs were like daggers staring into my soul. She seemed angry, upset, maybe even...jealous? My heart started racing as I quickly looked away and tried to focus on mrs. Banner’s lecture. I could still feel her look of anger on me. I groaned and put my head down on my desk. Why was she even mad? She didn’t want to be friends...she didn’t even speak to me. I didn’t do anything to her...I think. She never even gave me an explanation of how she saved me from the van. I decided to steal a quick glance at the angry model next to me and relaxed when her gaze was no longer on me. I quickly remembered my commitment for Friday. How do I get out of this mess? Maybe I should visit Justin Salinger and get mono too. I mentally yelled at myself for accepting McKayla’s offer. All I know is that this Friday is going to be a day I’ll never forget.

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the Present - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

Chapter 4

Khulan was considered a master that could’ve trained anyone. Even the most problematic people – temperament ones, headstrong ones, proud ones – crumbled under her rule and swore their lives to the League. She raised them, if they came older, she stripped them of their personalities. Master who created perfect soldiers and she was proud of this title.

It came hand in hand with secrets. Khulan knew very well not all people are trainable. Their egos are too high to ever really swear an oath and mean it. Those disappeared. Those were sent to die. It always worked. Khulan accepted no failure.

That’s how she picked her lab rats. These two men were cause of many wrinkles on her face. They acted like part of the group, but they lacked in effort. Work was done without their help. Khulan had numbers of loyal soldiers who would cut their own throats if she asked. Not these two.

“Gentlemen,” she looked them over. “You’ve been chosen.”

Lines of soldiers stood in the giant underground room. Watching everything in silence, ready to change places if only master asked.

Khulan waved her hand. A man approached. The two soldiers blinked surprised about his looks – dressed in ragged clothes, straws poking everywhere, mask on his face. Scarecrow didn’t wait for instructions, he sprayed them with a strangely smelling chemical.

The men started to cough. “What the hell?” one of them said.

It took a minute. Their pupil dilated. They stopped moving, they just stood there waiting for the orders.

Khulan gave dagger to both. “Kill yourselves,” she demanded.

One of them put the dagger to his wrist but didn’t cut. The other just trembled, fighting the order.

“As expected,” Khulan nodded. “You, kill him.”

This order was not difficult. The man who just trembled turned and in one swift movement almost decapitated his fellow lab rat.

“Mr. Tetch!”

Yet another man in Halloween costume approached. He was very small but long top hat on his head made him almost as tall as most of the short people in the room. Giggling, he approached the survivor.

“Down here,” he said in a singing voice. The man leaned so Jervis could whisper in his ear. Still giggling he moved away from him next to Scarecrow. The man never straightened himself.

“Kill yourself,” Khulan demanded again. She didn’t even blink. The man stabbed his throat and cut the dagger to the side. His body fell to the pool of his own blood. Not a noise to be heard.

“Brilliant,” master Khulan turned to Scarecrow and Mad Hatter. “Exactly as we needed. You said we can expect mass production in a week?”

Scarecrow nodded. “Yes.”

“Do it,” Khulan ordered and turned to walk away.

Jonathan watched the soldiers cleaning the bodies without a word. Then Tetch tugged his sleeve as if he was a child in primary school.

“Fancy a tea, my scared crows friend?” he singsonged.

“Thank you, Jervis. But I am going home to sleep.” I will need all the strength and wits I can get.

***

Monday morning Jonathan has decided he needs to see Miranda before walking back to the spiral of work. Mass production thankfully meant he bosses other people around and he doesn’t need to think anymore. It’s like a factory he never had. If he could manufacture this amount of fear toxin, holding whole city hostage wouldn’t be only metaphor. He could really influence everyone.

Surprisingly in the toyshop was only Terry. Jonathan walked to the counter mood already messed up. He didn’t like Terry – not only did they try to get Miranda killed, but they both always joked around dirtily and Jonathan felt it inappropriate between employee and employer. Or between Miranda and pretty much anyone.

“Is Miranda here?” he asked.

“Good day to you too,” Terry replied. The dislike was mutual. “No, boss said she feels under the weather, so she stayed home.”

“On Monday?”

“I can handle the shop,” replied Terry. New goods always arrived on Monday and Miranda made it very clear she must be at every handling. She was a freak when it came to checking numbers. Sometimes he wondered whether she didn’t smuggle illegal items together with those toys. “I was here whole day yesterday too, she is sick.”

Sick.

Or maybe she snapped and ran to Europe.

Jonathan turned and left without a word. He heard Terry mumble something and he added it to the list of complaints about this element. Once the job for the League is done and Miranda is calm, he will make sure to tell her all.

To make sure she didn’t leave the city without telling him, he visited her place. She told him before she is prone to do stupid things, he would rather stop her, before she gets to it.

Miranda opened door and she did look… no, not sick. Tired, but not sleepy. As if she got good amount of sleep but lack of energy caught her anyway. Stressed, that was the word he was looking for.

“Jonathan,” she sounded surprised. “Have you finished your work?”

“Not yet, but the most important part is done. Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

He liked her place. It was small and cosy, except you could hear anything neighbours were saying, and the windows looked directly into other windows where people moved all the time. Jonathan wondered why Miranda never invested in curtains and he figured she is probably exhibitionist.

“Are you okay?” he asked when they sat down.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look stressed.”

Miranda shrugged with smile. “A bit. I had to pass on some good jobs. But at least I have time to read that Joyce you gave me. I think that stressed me the most.”

“It’s not a bad book.”

“It’s even worse!”

Jonathan smiled. “You forced me your disturbing books, I just returned the favour.”

Miranda jumped on her feet. “Oh, I remember!” she went through her bookshelf, however, Jonathan noticed how carefully she moved. She really looked tired. After the ghosts she relaxed. Today, she was a mess again and dressed back in turtleneck and long skirt. What was she doing? Did she hide something? “Here! Have you read this?”

Jonathan took the book from her. It wasn’t any romance for a change. The Martian Chronicles. “No, I must admit this classic avoided me. Or maybe I avoided it, I am not big sci-fi fan.”

“I’ve read that Poe collection and I remembered. This book has a story heavily inspired by The Fall of the House of Usher. I think you will like it.”

“Ray Bradbury,” he read the name of the author. “Yes, he is good.”

“He is the best! That’s why I stole his name.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Wait… what?”

Miranda gave him a cute smile, as if he was a kid. “I made the name after him when I was picking.”

“Miranda Bradbury is a fake name?”

“Oh yeah, totally. Why does that surprise you?”

“I just… never thought about it. It makes sense. So, what’s your name then?”

“It’s Miranda Bradbury,” she smiled.

“Okay. Your birth name then?”

“I don’t know. I probably didn’t have any.”

“That sounds hardly useful,” he said but remembered the army of soldiers without souls. They did the bidding, followed orders, they didn’t need names when they were part of something bigger. Those who didn’t follow the line just died. Jonathan didn’t mention any of that.

“We had code names when necessary,” Miranda explained. “If you were to follow orders in team, they gave you one. But otherwise, we were just girls and boys. You don’t name tools.”

“What was your codename?” Jonathan asked and Miranda gave him even more ridiculous look than before. He held his hand up. “No, wait. It was Banshee, wasn’t it?”

“Bingo! But back then it was more insult than a name. You see, I was always terrible ninja. I couldn’t hide properly, I always made noise and alerted everyone,” she giggled. “But I was effective killer. They heard me coming, but they couldn’t tell the tale. That’s why master called me Banshee, the ghost of death. You hear her scream and you know you will die. It fit perfectly later when I got that obnoxiously loud charm.”

“I never thought there is so much history behind that nickname.”

“Yours doesn’t have something like that?”

“No, not really,” he shrugged. “I was called that at school, so I just took it. Bullies named me and created this nightmare.” And he hated it for so long but realized they can fear him just like he feared them. He became Scarecrow, he haunted their dreams and deep inside he still despised that name, but inside he also despised himself. However, he accepted it all. That’s who he was. A terror. A bad man.

“If only they knew,” Miranda chuckled.

Jonathan felt like there is something he’s forgetting. Maybe it was for the better. Miranda looked content with the situation she was in, although little stressed. But there weren’t any suitcases around, so that was a good sign. He didn’t want to mess that up. Unimportant things can wait, he will remember later.

“I’m glad you didn’t run,” he changed the topic.

“Don’t say it twice, it can still happen,” she warned him. “I just have books to keep me busy.”

“Let me know if you do, I will try to stop you.”

“Now, that’s brave, Mr. Crane.”

Jonathan leaned to her and kissed her. Every time he did that, he realized how lucky he was. He didn’t deserve this. Not after what he has done and what kind of person he has become. To have a woman like Miranda was a miracle. They both were equally damaged and messed up. He was thankful.

When he touched her, she suddenly backed off. “Wait, no, stop.” Painful expression on her face made him nervous.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… I’m a mess, can you please not touch me?”

What was happening here? She left him baffled. Jonathan wanted answers but only thing he managed was to say: “Of course,” unsure if he did something wrong. Miranda had to see it in his expression. She climbed on his lap, carefully not to lean on him with her body.

“Do you trust me?” she asked looking him in the eyes closely.

“I have questions.”

“I will not answer them now. Do you trust me?”

Jonathan sighed. “I want to.”

“Good. Let me do my things and I promise all will be okay, yes?”

“You are acting weird.”

She kissed him instead of answering. The talk was over for now. He wasn’t satisfied with this approach. It was Miranda who always insisted on making things clear between them. She was the one who forced him to accept his feelings and fears. This was uncomfortable again. The League couldn’t have broken her this much, could it? Or was it his fault for being pushy earlier? Did he managed to finally mess up? Expected.

“Jonathan, I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “You are handsome and clever and weird.” She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled as she made a mess of his looks. “I promised not to hurt you, remember?”

“I know, Miranda.” Jonathan fought the need to ruffle his hair back as it was. She kept his focus, caressing his face, kissing him passionately. Soon it took all his thoughts away. There was only here, nothing else mattered. Nothing wrong was going on if she still loved him, right?

She moved her hand to his neck and his shirt. Unbuttoned the collar.

“Miranda,” he stopped her. She looked at him waiting. His heart raced partially from excitement and partially from coming panic. “Slowly, please.”

Miranda smiled at him and kissed him again, hands gently laid on his chest. Taking her time to carefully remove his shirt. Her gaze went down, Jonathan took her chin and straightened her head. “To my eyes, Miranda.” Was his voice trembling? Fuck! Calm down.

“As you wish, professor,” Miranda replied giving him back some sense of control. He was thankful, but the tight feeling in his chest didn’t go away. The scars weren’t as bad as hers. Rational part of his mind told him there is just few and far between and they are not even that nasty. But his rationality was killed years ago. Only insecurity stayed laughing at him every time he looked at himself in the mirror, eyes tracing the places crows tore his meat off.

“Talk to me,” he asked. Shun the voice away.

“You’ll never guess,” Miranda started slowly while touching his neck and running her fingers on his collar bone, “how did I pick up the first name. Try, you have three.”

“Child games, really?” he scoffed. Goose bumps ran on his arms as she slid her finger lower to his chest, caressing his skin. “Okay. It’s also a reference to someone famous.”

She shook her head, she never broke the eye contact, sweet Miranda. After the months he knew she will do whatever he tells her and yet, he was so glad she is not trying to step over his boundary. She could.

“No, wrong.” Jonathan lost his breath as her finger came across one of the scars. It didn’t stop there, as if his skin wasn’t damaged by the feathered beasts.

“Ah-well,” he stumbled his way through words, “your relative had this name?”

“In Siberia? I doubt it,” Miranda grinned. “I don’t even know my relatives. My parents could be cat and dog for all I know.”

“Are you Russian?”

“I am nothing. But I speak Russian, Mongolia, Chinese, English, …”

“Please, stop, you will put me to shame,” he joked. His panic rose anytime she touched one of those ugly skin covered holes, but other than that, he calmed down and just enjoyed her company.

“That would be first,” Miranda said amused by herself.

“I don’t really think you are an idiot, you know?”

“Thank you, Jonathan. You are horribly wrong,” she laughed. “Come on, how did I get my name?”

The realization hit him like a train and he laughed with her.

“You opened a name list randomly.”

“Yes!” Happiness shined from her face. “See! Idiot! I could have been Jeff.”

“I would love you even as Jeff.”

She kissed him again and unzipped his pants. She moved carefully, even smallest movement caused her pain and questions entered Jonathan’s mind again. She tucked her skirt.

“Next time I will kiss you whole, if you let me,” she leaned to his ear again.

“Maybe if you beg me hard enough,” he whispered back. Miranda chuckled and led him inside her. “God,” he breathed out as she took him.

“There is no God here, only Jeff!”

“Oh, shut it!”

The slowness of her action was gone. Miranda moved on him, loving him as wildly as ever before. Her insides were tense around his dick, the warmth and wetness welcomed him. He wished she was naked, and he could see her and touch her, but holding her face was enough for now.

His heart was racing; her moans gave him pleasure. Their loving was fast. Few more strokes and Jonathan overwhelmed by all of this came hard. He gasped while Miranda was playing with his hair, smile on her face.

“Have I ever told you, you are amazing?” he asked when he caught his composure.

“No,” she grinned.

He chuckled and then raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t cum.”

She caught his hands. “Nu-uh. Not today. Next time.”

Jonathan frowned. “That’s the second time you put me to shame, Jeff.”

“Now you shut it!”

One last kiss and then Miranda left for a bathroom. Jonathan wondered whether she is wounded. What did she do while he was consumed by work? Any why would she hide it? He knew she kills people, what could be worse than that? Stealing antiques? It didn’t sound like her at all. It must have been something else. Something so bad he can’t know.

A phone on the table buzzed. Without thinking, Jonathan took it and read the message. Too late he realized he is not home, and the phone isn’t his.

“I hope I didn’t break you too much, love.”

Another buzz.

“Call me.”

Jonathan looked at it baffled. The phone went dark and it stayed locked together with answers. “What the fuck?” he mumbled. The meaning of the messages couldn’t settle in his brain. Did he read that right? What did Miranda do? Who the fuck was this guy? What did they do?

Trust?

Disgusting!

Never trust a fucking whore!

He grabbed his things and slammed the door on the way out.

Next chapter

[nacsygen]

i mean, if there's anywhere to suffer about gender, why not tumblr, amirite?

i've known for like at least five years now i'm...not cis.  i've never been able to properly explain it, to myself or to others, but the fact that it sticks around so long tells me that, like and as unlike as my brain has tried to tell me many times before about being bi ("not gay enough") and mentally ill ("not mentally ill enough") like yeah, this is clearly a part of my identity, not just a phase or me, idk, trying to be cool or fit in among all the cool non-cis people i know, i guess???

i think what confuses me is that i don't really have much dysphoria about my physical form, really.  not in my own sense of it.  not without the input of other people.  i'm a very small person and this has informed a lot of my life, yes.  i am well below average height and have never been possessed of strength or grip to speak of (i'm the sheepish one who has to ask the girl working at the pizza place, after five minutes of trying at a booth, to open my bottle of water because my hands are just too small to have a proper adult grip).  but my body is my own, and i've long since learned to live with it, and be comfortable in it.  i got no complaints.

but then, people comment without any sort of prompting on aspects of my physicality, strangers, in public, all the time - whether it's the older lady at the bus stop asking how old i am and what i do to diet because i'm Just So Small! (ma'am, this is just how i am - no, i don't diet - if i stood up you could see my gut - being southern and polite is alas also a large part of my identity -), or the threateningly verbally abusive loud misogynist at the bus stop yelling at my turned back about my "skinny ass white girl legs! get some sun, bitch!", or just today, an older cracker (here in florida that is a descriptor of a culture, not a "slur") who i've ridden the same bus with many times with he and his lady friend, coming up to me while i'm standing waiting (again) for the bus and said "hello ma'am, i was just wondering, are you from The North? where are you from?" and i looked up from my book, bc again southern politeness, and said "nah, i'm from here" and pointed at the ground.  "you're really not From The North?  i'm sorry, i don't mean to be impolite, it's just because of your legs.  they're so skinny and pale, we thought you was From The North." "No sir, I'm from right here in Florida. I just don't tan easy." "well, that was a bet I had going with that girl over there that I just lost." "yeah, sorry, sir, I'm southern born and raised." we ended up on the same bus when it got there, and as i was getting ready to disembark he said "you have a good night there, sweetie! enjoy your book!" "oh, i will." realizing the awkwardness as the bus slowly got to a stop, "sorry, i'm nice, it's all i know how to be." "alright, well, you have a good one!" (i'm pretty sure that last that i didn't even think about said more about how Southern i am than anything else i could have said.)

i know that last was a tangent, but that's the thing - i don't even think about my body as Representing Femininity until other people treat me in a different way because of it.  it happens over and over, all the time, and it's the primary cause of what i've come to recognize as dysphoria.  if i was a boy, if my hair was tucked up in my hat and my chest flattened, would these and many others over the years feel free to comment so freely about my body to me?  i really don't think so.  and that shit sucks.

to me, my body is not a Female Body, despite its resemblance to the Traditional Female Body in its curves and shapes - it is not a Female Body, it is My Body.  my breasts are not female breasts, they are my thiddies and i'm really fond of how they look and like to show them off. like, artistically, they are a gift to the world. my long wavy curls are not Female Hair, they're Rockstar Hair, Fuck You, like i grew up with the old-school and grunge male rockstars i always saw as style icons (and the female rock stars too - huge long hair is a great look for everyone!).  idk if it's because i'm really Just That Pansexual that i can look at my societally-hyper-feminized form - extremely petit,  pale, significant boobs but no ass, skinny arms and legs - and say, you know, that could be a cute guy, right there.  

i've more recently in the past few years experimented now and then more towards as gender-neutral a presentation as i can, even though that just means people see me at a distance and think i'm a pre-teen boy. and yet, people treat pre-teen boys much better than they do almost-30 petit women, is the depressing lesson i've learned from that.  

I hate how much of my questioning of my gender identity is tied into negative experiences with other people and their relationships as strangers to my perceived femaleness.  like, i live in a pretty nice neighborhood now, but i hate going to the local gas station bc the block around it is just...holla bingo time.  last time i walked there by myself i wore knee-length loose shorts and an oversized men's plain t-shirt to go with my walking nikes and baseball cap, and i STILL got hollered at.  "hey, sweetheart! you need help carrying that? hey! hey, young lady!" i did not turn - i hate acknowledging men who holler.  "hey, baby, let me give you a ride to wherever you're goin! no one's gonna bother you!" i wanted to yell back "YOU. YOU'RE BOTHERING ME." but then, he was being significantly more polite than many of the people who've hollered at me over the years, so no point in engaging and hurting anybody's feelings or enduring the "i was just trying to be nice" conversation.

and that's the thing, like. i never feel bad about being percieved as female unless people are doing it in a hurtful way. matter of fact, i have no particular relationship to being female except in hurtful ways from other peoples' perceptions.  my body is genderless, as i am genderless, and it is my body. it does what it's supposed to do and has treated me well for how i've treated it over the years. i'm not mad at my body about it. i'm mad at the people who think my form gives them a right to treat me in unacceptable ways for what should be a polite society.  i get dysphoria from the man yelling from a work truck passing by when i'm just trying to get home from my work, "HEEEEY, LIL MAMA~!" I get dysphoria from being wished "happy mother's day!", or did back in 2014, when on break at work, and a significantly older lesbian gestured at me and said to the man in question, " does she LOOK like a mother to you??"

like listen, i like wearing cute little sundresses, or skin-tight tank tops and short-shorts.  you know why? because i live in florida and it's FUCKING HOT.  they are comfortable.  they are easy.  they are simple choices, that i am allowed to make because i am afab and present femme, and i like the way they look on me and like that i'm allowed this comfort in the heat.

i hate that wearing that for my own comfort gives people a seeming license to comment freely on my body.  i hate that presenting as a woman, a "woman", means people treat me this way.  i hate the bus driver that always says "hello there, little lady" when i board his bus, and i hate that he means well by it. i hate that even when i dress in my loose, masculine, don't-get-hollered-at clothes, i still get hollered at. and i find myself wondering, if i had short hair and no boobs, if i was just a 4'11" young teenage boy, would i get hollered at like this? and no. of course not.

but i don't want my gender identity to be the opposition of a negative in favor of a positive. this has gone into a series about street harrassment when in reality there are many reasons i identify more as male or non-female than because of this. i really don't feel much reason to identify as female other than solidarity with female victims of gendered and sexualized violence. which, alright, that's probably not the most positive way to feel. or reproductive health stuff.  alright, that's just the body i was born with, and i don't feel much connection to it otherwise.  i don't want to medically transition, i don't want to change my body, but like...

i don't really know what dysphoria actually is. is it the feeling of displacement in one's own home of self? is it feeling like everything about how everyone else views you is somehow shifted two wrong lenses over at the optometrist's office? is it just feeling like something...something's really wrong here? if so, i think i’m definitely experiencing dysphoria,.

hey, i'm maria/aril, and i'm trans.  i don't know how, exactly, but i am. and here we are.

[truthofherdreams]

please don’t stop the music (3)

also on ao3

There is something almost comforting about classes starting, even though Lara Jean has to get acquainted with a whole new set of professors and fellow students. But there is something to be said about waking up every morning with a purpose, and keeping her mind busy with lectures, readings and homework. Chris thinks her crazy for how organised she is – from her pastel highlighters to her neat notes to her pretty schedule above her desk –, not that Lara Jean pays her mind. They might get along, but it soon becomes clear Chris and she have opposite views on their academic performances. Which is fine with Lara Jean, really. Nobody can be at the top, that’s why it’s the top.

At least she gets one week free of acapella before auditions are held, and so one week away from Gen’s deadly stares. The girl doesn’t scare her, not really, still Lara Jean is careful. Even more so since Chris dropped the Peter bomb on her.

She hasn’t seen him around since the activities fair, which obviously means that he’s right there in the food hall on Wednesday when she gets her breakfast before her 9am econ class. She toys with the idea of running away for a second, but then he’s raising his head from his plate, his eyes meeting hers, all surprised glee and boyish smiles, and she knows she’s done for.

She piles more pancakes that is probably healthy on a plate, pours herself a cup of tea, and goes to pay. All in slow motions. All to push down the inevitability of having to sit next to Peter Kavinsky.

“Hey, Covey,” he greets her when she finally plops down in the chair opposite his. “Bright and early?”

She steals some time by sipping on her burning hot cup of tea, and it only makes him grin more. Idiot. “You’re one to talk,” she manages to reply after a while, nodding to his still damp hair and flushed skin.

He obviously already took a shower, while she’s still in her pyjamas. They’re on two very different levels of early-birdness right now.

Peter only shrugs. “Morning training has me up at 6 every morning.”

She lowers her cup, eyes a little wild. “What.”

Everyone and their mother told her it was madness to take a 9am class and that she soon would regret it. Lara Jean always replies that she likes waking up at the same time every morning, as part of her routine, so it really is not a problem. She would be awake anyway, so might as well be productive about it.

But six am? Every morning? That is madness, indeed.

Peter simply shrugs with one shoulder, before he shoves another spoonful of cereals in his mouth. “The gym is always empty this early in the morning.”

“I wonder why,” she replies.

He only grins for a moment, head tilted to the side like a curious puppy. There is something too soft about his features, and his eyes, and his smile. Lara Jean has to look away.

“Well yeah, that’s the point. Nobody to steal the treadmill from me or to judge me when I’m lifting weights.”

“But why?” she wonders out loud. Why would he put himself through such a drastic regimen every morning, when he could just sleep in and probably still looks just as good. She doesn’t say that out loud, though.

“I’m part of the Lacrosse team,” he explains. “Scholarship.”

Her mouth opens in a small ‘oh’ of surprise as understanding dawns on her. She has vague souvenirs of Peter playing Youth Lacrosse when they were in primary, jokingly calling it 3L – Little League Lacrosse. It makes sense that he would keep with it in high school; Peter has always been an outdoor kind of boy, when she was just fine reading inside. The neighbours’ tree house had been a happy in-between for the two of them.

“So you’re a masochist,” she comments.

Peter presses a hand to his hand, faux offended expression on his face. “Damn, Covey. Since when are you so savage?”

She’s the one to grin this time, hiding her giggle in a sip of her tea. It reminds her of primary school all over again, of the recess time spent playing games together and the play-dates watching Harry Potter and Disney movies and running around her garden, yelling like animals. It was a simpler time then, without having to worry about her father and Kitty, or helping Margot with chores, or writing down meal plans for the week. A time when all three Covey girls were just that – girls, who knew nothing of heartbreak or maturing too soon.

It’s always been easy, with Peter. He was her first friend, from the very first day of school, sitting next to her and telling her how he liked her little combat boots. She wasn’t used to be friends with boys then – it was Margot and her, for the most part, and she was fine with it – but Peter made it easy. Comfortable. Fun.

And he still does, telling her about his Lacrosse career and his daily training sessions every evening with the team, and how all the other dudes are so much more buffier than him. Hence the extra training in the morning, to keep up with them. In return, she tells him about Margot in Scotland, and Kitty being such a little feminist warrior, and how she loves to bake whenever she can. Which isn’t all that easy when she’s sharing nothing more than a kettle and a microwave with an entire floor of college students.

“I remember you mom used to make those little Korean pastries,” he says, using both his hands to mimic a round shape. “With like, red bean stuff or something.”

“Hwangnam bread,” she replies, and hopes he doesn’t notice how her whole body went tense for a second there, a little startle of surprise at how casual he brought her into the conversation.

But of course, it’s Peter, and he notices. Eyes a little sad, shoulders slouching ever so slightly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s fine,” she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. And, truly, it is, in some weird, probably inexplicable way. The hurt will always been there, at the back of her mind, but. It’s less painful now, dulled with time. “I’m just not used to people talking about her so casually.”

Usually, people are very good at toying around the subject. They’re not very good at being casual about it, though. Too many teachers being so awkward around them when it was time to make a Mother’s Day present, so many people apologizing too many times about it like it was somehow their fault. And dad, who’s so good at just keeping it all in to the point where Kitty once asked her if he didn’t love mom anymore. It’d broken Lara Jean’s heart so much she’d cried herself to sleep that night, unable to explain that dad does that because he still loves mom so damn much it hurts.

“Well, her pastries were great. And she was, too.” A pause. Then, “dad left us like, a year after you guys moved out. Got himself a new wife and a new house and a new family. They even got a dog and shit.”

Lara Jean’s mouth opens but, for a few moments, no word come out. She has no idea what to answer that isn’t the damn hollow apologies she hates so much. So instead she says, “Oh Peter…” and her voice goes lower, softer.

“It’s fine, really,” he replies, even though his tone makes it everything but. “It’s just, I know what it feels like. People being weird at you trying to act like the situation is normal even if it isn’t.”

Lara Jean remains silent for a while, her pancakes abandoned in favour of staring down at her hands in her lap. She doesn’t have many memories of Peter’s parents or family life, only that his mom runned the local antiques store that Lara Jean loved so much as a child. There was this one necklace she always admired, and Mrs Kavinsky even let her try it on for a little while once. But, beside that, Lara Jean can’t remember anything. Can’t remember if the Kavinskys looked happy or not.

When she still doesn’t speak up, Peter simply adds, “Well, that was deep,” and it makes her laugh out loud, a little nervous and breathless. He’s grinning again when she looks up at him, eyes crinkling and dimples in his cheeks, and she finds herself blushing for no reason. She coughs, then shoves some more pancakes in her mouth.

Chewing and swallowing, she decides it’s time to move on to things that are a little lighter and less awful. “Owen must be so grown up now.”

Peter groans, head tilting back. “He’s driving mom fucking crazy, doing nothing of his days beside playing Fortnite and watching videos of like, David Dobrik.” He shakes his head, like he him can’t believe it. “She keeps wishing he took after me and was outside all the time.”

“We can’t all be kind of the lunch hall,” she comments as an educated guess. Something funny twists in her stomach when Peter is the one to blush. Maybe not such a guess after all. “Too bad they live far away from each other, Kitty could force him to go outside once in a while.”

“Oh I remember the little monster,” Peter grins.

Kitty was barely more than a baby when he last saw her, running around the house and screams like a banshee. Nothing much has changed on that subject, comes to think about it. Lara Jean wonders how long it took her this time, to hack the TV’s parental control and gain access to HBO all over again. Two days? Three at most? Damn, but Lara Jean misses her already.

She thinks of sending her baby sister a quick good morning text, and so grabs her phone from her pocket, only to notice what time it is. Her class starts in half an hour, and she still needs to shower and get ready.

“Shoot,” she softly curse, which of course makes Peter laugh. “I have to get ready for classes.”

“Yeah, sure. Let me go back up with you.”

Which is how Lara Jean learns that he lives on the fourth floor, while she and Chris are on the third one. Not so far from each other, especially since they can hang out in whichever floor’s common room if they feel like it. Which, Lara Jean doesn’t want to sound presumptuous, but maybe they do.

(She refuses to think of Gen right now.)

Peter holds the elevator’s door open as she gets off and turns toward him, fishing for her door card in the pocket of her cardigan but not moving down the corridor. Like she wants to enjoy any spare second with him she can get.

“That was nice,” she comments.

“It was,” he agrees. “Guess I’ll see you on Saturday, then?”

“What?”

“The party after the audition?” When Lara Jean doesn’t react, only offers him a blank face, he explains, “I’m part of the Ransom Notes. So I’ll see you at the acapella party.”

The elevator’s doors close on his wink.

Chris has a lot of explaining to do.

[youtiaoshutiao]

gotd season 2 rambles

I finished GOTD two/three weeks back but then was immediately swamped with real life work after that. Finally had time over the weekend to pen down all the thoughts swirling around my head!! I was thinking about whether to make this post or not but no one I know irl has watched this and I kind of want to remember what I felt about the drama so well. Here goes nothing!!

[Though… 慎入！！Beware of entering, for I just finished writing this post and I’m boggled at how utterly long + incoherent + messy this post is]

- I was rather worried about how Jingyao would play into the whole picture marrying into 楚王府. But in the end I guess it wasn’t thaaaaat bad (minus uhm, her poisoning Li Chu to force Zhenzhu to leave.) I can deal with drama like external factors forcing my OTP apart but what I can’t deal with is if the OTP itself fractures apart. So (at least in my pov) even though the director did all that annoying slow-mo spinning around in circles thing with Jingyao, my intepretation of Li Chu’s 眼神 wasn’t one of 动心/暧昧 and instead was just concern/maintaining a distance so I guess I wasn’t that mad about it….???

- OTP~~ OTP!! Jing Tian is so beautiful with her hair down :3

- TBH i enjoyed watching Li Chu and Zhenzhu in the battlefield and all that pining and stuff but I found the way they ended up there kind of… contrived. Though what Jingyao says does have its element of truth, but really?!?! Poisoning?!?! Internal drama?! Couldn’t it have been a more… dramatic reason? Like maybe a political maneuvre making Zhenzhu realise that Li Chu will be ‘burdened’ with her around or smth, then maybe Jingyao coming in to stir the pot, then Zhenzhu making the choice to leave. I just felt that the whole poisoning thing was kind of loophole-y. If Moyan Chou can research and link it back to Jingyao, shouldn’t Li Chu be perfectly capable of doing so too? Yet in those two years he never suspected anything. Though maybe it could be explained by him being too blinded with anger and disappointment at Zhenzhu that he just focused on his princely work in those years rather than sparing any thought on his love life. And I’m not sure how this whole matter ended up being resolved? When Li Chu found out and confronted Zhenzhu about it, she was still all ‘I can’t return back to you because you might come to harm if I break the oath I swore’… But in the end they just kind of ignored it? (after confronting Jingyao). Hm or maybe I missed something hahaha.

- still the whole arc with them on the battlefield/her becoming the Empress of Yan was still quite entertaining hehe. Pining! Fraught looks! Tears! Angst! I must say that Mao Zi Jun was much better in S2 than S1. In S1 his acting just seemed to be glaring and sticking out his eyeballs hahaha. I guess his forte is in all the emotionally charged scenes… Though I still don’t really care for An Qingxu. Also Zhenzhu’s outfit in the Yan empire was quite pretty too :3

- On a really random note, lives if you are not a main character in this drama (though actually who am I kidding… you don’t escape from death being a main character here *coughing fit*) are so worthless. I swear there are people dropping dead like flies in every episode… TBH back in the Uyghur ‘you-killed-my-father-prepare-to-die’ arc of the first season, I kind of couldn’t deal with how so many of Li Chu’s men died along the way of Li Chu searching for Zhenzhu because Li Chu refused to rest/take a chill pill when weather conditions sucked.

- It’s really a pity that they had to resort to excessive greenscreen and body doubles in the last Uyghur arc because it was really quite obvious and kind of affected immersion in the story. I’m guessing Jing Tian couldn’t make it for that filming period? Or maybe they were rushing and had to be split up across filming groups. Like… it was quite jarring to have everyone else in the scene then bam! Switch over to Zhenzhu awkwardly greenscreened in. Or some scenes where it was obvious that Allen wasn’t even interacting with Jingtian but rather a body double.

- Moyan Chou x Li Chu. Ouchhhhhh (especially since cracks kind of appeared in their friendship with Li Chu marrying Dugu and Zhenzhu using Moyan Chou to get a divorce from Li Chu). I’m really impressed by Allen’s acting ;_; like of course he’s still kind of raw in places but like wow there’s a 灵气 to his acting and he is exceptional considering how it’s his second time playing male lead. Of a 92 episode drama, no less. In the scene where Moyan Chou and Li Chu drink together for the last time, his tears just kept on flowing non stop! Idk if anyone who reads this has the same experience of using the cliche phrase ‘他的眼泪像断了线的珍珠纷纷落下’ (his tears flowed down like a broken string of pearls) in chinese compositions in primary school but that’s the first thing that popped to my mind when I saw this scene hahaha.

- anyway, compared to this drama’s standard death bgm 荣耀, it was a nice touch to change it up to 为江山 which fit perfectly with the setting and nature of Moyan Chou’s death. It was pretty goosebump inducing when the music crashed over the speakers as he slumped down and the entire congregation of people at that intersection of stones (?!?!) began kneeling and wailing.

- again props to Jing Tian’s and Allen’s acting. Though Jing Tian wasn’t that consistent in all the crying scenes (though she has so many it’s kind of hard to be hahaha) but i really think they handled the growth and development of their characters quite well. The Zhenzhu and Li Chu you see at the end of s2 are tangibly different from them at the start. Even if they banter with each other, it’s very different in vibes from the early days - more measured and serious. And the change happened quite subtly? imo at least :3 

- personally felt the whole way the showdown with Empress Zhang took place was kind of… anticlimatic… but I guess that’s kind of how it went down in history hahaha oh wells.

- hints of how even though Li Chu became emperor, there’s still trouble looming in the distance with Li Fuguo still maintaining power etc. was kind of disturbed reading real history because the image of Daizong having to pander to eunuchs and all that kind of isn’t really aligned with the capable Li Chu we see in the drama (oh the woes of dramatisation of historical characters - i felt the same reading commentary about 14th prince back in the day after watching/reading bbjx) but i was thinking about it and i realised that i can kind of accept that! because there were quite a few scenes throughout the drama where Li Chu was lamenting about how he feels so helpless because he can’t do anything about the political situation/corruption/etc, how even though he has the acumen to perceive and see what all the parties are doing to procure power for themselves he cannot do anything about it. so taking this aspect of Li Chu into context - how he definitely is smart and capable, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t susceptible or is invincible given how the entire tang court is deeply mired in politics and power play, i guess it’s not that far of a stretch to link this Li Chu to the Daizong in history books (who wasn’t a baaad emperor too anyway)

- the whole Zhenzhu being 油尽灯枯 at the end was also kind of… random and a little contrived imho but given her life circumstances i guess it can be justified and is a logical way to end things, since they do ultimately have to adhere to the historical ending of Zhenzhu going missing and Daizong never electing an empress during his rule. (I have to say, my favourite arc in this entire drama was probably the 10+ eps of separation when the Anshi rebellion kicked in, because the conflict felt very real and organic and the stakes felt really high, so the senses of urgency/loss/anxiety/despair were really heightened.)

contrived as it may be to me, that didn’t stop me from feeling deeeeeep despair and sorrow through the last few eps ;_; him making longevity noodles for her; them being in the same space that holds so much meaning to both of them, the little wooden hut where she professed her love for him, yet both of them lost in their own separate thoughts; them weeping their own separate tears; him holding her as she takes an afternoon nap, knowing that this is probably one of the last times he can do so…

and his coronation ceremony/the day she leaves for good from his life. their last hug - he was the very definition of 依依不舍 ): Him walking down the aisle (HAHA is that what it’s called) of the Tang courts, dressed in stately regal emperor garb, the world is his yet he is so utterly alone. 所谓“高处不胜寒”! (haha though this line was not yet in existence during Tang)

and the ending was so poetic in all its tragedy and hit all my buttons hahaha. Him dressing as a cart driver to send her off for the last time → !!!, her stopping at 醉仙楼 and coming out of the carriage to take a look at the place where her and her Donglang first met → !!!!!! (I think this really got to me because I have a huge fondness for their entire first meeting haha. And this + how she hallucinated Dong Lang in that red outfit when she was semi-conscious to me kind of shows how ultimately she loves Dong Lang for who he is as an adult, and not because he is her 太湖公子 from her childhood, which is very important to me?!) And lastly Li Chu riding on his horse, surveying the mountains and landscape that Zhenzhu disappeared into, the 江山 that he owns… aka really ‘一人一马一江湖’, as the drama oh so helpfully foreshadowed for us in the first few episodes.

- Since I’ve mentioned 为江山, as I’ve said before, I really love the OSTs in the drama! But while previously the bigger ‘hits’ (in a sense) like 夙念 and 荣耀 were stuck in my head, these past two weeks, I can’t help but keep on replaying 素颜 and 唐韵 on loop. (though I still enjoy all the songs - except maybe the Jike Junyi one which is still not bad but just doesn’t get to me like all the other songs do… maybe because it was never played in any scene throughout the drama? (except the ending credits of s2. which I skipped everytime.) (speaking of which, s2′s opening theme song became 荣耀 but they didn’t correspondingly change the opening sequence which was so nicely timed to 为江山, which is also more regal and had more oomph more befitting of an opening track!! that was quite sad ):))

And especially for 素颜 (Unadorned Beauty), omgggg the lyrics nearly killed me when I sat down to properly read it at the end of the drama. It’s played twice in the drama - once in the beginning when Zhenzhu and Lin Zhi were sitting for the consort selection tests and once in the end when Zhenzhu leaves the palace (and Donglang) permanently for good. And omg the lyrics really fit perfectly?!?!

→ The verse/first part of the song: “你是春的使节 让残雪融解 / 染成青黛的天 等著细雨停歇 / 你素颜 裹着云烟 诗意了远方 湿润了心  / 闭上眼 姹紫嫣红都不觉甜 只为你的容颜” - basically just really beautiful lyrics about how you are the envoy of spring melting the remnants of snow and how your bare-faced/unadorned beauty bundled in mist lends poetic flavour to the distance and how all the beautiful flowers pale in comparison to your beauty blablabla. The first half of the chorus too: “豁然间 春光如练 / 渲染了 你的出现 / 最留恋 不是云巅 / 是千万里朝颜和暮雪” The whole song just describes Zhenzhu to me, and in these particular lyrics I think about Zhenzhu in the early episodes, fresh and dewy-faced, dressed in pale pinks and whites. I’m just imagining the verse + first chorus being Li Chu’s inner monologue about Zhenzhu and my heart feels all squishy kyaaaaaaaaa

→ The second half of the chorus: “梦回间 春光流泻 /  归去在 落花时节 / 待离别 青空绵绵 / 你会成山水间那一点 如烟” basically talking about how as time passes, she will leave when the flowers fall, and become a dot in the landscape like a wisp of smoke… how apt ;_; and okay here I’m just babbling nonsense but like all the terms like “青空” “山水” “如烟” really fits her costuming in the last few eps which had 水墨/ink wash painting vibes 

(↑ i’m probably overthinking this way too much ahaha)

[on another note, some other particular lines in some of the other songs that I just really liked (i have random feels for sentences that I think are really poetic. though it may only be me who thinks so hahaha)

为江山：“挥手时飞扬飘零的黄沙 蜿蜒于驰骋豪情的天下” and “铿锵的温柔 忠义的绵绸 此情动我幽幽” like all the juxtaposition between toughness and softness… (uhhh it made more sense in my head). this entire song is Li Chu’s life ;_;

唐韵：okay no I went to search up the lyrics again and I want to copy the entire thing over HAHA. I love how the lyrics, true to the setting of the drama and the name of the song (how do you translate 韵 properly? it’s such a nice word haha), incorporate elements of Tang inside it. “釉烧出 多色绚丽的斑斓” or “浸润出 三彩交融的璀璨” - mentions of pottery/sancai glaze that flourished during Early Tang. Or “昔繁华 已苍芜” - befitting the backdrop of the drama - Tang the flourishing golden dynasty at the precipice of its dwindling. And for some reason I just love phrases like “静谧千年的思念” and the whole of the second half of the chorus: “愿你记得 穿梭人浪中一瞥 / 临摹也不能复刻你容颜 / ��浓映画眉 / 朱红落点唇 / 只盼伴来生共偎”

为你成全：my favourite line is “锦绣长安夜 / 似昙花惊艳”!! 

i think i just really like imagery in lyrics hahaha. i like 荣耀’s lyrics a lot too. in comparison i actually think the lyrics of 夙念 and some parts of 为你成全 are pretty standard drama ost fare… though they still serve their purpose well in inducing appropriate feels in various scenes.

–

This series of bloopers/original voice clips released by one of the production companies attached to this show is like a soothing balm to an injured heart after watching the ending. And the last video in this series - aww the entire team really put in so much effort to film this show, and it shows in the acting, the props, the sets, the costuming, the music (excluding awkward greenscreen and s2 editing). ANDDD watch from 13:52 onwards!!! A small Easter egg - Allen’s original soft soft voice going “珍珠，你总算回来了……” welp I’m gone

s2 was ultimately a lot weaker in many aspects than s1, and tbh the entire plot of GOTD is riddled with well trodden tropes. But I still have so much fondness and love and feels for this 92 episode drama I mainlined in three weeks (and then promptly regretted because real life came cascading down on me soon after that) :3 It’s definitely an engaging drama that had quite a lot of effort put into its making, and with it’s length there’s something for everyone - (1) an otp that will make you squee (2) endless angst, tears and misery (3) palace politics that are relatively quite complex for it’s 古言 status (4) some harem-esque drama for 后宫戏 fans (5) battle scenes, war tearing apart otp bringing about more angst… et cetera. Considering how I quit dramas at a drop of a hat, I’m pretty impressed that I managed to complete this haha xD

shall end off with a short 花痴楼！

《帅帅的殿下SHOWTIME!》

虽然在跟别的女人转圈圈但仍非常帅气的殿下！

微醺醺的新郎装殿下！

睹物思人的殿下！

穿上盔甲，眼带杀气的殿下！

闭着眼，姹紫嫣红都不觉甜的殿下！

超级无敌苏的殿下！

化身为大厨的殿下！

I wanted to take more screenshots but I shall just end here, because I scrolled up and got a huge shock seeing exactly just how much babble I spouted. I’m kind of horrified?! Omg anyone who reads this to the end, I’m sorry for all my incoherent rambling :3

[2dtacokit-blog]

oh jeez. Coming Back and I guess, Coming Out?

Well it has been over a few years I think since I was last on here and boy has things changed, myself included. I wasn’t planning on coming back on here as it was a horrendous triggering mess, couldn’t stand the bitchiness and toddlers... But my best buddy dragged my sorry ass back. My blog was an unmitigated disaster, I cringed for the longest time and was furious with myself. Mass deleting spree. It��s a long old read, maybe the longest post in the entire universe, but I cannot put this concisely. If you make it to the end, I thank you for witnessing this.

TW for CSA, SA, R, Su, Si. Just tread carefully. Crude, explicit and uncensored. 

If you know me in real life, please please do not reveal this information.

Some things are the same, still parenting, still confused, still in therapy, still fighting the same old demons but a lot has changed. I have grown up for a start, wizened up a bit, got some of my shit together and I am now single. I gave two fingers up to the NHS mental health service after the complete closure of therapeutic services in my area and sought private medical care. I am in private analytic psychotherapy weekly, getting to know myselves. I have now been formally/clinically diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, which has been a tough nut to get my teeth around. An old me, unsure who, used to write about it on here with complete assurance that it was the case and I didn’t recognise that attitude when I came back on. I will now be a lot more cautious with what I write with relation to my mental health because it puts me at great risk. I do not want the whole perimeter for my existence to be based on my mental health anymore... Even though it still governs my existence.

So yes, we are a “system” working towards consolidation of trauma and experiences in therapy and with private specialists, but we are primarily Aly. 

Another biggie to cover, and this will be the first place other than the survivors forum I will post this on, is that I am having serious issues with gender dysphoria. Now this is gonna sound very strange, for most that have known me I have seemed someone who sexualized their female body continually, putting it on display and clinging to it. Well... It came as a shock to me as to anyone I haven’t already come out to (literally 5 people I know in real life?). I will do what I can to explain and make sense of what is an ongoing discovery with my therapist.

Trauma fucks with people in many ways. Sexual and psychological trauma is an insidious beast that disguises themselves in many forms. Now as I have already covered, I have DID. A condition caused by having to adapt to survive severe and repeated complex trauma in childhood. I still have not much of an idea what that is but other me’s do. That is neither here or there for now, that is my business, but what it does is erase chunks of my memory of things I have been unable to process/deal with. 

As a kid, I was abnormal to say the least. A large chunk of that was due to trauma, switching continually and just casually failing my way through anything other than academics. One thing I didn’t understand was how the heck I couldn’t connect to the girls around me. I didn’t understand them, couldn’t get my head around how they worked or how they looked. I was tall, scrawny, long haired boyish thing that was torn between doing what they loved (getting muddy, trashing shit, buying the most ridiculous jeans you can imagine, pummelling people in rugby, pummelling people in the playground ((not proud of it)), studying, hanging out with boys, being silly) and who I felt I should be (cute, girly, into pink, dancers, sweet, gentle). 

That conflict tore my little primary school brain apart. What used to happen at home is a mystery but school was agony. I would go in a dishevelled mess and was a freak, as all and sundry used to make clear. Girls didn’t want me as their friend because I wasn’t like them, and my attempts to emulate them came across desperate, copycat, attention seeking behaviour. But dammit I still tried. Tried the pink, tried the cute stuff, but they were my sisters stuff... Not for me. I loved them but they didn’t look right on me, made me feel worse. My younger sister was an alien to me; a proper real life girl and that highlighted my freakishness. I was being rejected by everyone. Experiencing massive emotional and physical neglect at home, bullied at school, turned away by counsellors and tutors, ofc rejected by the boys and girls I fancied. 

ENTER FROM THE LEFT MY MAGICALLY SHIT DISSOCIATIVE POWERS.

I had a few angry boy personalities about by this time, I didn’t know they were boys until like September last year. I had a mass emergence of parts, all male, that stored these memories like time capsules. Memories I had forgotten due to my dissociative amnesia. Anyway, similarly to how these parts formed and were there early, so came a female personality. One that could preform girl where the rest of us couldn’t. Not very well at this stage, she was a young girl, but she dutifully tried to copy the girls we grew up around. Camouflaging what I guess was early stage dysphoria from myself and those around me. This part felt terror at appearing anything like a boy, because looking like a boy when we should be a girl would get us bullied and rejected again. And we were alone enough. 

Around this time, I think between 9-11, I was visibly changing a lot in photos. Sometimes I would be incredibly tomboyish, othertimes... painfully... a mismatched attempt at what we felt a girl should be. Combine that with the elusive sexual abuse we aren’t clear of yet, we prioritised being sexually attractive over all else. Boys liked girls that had tits. Boys liked girls that liked their tits. My family liked girls that were girls, and tits were a thing girls had, make up were what girls wore. Girls liked girls that looked like girls, and were jealous of girls who looked sexy. Well that is who we will be, couldn’t be cute, so let’s be sexy instead. I wore miniskirts that were obscene, tank tops saying “sexy kitty” on it, and stuffed my croptop to make sure my tiny prepubescent body looked that little bit more adult. That didn’t go how we wanted it to. We looked more like a freak than ever because parts were still clinging desperately to their boyhood, and we looked like a clusterfuck to be honest. A sad one though. Desperately sad and my heart breaks to look back at that confused person in the photos.To be clear though, we were not at this point attaching any of this to gender, boyhood wasn't at this point me saying “LOOK I AM A BOY” but kinda what we really were without connecting the word boy to it. I wasn’t afforded an opinion of my own at this age, raised in the church, within a violent and abusive household in literally one of the whitest, hetero-normative, conservative towns in the UK erases ones ability to discover themselves.

In a final act of madness to solidify that i was a normal girl we went to an all girls school. 

Mistake.

Before we even got to that dam school we watched The Matrix. For the first time we saw someone that looked like a girl but also looked like a boy. We were mystified. We bypassed Trinity, she was a she and we didn’t connect at all, but the blonde one (who died very early on) has short boyish spiky hair. So we took our smol ass to the hairdressers and insisted we got our past shoulder length hair cut completely off. That did not go the way we planned. We looked older, looked somehow more like a freak girl/boy thing, and it was horrifying. We also looked like our mum, which was another problem related to the abuse stuff. We cried for ages because we felt like a freak, didn’t understand why we did it, couldn’t change it and we were about to start at the new, All Girls Grammar school. Shit. 

The first two years at that school was hell. My mum finally kicked my dad out, but we were still having to see him weekly. I was at this point dissociating all the time. I would have three loads of school stuff with me all the time, for reasons i couldn’t understand. I didn’t understand why the other girls had one pencil case when I had 3, had to have 3! How in the heck did these girls carry their stuff not in a bag or a giant tray like I had to?! Well I was catering to the parts that were present without knowing it. Either way I was bait man, freaking bait.

Skinny, tall, covered head to toe in excoriation marks, short tufty hair, looked like a boy, but so desperate to fit in I wore my dam mums make up. I got lost all the time, was crying all the time or having fits where i would smash stuff, steal things, yell for no reason or be very sexually overt. I was torn apart. A website was set up by my old so called friends called The Aly Fan Club, where they took photos of me around school, uploaded them to the net and commented on them, with people (usually men) commenting what they wanted to do to me. I took all this in silence because when i got home, my amnesia would wipe that shit clean from my brain for ages. From one hell to another. 

Coming out as what I thought was gay at this time was another huge problem, like any emo nerd I drew all this trash and put it on dA. In no time at all, most of the school knew I liked girls and there was now something NEW to bully me for. I tried to see this as punishment for my bullying behaviour in primary school to justify it but there was no justification. So much at this point was about punishment.

Punishment for being a freak, for being a loser, for not being like anyone else in this entire dam school. Punishment for looking so gross, for wanting these awful, naughty things, for liking the wrong people, for drawing how i felt... I needed to be punished. So I let it continue. I was an awful person and i needed to be punished.

But here is a thing. Breasts. When mine came in they came in suddenly. It felt like all my prayers had been answered and my ticket to being a girl like all these other girls had been called. I was One Of Them. I hated my body so much because of the hatred I got from others and my own discomfort that when these babies came in I adored them. Not what I anticipate anyone expects to here from someone suspecting they are a trans guy? “if you were truly dysphoric you would have hated them, that would have made it worse!” well for most cases probably. What these fatty parts gave me was attention, which i had been starved from in almost all aspects of my life, family included. What’s more, this attention was positive. I had never experienced such a thing for my body before that wasn’t... locked in another trauma pocket. 

For someone who was ready to kill themselves at age 12 because they were such an unforgivable, wretched, disgusting, freak, that wasn't even a girl, that couldn't stop biting themselves till they bled... The power my newly sexualised and definitely female body gave me was sorely needed. People fancied me now. They wanted to touch me rather than just hit me, or throw things at me. They wanted to pull me not swear at me or spit at me. Survival Aly adapts, it is what we do, so we adapted. But things were still not right. Self harm was a massive problem, so were suicide attempts because we were still... not quite there yet. We ventured online a lot, where older men from across the world would ask for photos, videos and meets. I had no idea this was sexual grooming, but we were also dependant on that to survive. Somehow though, the impact of that, some bullying that was still happening, my everpresent self hatred, confusion and discomfort and increase in abuse in the home led us to attempt suicide in the school toilet when i was 14.

We tried to cut our neck open this time.

A teacher found us and dragged us to student services. My mum as usual was angry as heck and embarrassed. Apologising for my behaviour and the inconvenience. My dad was cloying like molasses creeping into my head. I remember because i bled all over the blouse of Ms Ginsberg, a tutor i fancied since forever. It wasn’t that severe, it was considered a superficial wound, but the amount we were doing and the continual attempts were serious cause for concern. Then my step mom found photos of me being sexually active at 14 and before, my mom found a load of the video files for the other men and I was hospitalised. Something miraculous occurred during this time though, another part came out. One that was confident and proudly female, one that was overtly sexualised but more cunning. She was a chav, an incredible cheemo (idk if anyone remembers this fashion disaster movement thing). She could adapt and fit in to any social situation and essentially helped us waltz out of hospital with no memory of being there for years. 

All memory of confused tomboy/greyspace/whatever the fuck i was me was gone. This me didn’t give a dam and was in it for themselves and to survive, to be adored. And sex was their weapon, they just had to be cunning about it. By this point I was 15 and didn’t really think more about what I was. We were screwing guys now, guys and girls, thought this was something to be proud of. Dismissed the old small group of friends i had for the guys that hung around at the park and girls that used to go out and get drunk. We took naked photos of ourselves and put them online, and paraded ourselves around scantily clad because it made us feel powerful and loved. 

At 16 i was raped. I was again at 17 twice, and this pattern continued beyond being hospitalised for the second time at 20 (the worst 21st birthday ever), beyond getting pregnant which was also conceived through rape. I had been sexually abused and raped a lot during this time, but my dissociative amnesia would wipe the memory. So I would know something bad was happening but was denied processing it by my inbuilt survival mechanisms that kept me alive as a kid. I was unable to get out of the loop or register any danger because the switching would be so automatic, so ingrained, it basically was not up to me to get us out of the situation because another part was there in brace position having dissociated fully. All during this time I preformed female because it was necessary. I didn't have room to question my gender because i was too busy surviving and trying to literally not die. 

Then the pregnancy. I cant relive any of this trauma stuff too much, that isn't the point of this post but during this time, my gender was more apparent than ever before. Drawings we used to do of parts that had male appendages but still looked female started to change. Become more male. The internal distress was so monumental for many reasons; rape pregnancy, the gen father not leaving us alone, fear of my dad, still loosing my mind, desperately trying to be loved my my partner at the time. But there was another distress there. 

I cant be a mum. Women become mums. I cant hold this child in me. This shouldn't be there. 

Everyone was hammering home how much of a glowing woman I was and each time they said it I wanted to die. I tortured my body, got others to torture it too. Despised it, loathed it. It wasn't right to any of my parts. Three parts got us through that pregnancy but we dont know who gave birth. I dont remember it. We destroyed almost every pregnant photo of us. What were we disgusted by aside from the feeling of being broken, used and bred? How undeniably, unquestionably female we were. 

Even so things were happening inside my head and body that made us feel insane. We started feeling like we had a penis, like felt like we could touch it, could feel stimulated by holding an appendage there (tmi i know). We tried in secret without thinking about it, moving our breasts up, down, flat, out of the way (fairly impossible by this point i was a lactating G cup *vomits*). We had glimmers of feeling male... which... felt good. First time we pegged we cried in the toilet with the door locked because it felt real, felt right though we couldn't explain it. So we were too scared to do it again, tried to force feminise ourselves again because that is WHO WE SHOULD BE. I mean look? I have a kid now, i am “mom”. Stopped drawing these mysterious genderconfused parts and forcefully only drew accurately what our body was. Which was agony.

Until September 2017. 

Ploughing through therapy, maturing, making milestones in recovery when we started to talk about childhood trauma, my dad, the first and only time i drew myself fully as a man for my friend, and BAM! Bam! is not overrated it was literally a Bam! moment, because the part emergence I mentioned earlier occurred. And with these male parts came the bloody nail bat of gender dysphoria hitting me in the head over and over till I self harmed for the first time in years. The male parts were terrified and disoriented at first, they had a lot of growing up and catching up to do, some more so than others. They remembered being 15, 13, 10. Remembered the first pegging experience, remembered... things we had no connection to. Now they are mostly my age, helping each other to mature and grow as needed due to being a parent. 

The first used to cry and scream in the mirror, punching walls because the body was wrong. Attacking our breasts like i had done subconsciously for years but this time, because they knew their breasts were wrong. They drew themselves over and over to solidify their gender identity when all else was screaming they were female. We pulled away from our partner, couldn't be touched, couldn't be interacted with because it would be a reminder of our gender. We flinched at being called a woman, a girl, female, and with that came memories of feeling like that as a kid. Fuck me, we were dysphoric as a kid. The first proper realisation.

Up until this point we had NO idea we had ever experienced gender dysphoria. But this is how DID works. It erases traumatic information and stores it in the parts that dealt with it. When the parts properly emerge, this information is leaked out over time. So great. Dysphoria.

Another part came out to implement what I am now starting to think is their cure for this, to ultimately feminise us. Because we needed to be female. Erase the dysphoria and with it that other male part. Nothing feminises me quicker than one of my most terrifying abusers. So guess what bellend got back in contact and re-traumatised the system, this one *points to self in dismay*. Long story short, shit went down, not un consensual shit as before but still shit. That part would routinely draw the male part being hurt by this guy over and over again till they freaked out. 

But wait! The hellscape is not over. From stage right we have another destructive part, hyper-masculine, angry and unempathetic. Grateful to him because his presence pulled us away from that guy (he viewed him as pathetic and beneath him), but now we are just... drinking. Getting wasted in the park, hitting things, smoking up at night again. My specialist had told me to get to know these parts as they are vital for my recovery so we drew what they needed us to draw and goddam these guys are hurt. These are protective parts. They took the shit we couldn’t. And this one, swearing at my partner, exploding all over the place, trying to run away, self harming, kicking the shit out of the wheely bin outside survives threat of physical violence. The one that went to my old abuser survives some of the more extreme sexual violence and torture and the first male part deals with psychological abuse. I can see it in their drawings, their confessions and in our therapy sessions. We have other parts but they dont want to be discussed.

All of these parts are heavily dysphoric because they are all male. Unquestionably so. Their rage at this body is because it isn’t the right one.  So where do I come into it, me being the primary/fronting part, or leader of the twisted UN committee that is my brain?  That has taken longer to figure out, and has been a more agonising journey. 

I am dysphoric too. 

I cannot erase now i have them, the memories of my childhood spent dysphoric. The memories of trying at any cost to be a girl. Which shouldn’t be hard considering genetically I am one. I have had to fight within myself my transphobia i didn't even know was present. We aren’t talking bigotry here, but the genuine terror that i could be transgender. When most of the make up of who I am, and my survival to this day has been formulated by trying to accepted, loved, normal (though i failed at that horribly), not rejected and safe from physical, sexual and psychological abuse... Coming to terms with the fact you are transgender is not a comfortable thought. Not one I welcomed, and one that terrified us. 

The fear of being transgender was so great it made us sick, sent us into crisis, started us self harming again. Trying everything we can to not be transgender because I have been through enough and survival brain is screaming as loud as it can that this will cause serious problems. But we couldn’t. Cant draw myself as a girl at all without wanting to cry or wretch. Cant wear girls clothes because i feel like i am crossdressing?! Cant wear bras, cant do feminine make up, cant do anything I used to do to be accepted anymore. Cant be a girlfriend anymore. 

We started without realising it trying to make ourselves masculine. We would zone out and be drawing on facial hair with eyebrow pencil, tried using vetwrap to bind my chest, do not do this, it bruised us for days. We bought a mans top and a guys jeans and we lived in them exclusively unless family was over. We started wearing boxers, packing (though going to the loo and watching a dam sock fall out your pants makes your dysphoria worse and left us feeling humiliated so stopped doing this). I started drawing me not my parts but me and that me was always always male unless we were trying to force ourselves to draw a female us. 

We reached out eventually to my best friend Ruth, and they encouraged us to get a binder. This provoked fear again. Self harm, self medicating, the usual destructive bs. But now the distress levels were triggering depersonalisation and derealisation; both symptoms of DID survival patterns. We stopped being able to recognise ourselves in mirrors because the damn amnesia was wiping it in an instant. My hands would feel male then flick to female, my body was glitching continually and I tried to get out of buying a binder by talking about my “genuine transgender friends” saying how I couldn't be trans because of their experience, that I am so obviously taking the piss, that I cannot be trans this must all be trauma. But Ruth stuck with me, as did a few other people, and still pushed for me to get a binder just to see how it felt. 

I did and when it arrived and i tried it on the reaction was... well... overwhelming. Much like looking in the mirror seeing what is a very female face with a drawn on beard, i was looking at a body i hated being crammed into something that kinda hurt to put on, and making me look like i had a deformed ribcage. I cried. I dont know what i expected in that moment. Maybe that all the dysphoria will go away and it would be fixed and that would be that. All okay. But no. I felt sad that I was punishing my body for not being right, angry at myself for not being able to just be a dam woman. I MADE A BABY WITH MY BODY THIS SHIT SHOULD BE EASY. 

Standing in a mirror, with a binder on, boxers on and socks stuffed in them trying my best to look like a man, I felt like a freak. 

But then i put a shirt on. And holy heck i could see my feet. I was small, the first time i have ever looked at myself and seen a small body rather than something deformed that i see when i see my breasts. I looked smart, I looked beautiful in that shirt. The tears were still rolling down my dam cheeks, and i was a snotty wreck but I for the first time in 4-5 years I also didn't feel rage at being fat. Because I wasn't fat, not in the slightest. Standing there in shirt and boxers with flat chest, masc make up on, i looked like a guy... just about. And i smiled. I smiled so much. 

I urgently facetimed Ruth and was like “come see how good I look” something I hadn’t genuinely felt in a very long time unless a man thought I was sexy. But here, in my tip of a room, almost dancing on cam for my best friend, showing her how i could bend over and no udders were just dangling there, how i could type and see my hands move... I looked at myself and felt good. I didn't care if anyone else thought i looked good because I felt on top of the world 

This was my first introduction to gender euphoria, that wasn’t related to some obscure masturbatory habits and pegging. That feeling made things liveable for a while. I wanted to chase that feeling because it felt incredible. I was working out before but now I did it to not get thin, to not starve myself but to love myself. I started taking weight training seriously, and whilst the gym was a trigger for my dysphoria (room full of massive dudes who all see you and talk to you as a girl in your skimpy ass gym kit will do that to you) I pushed on. My shoulders are getting broader now, muscle definition starting and i love each of these changes. I eat more than I ever have done but I eat healthily because this male me, this real me that i seem to love I want to treasure, look after and care for. 

I am not gonna wear baggy clothes and cut my hair off to look like a passable cis guy because that feels like punishment, and I have done that enough in my life and been punished by people in ways that have left me unable to walk and bleeding. I want to see my body when i work out because i love seeing the muscle definition, I wince at my breasts but try to imagine it being different. I love my long floppy hair, and I am not gonna change that because men with long hair are stunning. People talk about “the cut”, and I get the feeling of shame that i must be making this all up because i dont want to cut my hair off, but I am not a boy, I am almost 25. I have lived through some shit, I am not a boy. I am... a man. And I like how my hair feels like a lions mane. I associate cutting my hair off with my own lack of control and desperation so i dont want to return to that ever. 

My therapist has been exceptional. He wants me to embrace this because he has seen massive improvement. Yes I am in and out of crisis a lot, there is a lot on my plate and dysphoria is a c*nt when you are already struggling, but here is the dam thing.

For the first time in my miserable fucking life I don’t want to be hurt or punished. I don’t want to be beaten, spat on, assaulted or killed. I don’t want to starve, I don’t want to be anywhere near any of my old abusers or rapists. I don’t want to submit to be liked. I don’t want to preform as a character to be accepted. I don’t want to be dependant on anyone to survive. I don’t want to sexualise myself to be loved. 

The dysphoria will challenge this, oh man it does. My depersonalisation and fear of being trans challenges this. 

Little voices going “you are not really a man. you have tits. you have a baby. you are a mom. you are doing this for attention, all this because you have to be somehow sicker than you already are. It is just trauma. You are making all of this up. You are trying to just not be the snivelling wretch that they made you into. You make a mockery of a very real cause. You are not trying hard enough, a real trans guy would cut their hair. You like your appearance sometimes which means you must not be trans. You are not a man, you are just like literally any of those cases of confused survivors of abuse that you see all over the internet, that is you. You just cant admit it because you are scum. It’s the same as everything, none of this is real, none of this is true. You are nothing like a man. You are a nothing, A NOTHING”.

Those are the voices that send me into crisis. That have me self harming, suicidal, terrified, self hating. Not when I pass as a guy, not when I draw myself as a guy or just... am a guy. The doubt and pull back to my assigned gender is what is killing me. Well alongside the actual traumas and parenting a toddler, alone, with over £2000 in debt. I never want to lie, but unpicking the truth when you are multiple people and have amnesic survival programming to prevent you from uncovering traumatic realities is very hard.

What is amazing though.... which I will cling to when my binder is crushing, when Instagram is full of BS about what is True Transgenderism, when FB is full of trans hate and I am still annoyingly in the closet with my family and most of the universe is this... When my BFF Maddy calls me an amazing, perfect boy, I blush and well up with tears and feel seen. I felt visible. When she sends me gifs of someone snuggling the death out of a tired proud lion, ruffling his mane, I feel seen again I cry with happy relief feels. When she or my friend Ruth says i look handsome, or masculine and I am blushing again forever, that is precious. When I look in the mirror after working out and see my shoulders broader and chest almost flat from the binder, hair swept back, I look strong, i look male, i look right. well almost. When i complete a drawing of how i wish i looked and i get it correct, i feel ready to punch the goddamn sun in its stupid face like LOOK! I EXIST! When I dream of being a guy and being touched by another person as if i am a guy, i feel like i am gonna take off from this planet and leave it in my dust... because not only do they see me, but they accept me and love me for who I am, who I want to be rather than who they want me to be or who i need to be... It makes me put that blade down and walk away. Make a hot chocolate or draw something.

So... I guess this is it. I am a guy. 

A closeted guy for my safety for now. But a guy.

A guy with a shit tonne of trauma. But a guy.

A guy with DID, and female personalities. But I am a guy.

A guy who has a 2 year waiting list before he can talk to a gender clinic about this but still. I am a guy. 

A guy that yes, despite all my best efforts, looks androgynous at best, and uses feminine appearance for protection because they are still too scared to present fully as male. But still a guy.

If this changes in future, well then... whilst living without dysphoria would be just the best... I dont want to loose who I am now i have finally caught a glimpse of them for the first time. It has made me a better person, a better parent, a better friend... Why would I ever give that up? It is gonna be a long old road, it may all change, I may change again, I may legitimately forget all about this. I may be too scared to ever come out to my family. The doubt, fear and dysphoria may actually win the next time I am in crisis. I may just delete this post out of shame but fuck it.

My name is Aly and I am a fucking guy. 

[owlish-peacock36]

I’m Just Too Far From Where You Are: Ficlet

WHAAAAAT? An update from Owlish?!?!? I’m just as surprised as you are guys. I wrote this little guy in between writing essays.

Here’s a baby ficlet for you all! A sleep Jamie, a chatty Claire, a lil angst, a lil love. ENJOY!

It had been three months, one week, and four days. But who was counting?

Certainly not Jamie Fraser. Tall and broad, he wore a hearty, strong exterior with a steely interior to match, or so people thought. In truth, he was quite the romantic, old soul with his heart lying upon his sleeve. No one would guess that such a man would dwell on the matters of love.

No, Jamie was a fine actor, speaking only of business and logistics, keeping conversations safe and as far away from his heart as possible. Smiling, laughing...acting. It was a mere facade to keep the sadness at bay.

In truth, his happiness had disappeared. Three months, one week, and four days ago.

***

“I have to go, Jamie. There’s nothing for me here.”

Nothing? Was I so far down on your list that I constituted nothing?

“I’m suffocating.”

Suffocating? In Scotland? That made no sense. Scotland was wide and wild, with plenty of room to breath. Paris was suffocating.

“I’m sorry. I just…I can’t be here anymore.”

Please, stay.

“I love you. You’re my best friend.”

I love you too. But, you’re more to me than a friend. Can’t you see that?

“Goodbye, Jamie. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

You are my happiness, Claire.

***

Jamie lie in bed, replaying his last conversation with Claire, as he did most nights. This left his mind reeling, and unable to shut off.  He hadn’t slept a full night since she left.

The same questions always plagued his mind.

Why did she leave?

How could she?

What did I do wrong?

He knew it wasn’t his fault, though. Claire had had a terrible past year. Both of her parents had died within a month of each other, and Claire, being the lone survivor of the Beauchamp family, was in charge of burying them both. The stress and sorrow that plagued her afterward took over her life. She failed her classes, she drank in excess.

Jamie couldn’t blame her for wanting to leave. Scotland held so much sadness for her. But, he missed her greatly, and wished she would come back.

You’re being selfish. She did what was best for her.

He knew that, but he couldn’t stop the longing for her that crept into his mind. He curled up like a shrimp, trying to rid himself of all thought. He needed to get some rest.

***

“Ye look like shit,” Ian remarked, studying the dark circles that marred Jamie’s face. Jamie grimaced, but he supposed that’s what friends were for: complete honesty.

“Aye. I dinna feel much better either.”

“Did ye no sleep?”

“Barely.”

“Perhaps ye should go home. Take a nap, aye?”

But Jamie shook his head before Ian finished speaking. This was his bar, his responsibility. He’d be damned if he shucked that onto someone else.

“What, ye dinna trust me to take over for ye?” Ian teased. “It’s easy, I think. Just get the people drunk, aye? I can handle it.”

Jamie chuckled, but did not change his mind. He had been the sole proprietor and head bartender of Leoch for five years now, and had no intention of changing that. He appreciated Ian’s offer for help, but his pride outweighed his bodily needs. Besides, Ian had bairns, and should not be stuck filling in for his sleepless brother-in-law all evening. No, Jamie would manage.

“I ken it’s been hard for ye.” Ian’s voice rang out, slicing through his thoughts.

“What?”

“Claire leaving. I ken ye try to hide it, but I’ve known ye since we were lads. Ye canna hide it from me.”

“She was a good lass, always willing to help around here.” Excuses and lies.

“It’s more than that.” Ian gave him a pointed look. “Ye’ve been in love with her for years.”

Jamie had never told Ian that, but his friend always seemed to see through his bravado.

“Are ye sure ye dinna need me tonight?”

“Nay, Ian. I’ll do.”

“Fine. But call me if ye do. It’s no weakness to ask for help.” Ian clapped Jamie on the shoulder before leaving the dark pub.

Jamie would manage. He always did.

***

The night drug on, and left Jamie heavy-eyed and unfocused. He ran two red lights and nearly clipped a fire hydrant on his way home from the pub. Exhaustion was washing over him in waves. The sleepless nights he had endured seemed to be catching up to him all at once.

Trudging up the stairs to his flat, he stumbled a bit, looking very much like the drunks he served. Eyes bleary, he rummaged through his pocket to find his keys, accidentally kicking a small body lounging beside his door.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Jamie only knew one person to use that phrase.

“Claire?”

Wide brown eyes glanced up at him beneath a nest of curls.

“Hi, Jamie.”

He was wide awake.

***

“Would ye like anything to drink? I have some whisky.”

Claire wouldn’t look at Jamie as she spoke. “No, thanks. I’ve… um… I’ve stopped drinking.”

He knew the problems she had, her toxic relationship with alcohol. A small, proud smile crept onto his lips.

Good for you, Claire.

“Tea, then?”

“Tea sounds wonderful.”

Setting the steaming mug on the coffee table in front of Claire, Jamie joined her on the couch. They sipped in companionable silence, though awkwardness threatened to overtake. Jamie spoke up first.

“What are ye doing here, Claire? I didna expect ye to—”

“I know, I know. I should have called.”

“How’s Paris?”

“Paris is… fine.”

Jamie expected her to continue. Claire was a talker. She was always willing to speak more than strictly necessary, arms flailing passionately. This was her downfall in primary school, earning her multiple trips to Headmaster Kennedy’s office.

Jamie was surprised she did not display this trait now. Paris was the city of love and light and fashion. Surely there was much to talk about, especially for a babbler like Claire. But, she remained tight-lipped, and Jamie didn’t push her.

“That’s nice. I’m glad yer enjoying it.”

“Yeah.”

Tiny slurps filled the room. Jamie grinned; the noise didn’t bother him so much when Claire did it.

“I hate Paris, Jamie.” It was barely a whisper, a quiet confession.

“Claire?”

“I… I thought it’s what I wanted. To get away. From everything.” The dam was broken; there was no stopping her speech. “But… it’s so lonely is Paris. So fucking lonely. I wanted a fresh start, you know? But, it just made it worse. No one knew me there. I thought I’d… like that, but it was the worst I’ve felt since… since…”

“Since they died?”

Tears were falling freely, her throat choked with them. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, mo nighean.” A large hand fell softly on her knee.

“Sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m the one that should be sorry.”

“No, Claire, ye—”

“I left you. As if you didn’t matter. Just left. Dropped all contact. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Ye were sad, angry. Ye wanted a fresh start, as ye said. I dinna blame ye. I’ve missed ye, but I’m no mad at ye.”

“I’m mad at myself enough for the both of us.”

“I’ll no allow that.”

Claire made a derisive noise in her throat. “You don’t have a choice, my lad.”

“Claire, look at me.” She hesitated, but finally pulled her eyes to his. “I forgive ye, even though there’s nothing to forgive. I canna tell ye how I would react in yer situation. Ye did what ye thought ye had to. And… I’m here for ye, Claire. I always have been, and I always will be.”

She dropped her eyes again, leaning against his shoulder for support. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I could ask the same question.”

Jamie felt Claire’s mouth open and close, mustering up to say something else. She sighed.

“Out with it, lass.”

“It’s just…” They pulled apart to look into each other’s eyes. “I’ve missed you, Jamie. More than anything. I… feel a certain way. About you. Another thing I tried to run from. But… it didn’t work.”

“What are ye saying?” He tried to keep the hope from creeping into his voice. Was she…?

“I… I think I love you. Well, I’ve always loved you. I should say... I think I’m in love with you. And, I know that’s insane, right? To love someone and leave them without a second glance? But, I didn’t know what to do. I was so confused, and all those emotions… I just couldn’t handle them all. And I—”

He cut her off with his lips. It was a chaste kiss, with the promise of passions held in check.

“God, ye dinna ken how happy that makes me. I’ve loved ye for the longest time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Otherwise, I would’ve felt a right fool.”

They kissed again, mouths open, welcoming each other.

“Stay with me, tonight. We can deal with everyone else tomorrow. We’ll tell them you’re back. Tomorrow, though. Just, let tonight be for us.”

She smiled against his mouth, giving it a quick peck.

“Okay.”

[fluorescentpipedream]

A little background

@fat-and-nerdygirl

DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG!

Gabriel groaned as he stepped out of his glass shower and pulled a towel around his waist. His reflection was hazy, as though it was only an outline of his body, but the look didn’t faze him much as he tied the terrycloth and walked out into his foyer and towards the front door. It was large, arched doorway in a deep, cherry wood with carvings that resembled the old Spanish missions. Gabriel had requested that style of the door when the house was built. He felt it made more sense to the old style of the ash gray and deep red brick house. Considering his was the first house built, it also set the tone for the majority of those that followed it. The whole feel of Hearthstone Terrace these days was a mix of modern and contemporary gothic homes. He was right at home.  

DING DONG! DING DONG! DING DONG!

He snarled angrily as he pulled open the door and had started to yell at the person repeatedly ringing his doorbell before taking a second look and snatched the side of his towel to keep it on his hips. Standing in front of him was a small girl, probably 8 or 9 years old wearing a green beret, white puff sleeved shirt and green skirt. Across her chest was a sash which had every manner of the badge he could imagine. He noted a few of them before taking his eyes off of her and her clipboard to the woman standing beside her. She looked bored and annoyed, and judging by her hand on his button, she was the one who had been ringing the bell. Gabriel sighed and looked at the woman. She was a brunette, tall and slender with pointed nails and a nose that looked to have been altered several times. She was wearing perfume that, to him, smelled like she had bathed in cat urine before applying it, and wore a very large diamond on her ring finger of her other hand, but the wedding ring she wore was significantly smaller. His eyes traveled over her body, she seemed far too scrawny to have ever given birth to a child but...he’d seen a lot over the years. 

Turning his attention to the little girl again he gave her a soft smile. “Yes?” 

“I’m sorry to bother you mister but...I’m selling cookies for my troop, would you be interested in buying a few boxes so we can go to support our disabled members that this year’s Special Olympics?”

“I’m sorry, I’m diabetic.” His tone as he spoke to the child was soft and gentle, though the look he gave the older woman as she scoffed was anything less than pleasant. 

“You could at least donate something.” The woman’s voice held a snide, better than everyone else kind of tone to it and Gabriel growled at her softly, the tips of his canines baring over his bottom lip slightly before he turned his attention back to the little girl. 

“Mooom...” The little girl looked upset as she whined softly before turning her attention back to Gabriel, giving him a very sad but sympathetic look. “We only have gluten-free cookies...”  She seemed at a loss and rather randomly curtsied to him. Gabriel bowed his head and tried not to look too amused. 

"I am sorry, will you let me find my wallet?” Gabriel said and watched as the little girl’s face lit up and she beamed at him. Closing his door for a moment, he walked into his bedroom and pulled on a pair of gray pajama pants before going into his office. He came back with a $250 check made to the Girl Scouts and initially tried to hand it to the little girl. Her mother tried taking it but he moved lightning fast, dodging her hand and smiled kindly at the child. “Here. Also...take cookies to the emergency room at Los Angeles Memorial and ask for Doctors Carmine or Davis and tell them Gabriel sent you. They’ll help you.” He winked and closed the door, looking out of his window in the living room as the young child kept batting her mother’s hand away from the check. He wondered how many others had turned her down for her to be so excited about a small slip of paper. Since he was the last house at the end of the cul-de-sac, he figured most of them.

Shaking his head, Gabriel started to walk back towards his bedroom again though stopped midway through the hall. He nearly ate a girl scout. Before heading into his room, he reached above his head slightly and pulled the doorbell speaker out of the wall. As he held the tangle of wires in a clawed hand, he shrugged and tossed it into a hallway bathroom. He’d explain that to Lowes later. Without another thought, he walked into his bedroom and crawled under the covers. When he had selected this plot of land he did so for only one reason, the sun rose behind it, so while his backyard was bright and burning hot in the Californian sun, most of his home was dark. The blackout shades on all of his windows helped with what sunlight still tried to make its way in, though it wasn’t much. 

Gabriel Henley has been on this earth for 255 years, long enough to know how to navigate the human world without being caught but still have a little fun. He had been made in the summer of 1798 in Louisiana. At the time, the territory was still under the rule of the French. Gabriel was no one of importance, one of many hundreds of men who worked the port in New Orleans and worked alongside many of the new Americans. He was married and a father to two children, a boy, and girl. At 35 years old, he was as healthy as he could be in those days and happy as any other man. Earlier in the same year, Spain had ordered that the Americans could no longer make use of that area though the decree didn’t hold much ground, as the French were still working with their traders, and eventually it fell apart anyhow. He met never met his attacker directly. It had been a woman, he remembered that much of her, she had stumbled into him like a drunken fool and when he had tried to help steady her he had felt unimaginable pain in his shoulder and then…nothing. She left him for dead to greet the rising sun. He liked to think back then that she didn’t know what she had done, making him was an accident, but as the years went by and he finally found her once more, she took pleasure in watching the new vampires squirm as the sun’s first rays struck them. She had been watching him, waiting for his agony and pain to finally get the better of him. Her pleasure had been cut short when he was hauled off the ground by an unlikely savior.

David Black was cruel in those days. He was as mad as he was clever, and often walked the streets and slaughtered whoever he pleased. Why he had taken an interest in the begging man on the ground, gasping for air that would never come, Gabriel never could fathom, but David was his rescuer, teacher and for over 100 years, the two raised hell with their massacres. The first would always be the one that stuck with Gabriel…Papa returned home after being missing for two days and ultimately christened his new claws and fangs with the blood of his own wife and children. He could still taste them some days, though where it brought him pleasure back then, now it haunts him.

He didn’t know exactly how or when it happened but as suddenly as the monster that had clawed at his heart and soul had appeared, it began relinquishing its grip. In one of the many homes, following the particularly gruesome removal of a man’s esophagus, Gabriel caught sight of his blurred reflection in a shattered mirror. His hands were stained black with blood and it was even caked under his long claw-like nails. Holding up one of his hands, he examined it for a moment before looking down at himself. The corners of his mouth had a crust of dried blood around the edges as well as down his chin. His pleated shirt was tacky against cold, pale skin and what parts of his chest had been exposed to the mayhem were coated in black. For only a moment he felt his mind betray him, somewhere there was another part of him, looking at the beastly reflection with its black eyes succumb to the bloodlust deep within him, and feeling only disgust. His time with David Black was over. The two would eventually reconnect, in a subway in New York city and reminisce like old friends who hadn’t seen one another since primary school. Good times would be remembered, the old massacres talked about and the change that had come to both.

By 1910, Gabriel had been struggling to survive on his own. He fed recklessly, not hunting when he needed to but still feeding on anything and everything. The blood gave him a warmth he desperately seemed to seek out and for a while made him feel human, if only for a few hours. He had discovered that if he fed enough, he could even eat and digest food once more. The dark little voice of the rabid vampire had him slaughtering entire families when he only needed a small taste to satisfy. Following a dinner party ravaged by the darkness in him, Gabriel was walking out of the home cleaning his hands with a rag when his eyes fell upon a young girl. She was no more than 16 years old at the time, a beautiful little thing with auburn hair and a bright look in her eyes. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anyone in a long time. She had a man with her at the time, middle-aged and there was something about the two of them that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Without warning he struck, as a long, sharp claw extended from his right hand and slit the throat of the man as Gabriel came from behind and grasped his neck. Blood squirted at him and he sucked on his bottom lip softly, intentionally cutting it with one of his fangs. The cut was small but bled for a moment or two before sealing. Long enough for a few drops to mingle with what was left behind by the old man. Gabriel grinned at the child and stepped towards her.  

As he caught the young woman in his arms, Gabriel pulled her close to him, cradling her in his arms before leaning in to kiss her. The wet blood on his bottom paralyzed her there, causing her to look on as though she were in a dream. Unable to move, unable to think… For his part, Gabriel turned her head upward slightly and sunk his teeth into her skin. It was like breaking the skin of a fresh peach in the summer, warm and sweet, she was the best he’d ever tasted. Feeding for as long as he dared, he released his fangs from her neck, though they never retracted, and licked his lips. She hung so weightless in his body, he could have easily dropped her there and left her but something else came to mind. While he’d had her, he’d gotten a glimpse of something in her mind – a strange gift he’d latch onto once in a while from victims as they breathed their last, he would see something like a house or a precious memory or even the biggest regret of their lives before there was nothing left but the shell. In her mind was a house, and since it was likely to be her last night, Gabriel returned her home.

Gabriel not only returned the little girl to her home but tucked her into bed and set a fluffy brown bear into her arms. She was still breathing, which surprised him, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Rather than leave the home, however, he closed the curtains and slumped down into a large leather armchair across from the bed. He felt abnormally exhausted and soon fell asleep himself. He expected to wake up to find a young corpse in the bed, as he’d not shared enough of his own blood to turn her. Instead, Gabriel awoke when he felt someone touch him, and his black eyes snapped open. The little girl was dressed in a baby blue nightgown now, her hair was up and there was a bandage on her neck where he had bitten her. He was surprised, to say the least, but more so when she slapped him across the face with as much venom as she could muster. Snarling at her, he caught her wrist and forced her back against the bed, picking her up as though she was nothing, bearing down on her, growling like a wounded animal.

Though there was fear in her eyes, her voice was strong. “How dare you!” She spat at him, trying to kick him away, “You killed my friend!” For a moment, Gabriel held her there, her delicate bare feet connected with his chest a few times, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Finally, he managed to bear down on her enough to stop her pathetic attempts and leaned down to lick her skin. This time she wouldn’t wake up…no more of this weirdness. When his fangs broke her skin this time, the taste of the blood was sour, as though tainted by something foul. He released her quickly, turning his head to spit out the blood before swallowing it and looked at her for a moment before feeling the ground rise to meet him. She hadn’t poisoned him, he knew that. There were few poisons that worked on a vampire and very few that a child could gain access to without raising some questions. As he lay on the hardwood floor, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth like bile, he felt a sudden fear wash over him. His hands moved to his head and while he thought he’d screamed, no sound came from his mouth. The memories of hundreds of thousands of people, men, women and children, innocents and murderers, flooded through his mind. Their screams and cries of fear encircled him and Gabriel fell unconscious onto the floor.

Darkness held him for some time before he felt someone else trying to wake him. The hand was longer than the little girl’s had been and as cold as his own. Before he could open his eyes, a cup was placed against his lips, and he was told to drink. The voice was melodic almost, deep and abnormally comforting. He accepted the drink and those it had a stale taste to it, the warmth crept down his throat and gave him enough strength to open his eyes. The man in front of him had stringy brown hair, his body was gaunt as a pale color with large hands and the most unbelievable blue eyes Gabriel had ever seen. “Oh good, I was starting to think she killed you. Stella’s been worried.”

“Stella?”

“The little girl you decided to feed on. She’s a tricky one, isn’t she?” So her name was Stella. Gabriel laid back on the soft cushions and looked at the man in front of him.

“Who are you?” His throat felt dry and for a moment he had a rather unfamiliar feeling of sickness wash over him. The man in front of him must have sensed it because he moved and handed him a basin. Gabriel ultimately coughed up the blood he’d just drank and laid his head back on the pillow, wincing in pain. His whole body seemed to be on fire, and he felt somewhat cold for the first time in several years. He’d been dreaming, he knew that much…and nothing good either. The screams of his victims still echoed in his mind, as did the visions of his wife and children. Attempting to push down the memories, he looked at the man again. “So…who are you?”

“My name is Bishop.”

“You’re a vampire.”

“Oh, he’s a clever boy…I suppose this one is all looks.”

Turning his head from Bishop, Gabriel’s eyes fell on a strange looking creature. She was a vampire as well, long and clothed in white, she had an unusual look about her, something he couldn’t place though was certain he had seen before. Bishop shrugged as she brushed her nearly skeletal hand through his hair before walking out of the room once more. She must have left in the days that followed because Gabriel never laid eyes on her again.

“Stella is going to be needing a new companion soon, I’m leaving for England, looks like you drew the lucky card.” Bishop stayed for a few weeks before he too disappeared. Gabriel met him in the later years as well, when Bishop was playing parent to an infant child his lover had left orphaned. After turning his back on her, Bishop opted to raise the little girl on his own. Following his friends’ departure, however, Gabriel found himself in an odd situation. He was growing to love the young woman and wanting to protect her as much as he could. She had connections, and abilities of her own despite being 100% human. Her secret was that she had simply decided one day that she was never going to die, and somehow or another, it stuck. She was older than Gabriel was, but always stuck at 16 years old. It was hell, trying to get involved with people, she had to meet them when they were young or explain to them that she would never get any older. Love could become something else, though, not with him. No matter how hard he tried, Gabriel found himself looking at the young girl and being instantly reminded of his daughter.

In time, Stella’s influence over him did aid him though. Once the bloodlust had ended and the color had returned to his eyes, Gabriel decided to needed to make amends for the things he had done over the course of his long life. It was with her assistance that he learned he could use the blood he’d fed on for something more than sustenance, it actually allowed him to appear more human. Following a fresh drink, Gabriel could eat and drink, and even go so far as to share a bed with another human if he chose to do so. He tried a few times to find something that he was good at, something he could do that wouldn’t draw attention to himself. He wanted to go to war but doing so would have proved too difficult, seeing as he had the aversion to sunlight. The World War was a nightmare of its own right, humans were killing humans…and for what exactly? Bragging rights?

Stella suggested that he sleep for a few years, try the world later. She returned with him to New Orleans, purchasing a home in the Garden District in 1918. From there she spent barely 11 years watching over Gabriel as he rested beneath the home. He awoke briefly in 1929 and witnessed the beginning of the Great Depression with his young love before returning to sleep, though this time he told Stella she could leave if she wanted to. When he awoke finally in 1992, she had been gone for nearly 40 years. There were a few letters left for him when he finally rejoined the world, let him know the things he had missed and that if he ever had need of her or just wanted to see him, she could be found in the European nations. It was time to see more of the world.

His sleep had calmed Gabriel down substantially, and when he awoke he had a better idea of how to make amends. He moved to California, finding a small housing development near Huntington Park, Los Angeles that was in his beginning stages. He purchased the plot in the back of what would become the neighborhood he lived in now and became the first resident. Over the next few years, Gabriel worked to become a nurse, starting as a registered nurse, but in time he found he had an interesting skill set. Because he could hear the blood moving in someone’s veins, he could find and extract it easily. After looking into it, he began taking night classes and eventually specialized in being a phlebotomist. He has a gift, he can find any vein, start an IV and after the poor person has been turned into a pin cushion, he the first one to get the call.