#like nothing wrong with it just if were in an actual political space of action

[digiweed]

Acceptance and respect of everyone sounds great but the problem with leftist groups irl especially anarchist lead groups of is it will eventually lead to you a place where it's considered "not cool" or "not okay" to say "magic isn't real" as to not offend the Wiccan. And then they expect to like. End capitalism.

[pastelpinkkadan]

Anti-El*cien and kinda Anti-Lucien so I would really not read if you’re triggered by that.

I cannot reiterate enough how Lucien has done the BARE minimum for Elain as her “mate”.

Lucien is not “being a gentleman and giving her space/comfort” by living with the band of exiles. He’s AVOIDING her. It’s not polite, he’s literally just dipping out. Because it’s so painfully obvious that ELAIN DOES NOT WANT HIM. And honestly, there’s nothing in his actions to suggest he actually wants her either.

He’s not being a “good male” and thinking of Elain’s feelings. He wants out.

Him gifting her gardening gloves is NOT a good gift, If he actually cared, he’d know that Elain likes to garden with her bare hands. And in the Feysand BC it even says Elain has not used these gloves once. Also, the pearls he gave her? I literally cannot think of a worse or ill fitting jewel to give Elain. Like, he could have chosen anything and he went with pearls?? The jewel you’d give some stuffy old court lady. That’s a “safe” jewel you give to someone you DO NOT KNOW.

I’m just sick of these wild interpretations that Lucien is such a gentleman and a good mate, when he’s done nothing to deserve the title. Or the theory that Elain avoids him because she likes him sooooo much.

SJM has shown us time and again that Elain and him DO NOT FIT.

If Elain was not his mate, Lucien would not give her the time of day. Which he barely does already.

This is why I truly believe their bond is wrong/false in some way. If they were REALLY mates, Lucien wouldn’t be able to stay away like he is. And to an extent, neither would Elain. But they can separate for months without so much as batting an eye. It goes against EVERYTHING we know about mates.

Note- I’ve also been seeing from some El*ciens that “Azriel is like Graysen and that’s why Elain wants him”, and I cannot BELIEVE the reach. 1. We’ve gotten like one scene of Graysen and he was NOTHING like Azriel so where is this comparison even coming from? 2. It’s super disrespectful to Elain and her growth/healing to imply that she would do that. She’s into Az because of how kindly he’s treated her, how they’ve spent time together, and the romantic/connecting moments with her rescue and TruthTeller come ON.

[youngerfrankenstein]

Popping in briefly because I finally watched Transformers ONE!

It. Is.

OKAY! It’s pretty fun. Thoughts under the cut.

I was not wrong about a lot of the humour being quite bad. Not that there weren’t also moments that made me laugh but enough made me eye roll to not mention it. B-127 did get the worst of it, with perhaps one joke near the end that had me losing it while mostly wishing he was mute in this movie too.

It also really fell into the trap of what seems to be a lot of modern Transformers media trying to cram in as many iconic catchphrases as possible. It gets exasperating. Make a new one. That said there were a lot of little referential moments that made me smile! Like Wheeljack’s one major contributing factor to the story being accidentally blowing something up.

Story was alright, but felt really rushed to me. Like I get that they had an hour and a half to get everyone at least adjacent to their starting positions, and they did the best they could. But it still felt off. Particularly D-16 given his fall felt less like a descent and more like finding out one awful truth and plummeting off a cliff to become turbo-Hitler. Though I will say they do a decent enough job given the parameters. Things like Orion immediately going “okay how do we help everyone else?” and Dee going “I want personal revenge.” Highlights the main differences between them and why one of them is cut out to be a leader. Also things like Dee being the one to always stick to protocol and will be the leader whose style is very much “do as I say or die.” I will say they did a good job of actually making D-16 and Orion feel like friends with the limited time. Which is good, because I don’t know if the movie could have worked otherwise.

Nothing particularly surprising either. Though it’s kinda to be expected. Guessed Sentinel sold out Cybertron to the Quintessons well before the movie came out. And fortunately they don’t really expect you to care about robot politics besides “Sentinel Sucks”, though looking back I’m not sure why I was worried. Also I think he’s my favourite character. I’m a real sucker for fun villains as is probably very clear by now, and he is very fun. Even if the engineered confession was cliché. Part of this is probably also because I tend to like Jon Hamm. Which I guess brings me to the cast.

If I’m being totally honest the voices for none of the main four really work for me? Brian Tyree Henry is definitely the one who works the most to his credit. Hemsworth is… fine. He’s fine. He could be a lot worse. Though other than them most of the cast works well for me. Though I do still wish there was more respect for voice acting as an actual career by Hollywood. That said Soundwave’s voice was done well and that is all I ask.

As for things I just straight up enjoyed the animation is REALLY good. And I really like a lot of the designs! The bots, the train, THE QUINTESSON SHIP!!! Also kind of like the whole Fisher King thing Cybertron seems to have going on

[Cinematic Parallels]

And the fact it’s constantly transforming. The ACTION! So well done. All I really wanted was a thrilling punch-up between Optimus and Megatron and I GOT IT! There’s also the frequent use of blatant irony which is MY cringy dialogue trope! Favourite of course: “No more false prophets!” <- False prophet seconds before robot Jesus shows back up.

(Perhaps irony is not quite right but it did make me smile.)

And the most minor one, Oppy getting the Castlevania axe subweapon.

All in all I do hope we get a Transformers TWO. I think there’s more story to be told in this universe, it feels somewhat fresh. And I think with a bit more space to flesh things out it could be quite good! Also I just want to see the gang fight the Quintessons. (Big Quintesson fan here. #bringbacktheG1origin)

Was it the best Transformers film? No. That’s still Bumblebee, and by a country mile.

But was it a good time for the kids?

Yeah, I would think so! Mission accomplished.

[its-monster-mash]

Alright so, there’s been a sleep between me and the House of Wax rewatch, so I’m going to TRY to organize my feelings by Chronological order of the movie. This is going to get long, so there will be a cut so I don’t take up too much dash-space for people who want to scroll past.

Basics of it: Bo Sinclair apologism and Let Vincent Have Agency over his own actions. Also people are DICKS to rural people for no reason, like seriously FUCK Wade. Wade Deserved It.

So RIGHT off the bat, with Bo’s first appearance in the woods with his truck—Bo did NOTHING wrong here. I live in a very rural area(I grew up in the middle of the woods, but now I live a ten minute walk from where I used to—there are so many cows). Where I’m from, if the landowner catches you in his woods you’re as likely to get SHOT AT as not. Showing up in a truck and staring at you is kind of a universal POLITE, gun free, warning—most people WILL scramble when someone shows up if they’re trespassing in the woods.

Now, what I think Bo was doing here was taking a headcount—deciding whether or not he wanted to deal with them, and I actually think he decided AGAINST killing them.

Despite the fact that they treated him aggressively and fucked up his truck, I feel like it cannot be stressed enough that BO DID GET THE FAN BELT.

Again, as a person from the middle of nowhere, it made ME fucking furious the way Wade came into town and just started breaking into places and LITERALLY breaking things. And, without prior knowledge that the church was full of wax victims, Wade was so impatient that he just couldn’t wait for Bo to FINISH UP AT THE FUNERAL, and decided to just let himself into Bo’s shop and take a fanbelt—leaving a “This is probably enough” amount of money. The entire time ripping on rural people and how they live(not to mention how he treated LESTER. Lester 100% acted like a normal guy around here. 10/10 girls I knew growing up would have LOVED to see his knife. That was an EXTREMELY normal interaction where I’m from.).

ANYWAY BO.

Bo straight up told them they could wait for him while he went ALONE to his house to get the part(also Wade questioning that a MECHANIC has some of his stock at home?? Fuck you man), and it was Wade that insisted on going along.

I do not think Bo intended for Vincent to go Snip Snip through the floorboards. (On top of that, Wade made the DUMBEST little noises after getting sliced—Bo getting changed upstairs probably 1000% thought “Jesus Christ the fucker is blowing up my goddamn bathroom”. He may not have even known yet that Vincent got him; depending on whether or not he noticed the signs of struggle in the already kind of messy house.

(On THAT note, I got pissed as hell the way Wade was judging the Sinclair Home—like bitch you are the reason moms in the early 2000s went berserk about the house needing to be spotless when guests come.)

Bo was genuinely surprised when Carly LOCKED HIM OUT OF HIS OWN TRUCK. I feel like THAT was the point where Bo decided “Fuck it.”

I think that, up until then, Bo WAS going to fix up their car and get them on their way, because he KNEW they had a whole lot of friends who were coming back for them—Bo may not be the brightest, but I feel like he was smart enough to know that that could have got them caught or hurt.

My best friend and I joked that we would have survived our trip to Ambrose because we simply would not have been assholes. (And we would been HUGE nerds in the Wax Museum, and well, NOT took a lighter to the pieces??? Vincent probably would NOT have shanked us. Tbh we would not have gone into the Sinclair home because when Bo said “You can wait here if you want” we would have simply said “Thank you.”. Well, we wouldn’t have broken into the Museum AT ALL, but given who we are we may have ASKED Bo if we could see it.)

Now, I’m not saying Bo ISN’T a bad guy, like, he very much definitely DID lock Carly in a basement and glue her mouth shut, but I didn’t really see a whole lot of like?? Gratuitous Sadism?? Is there more in a novelization or something?? Like, he threatened her to keep her quiet—but since he and his twin are literally serial killers I think that’s pretty standard?

The fact that Carly was able to so EASILY dismantle the chair makes me kind of feel like it wasn’t really used much? I mean, Bo is a mechanic, you’d think if that were a thing he made a habit of it would be in better repair. I didn’t really get the feeling that this was like, an average Tuesday Night for Bo or anything.

(On that note, I would have been the worst victim because the MINUTE he turned the music on I would have been like “Oh shit dude I like your taste” and he would just “???” Of course, I may have met a completely DIFFERENT fate because I simply would not have locked him out of his truck. There would have been no chase.)

AND VINCENT.

I don’t get where the “Uwu Soft Boy” “Bo’s Victim” thing comes from unless people were just taking Carly’s late-movie assumptions at face value??

Like, Vincent DID very much get in a truck and go into the woods just to hunt Blake and Paige. Like, he had no reason to do that, and Bo was straight up mad about it until he settled down and told Vincent he did good and they’d fit the set. Like, Bo is the one who imprisoned Carly, but Vincent VERY MUCH WAS THE ONE WHO DID THE KILLINGS. Bo did not tell him to do any of that. It kind of makes me mad because it feels like Vincent’s agency is downplayed a lot in the fandom and that it’s just because of Bo snapping on him One(1) Time, and Carly’s assumption in the final chase.

And as far as Bo snapping on him goes!!

Bo had AN ARROW IN HIS CHEST AT THE TIME(Also Bo, I love you, but FUCK WHY DID YOU PULL THE FINS OF THE ARROW THROUGH YOUR ARM??? He should have just?? Cut the arrowhead off and pulled the SMOOTH part through?? This man). I think most people are prone to snapping when they’re in severe pain(and I think the way Vincent IMMEDIATELY rushed in to survey Bo’s wounds shows a lot about how they DO care about each other, like very clearly Vincent is not AFRIAD of Bo—considering even after he snapped Vincent was just like “Whatever, go ahead and bleed, I’m going back to fixing up my mask.”). The sibling of mine I actually KNOW is significantly younger than me, so we didn’t have any kind of antagonism with each other—largely because I was a Parentified Sibling—but every close in age pair of siblings I know can be pretty mean to each other, but always in an “ONLY I CAN PICK ON MY SIBLING” kind of way. Bo calling Vincent a “Freak” and then IMMEDIATELY taking on a softer voice and telling him how great his art is had HUGE “I’m sorry, you can hit me back, don’t tell Mom.” Energy. I really don’t think Bo abuses Vincent.

I mean, he said “You’re not supposed to go anywhere WITHOUT ME”, which implies that they DO go places together; and given how easily Vincent killed everyone he killed in the movie, it makes a LOT of sense that Bo wouldn’t want him going out alone. Especially if(and this is my own speculation) Bo is used to always being around to “Protect” Vincent from people who would make fun of him.

>Inserting this here because I forgot to mention it: I genuinely think all the killing started while Trudy was still alive, because Bo talks about how he and Vincent can “Finish what she started”. Additionally, in the beginning of the movie, Lester gives that little speech about how people can “get used to a lot”. That makes me feel like the brothers were probably RAISED to do the things that they do(supported by the fact that the fucked up machinery Vincent puts his victims in looks OLD, so it’s not unlikely that Trudy used it first). That doesn’t absolve Bo and Vincent, of course, but it does make them ALSO victims.

Moving on to Carly’s speculation at the end—she CLEARLY pissed Vincent off. I mean, she just BEAT HIS BROTHER TO DEATH and then called BO a freak and suggested that BO was behind everything. Not only did she kill HIS twin(and she and Nick would know better than anyone how much pain Vincent must have been feeling in that moment) but she called BO a Freak too. Given the amount of abuse Vincent watched his parents hurl at Bo, that was probably a rehashing of how he felt when his parents would bind and beat Bo and yell horrible things at him. (Also like, FUCK, the fact that Bo’s high chair STILL has fucking blood on it??? Like their father was a DOCTOR, and he just made Bo sit and eat with his Rotting Old Blood right there??? FUCK.)

And finally, Lester sitting on the back of his truck at the end of the movie, Jonesy sitting with him—he was probably waiting around for some sign of what happened to his brothers, and THAT breaks my goddamn heart.

But like, bottom line, I don’t think Bo was the “Evil Twin” much in the same way that Nick wasn’t actually that bad of a guy. The Sinclairs are obviously the result of a very fucked up upbringing, but aside from the whole wax thing and the locking Carly in the basement, Bo actually feels like a pretty normal dude??? By slasher standards??? I definitely don’t get any kind of a “Bo is the mastermind” vibes from the movie—it feels very much more like this is just the life that’s been NORMAL to Bo and Vincent for so long.

Yeah, they should have just left Ambrose and NOT kept killing, but Bo is CLEARLY still trying to get his mother’s love, and I don’t think Vincent even WANTS to stop. I don’t think Bo would have ever left Vincent even if HE wanted to stop.

[duxfemina]

Continuing the previous ask can you please rank : crassus, claudius,Tiberius, Hadrian, Trajan, Catiline and Marius.

Crassus - he's not gonna be a pervy creep but if I have property he wants he's gonna harass me until I relinquish it to save my reputation. Also any road side assistance he gives me will have to be paid for but of course he won't tell me that until after he's already repaired my vehicle. 4/10 I'm not gonna be treated violently I'm just gonna be extorted

Claudius - he will make sure I'm provided for with safety and comfort as long as I'm under his protection. He also may get a little assuming seeing as he's an emperor and I now owe him. Claudius definitely had more ladies than you'd expect if the sources are to be believed but hey the guy actually took women's opinions somewhat seriously so who's to say this wouldn't be consensual. Still a power dynamic so I'm giving it 6/10 on the Creepometer

Tiberius - a gentleman, would do everything absolutely so properly. Would make sure all honor was accorded me for my rank, would punish any breach of this by his men. Would probably want to discuss Homer over dinner and who am I to turn down poetic discussions over dinner with the emperor. This man was the absolute antithesis of pervy CONTRARY TO SUETONIUS (fuck you Suetonius) 10/10 literally nothing is going to go wrong. Couldn't pick a better first century man to come along and help you out. He may be awkward as hell and probably have a touch of the tism or something else that impeded his social understanding but he was absolutely all about maintaining tradition and doing things properly.

Hadrian - I don't know a ton about Hadrian other than the wall and Antinuous and the fact he hated his wife. But I'm gonna say he'd probably delegate a commander under him to make sure you were taken care of and set back on your way in good order. 6/10 he's not gonna be too interested so if he delegates it to a good guy you're great, but he might just as likely have assigned a creep

Trajan - shit I know even less about Trajan. I know about his column and that he was a good general. I'm feeling it's gonna be like Tiberius but now with social skills and maybe less poetry so 9/10 because I'd rather be with a nerd than have boring polite conversation

Catiline - depending on who you are this road side assistance might turn into abduction if it's exiled Catiline but come on it's Catiline that's gonna be one consensual abduction from me. All the more so if hypothetical me is a relative of Cicero. I basically always am gonna pick the option that gives M.T. Chickpea an aneurysm if I can do so. Also Catiline was brave in battle and honestly is rather dashing and just a little rakish. So 7/10 just in case this abduction isn't super consensual for some reason, as in Catiline doesn't care whether I'm into him or not, which given he's an enemy of Cicero there's probably a good chance Catiline has more respect for women than Chickpea, that tends to be a theme

Marius - the man is such a try hard and wants so desperately to be considered as in with the in crowd while simultaneously resenting that he has to play the political game that helping a Patrician damsel is exactly the kind of politic move that would appeal to him, it's an action rather than an intrigue. So he'd be clumsily falling all over himself to make sure I was treated as well as possible while also blundering in ways he's unaware of and probably mentioning his deeds a little too often and too loudly whenever he's around my relatives after the event as to seem very couth. 8/10 the man's trying. The treatment is gonna be quite good just a little awkward, over the top and there will probably be some blind spot like forgetting to assign a private space for bathroom use or some other feminine accomodation

[leighlew3]

For some reason I couldn’t send the link of this post but I could download the picture and send it (hopefully)

This is what I was references in that ask to you lol

Ah. And... yeah. A painful and unnecessary creative choice.

Look, overall I'm loving Picard, despite quite a few issues with some creative choices and contradictions, because this nostalgia is incredible and so appreciated and being able to witness these characters in action again has been WONDERFUL.

That being said... well, I'm about to launch into a ramble.

Buckle up, and keep reading if you'd like...

Picard had an ICONIC legacy female character in an interracial wlw relationship with a dynamic new Black female character -- both women over the age of 50 no less, an amazing thing to explore on screen -- and it worked. And so many fans loved it and felt represented and thrilled to kingdom come. And it fit with the Star Trek brand of inclusion and acceptance in a modern society. It also made Voyager fans of 25 years feel vindicated and seen, having Seven not only confirmed as sapphic, but actually exploring it on screen and finding love, even if a "happy ending" for Seven was never in the cards for many reasons, they could have explored why instead of just sweeping it under the rug off screen and reducing it to one awkward glance between them, a joke from Worf, and that was it. Seven and Raffi deserved better. Queer fans deserved better.

Alas, they tossed it in the trash for no valid reason at all, and at the worst possible time in our current social and political landscape of an outdated and frighteningly dangerous resurgence of homophobia, transphobia, etc. Life imitates art, and art imitates life. And thus, now we see conservative-run media companies catering again to the vocal, hateful little groups and extremist far right fear mongers. There is a very obvious bias of late again against LGBTQ content (especially wlw due to the frightening rise in misogyny yet again lately) across nearly every channel and streamer and studio.

For that matter, even beyond LGBTQ stories, there's also a significant reduction in the exploration of ANY sexuality on screen across the board lately, even for cishet couples. We somehow went from Hollywood being absurdly and unfairly exploitive towards women and putting actors in uncomfortable and unnecessary situations, to some sort of bizarre, puritanical, utterly sexless exploration of romance on screen. And even a reduction of romance entirely in many cases, for that matter. We went from one extreme to the other, and it's absolutely nuts.

Anyway, back on the topic of Picard, the two actresses who previously were captains of the ship and ALL about the pairing have since seemingly now had to backtrack, make excuses for this bizarre decision, or just not speak on it at all. And that's beyond sad.

And again, it makes me concerned that if Seven does get her own spin-off or is a part of a new spin-off again, they'd likely not include Raffi nor explore Seven being with women further. Which would just be LITERALLY going backwards in time to the days of Voyager where many (not all) straight male fans tried to claim her as theirs and theirs alone while reducing her to just "the hot Borg in a cat suit" even though everyone else knew she was three dimensional as hell, one of the best written and acted characters in franchise history, and inherently representative of the LGBTQ community.

Anyway, I really really hope they prove me wrong and Saffi get a satisfying ending in this show, and if nothing else, even if they don't have a future together in other series, any other shows at least continue to embrace Seven's pansexuality. It's important.

Alas right now my trust in creatives in the TV space who are under the pressures of conservative-run media conglomerates... is limited. Even once seeming allies are showing sides to themselves lately that are... concerning, to say the least. People who previously would tell incels to F' off, and weren't afraid to stand up to and block phobes on Twitter are now blocking queer fans for just asking "WTF?" about queer favorites being sidelined or ships being tossed in the trash. People who previously seemed to truly see and value queer fans are now bordering on just using them for clicks and stringing them along on likely hopeless efforts regarding show survival. And people who actually do mean well and usually stand up loud and strong for LGBTQ audiences are suddenly growing very, very quiet if not even in some cases TURNING on their queer fans entirely as TPTB remove more and more wlw content from airwaves and streamer services.

It's all very disheartening. As a writer who has had this conversation so often with producers and executives, I GET IT. The fight is NOT an easy one. And most the time inclusion efforts are flat out shot down. But it feels like so few people are walking the talk anymore. People who capitalized heavily on LGBTQ characters and ships and fans for a few years when it was hot are now turning their backs when the going has gotten rough. And that's frustrating for us all.

But, the good news: these things are often cyclical. So if everybody can hang in there, stay strong, and fight the good fight online and IRL, rock the VOTE, etc and drown out the hateful voices that want the LGBTQ community silenced or worse, then I believe we can set (or force, in many cases) the misguided, fearful, extremist-rightwing-catering media companies back to the proper side of history.

[6kuros]

As a fellow creator who is also disturbed and upset by the revelation of pizza tower being a product of 4chan type people, I'm wondering how you handle it? I still want to draw fan art but Im struggling to not get uncomfortable. Basically, I have both love and hate for the game now, and you seem like a cool person so Im wondering how you deal with that. Love your pizza tower fan art sm btw!

im really glad that you enjoy my art, and also am flattered you think im cool!!!

first of all, id like to mention that the art i posted just now was art that i had finished last night, before everything about mcpig came to light and i just wanted to post it since i already had it done…still unsure if im going to draw consistent pizza tower in the future honestly, id like to because its a lot of fun and i really do love a lot about the game. ideally, the current situation would change somehow so i can do that without any discomfort for myself or others, but the only way i foresee that happening is if the devs actually remove the racist shit from the game

what makes me feel (kind of) okay about producing fanart for the game despite what emerged is mostly the fact that as long as i am not reproducing the harmful contents of the game, nor directly supporting the people behind it, im not putting any harm into the world or perpetuating the 4chan stuff i guess? the only thing im really worried about is possibly getting people to want to buy the game by putting my fanart out there, but considering the games popularity from streaming and youtube videos i dont see my own art as contributing to that much. that makes it easier for me not to feel unsettled when i draw fanart for it, but i think that depends on how you view the relationship between fanart and source material, especially in an interactive space like the internet. if you think your art risks sending the message that you approve of negative aspects of a piece of media then its probably better not to share that art

theres also the fact that from the messages that were revealed i get the impression that at some point mcpig had a sort of disdain for "cringe leftists" being fans of the game i guess, and i would consider myself someone who he would/would have found cringe at one point lol. so by being into the game its kind of a fuck you idc that you hate me, this thing you made is being enjoyed by cringe leftists. considering the tone of some of the messages was "if people get mad at me im just going to be edgy in response" i dont even think disengaging with the game would even bother him at all. but all of that is really just speculation and i dont want to insinuate that engaging with bigoted media is proactive just because you are a marginalized person or have progressive politics. its important to actually weigh the harm of your actions and what effect you have with your consumption of said media i dont really know if thats a good answer though, and if it holds up to any sort of moral judgement. i do think its possible to enjoy problematic media, but considering how new the game is its not the kind of thing i can look at and be like "this piece of media is from x years ago and doesnt do real harm now". my worst fear is that there are pizza tower fans who are going to see the awful shit in the game and replicate it, bc the game somehow makes them thinks theres nothing wrong with it or that they can do so without consequence. just from a scope of the fandom there seem to be a lot of young teenagers so Yeah. im concerned in that regard and id like to beam a message into kids' brains thats just like Hey this character design/behavior fucking sucks Dont do this

so, by posting my art anyway i hope i can contribute to a portion of the fanbase that is outwardly against the bigoted content in the game, as an alternative to mcpig dick riders/defenders. and if there are any fans out there involved in the community who dont know better, hopefully they can learn, and avoid perpetuating bigotry

all that being said, your feelings on the matter may be very different, and you dont have to abide to any of this thinking. if a piece of media is upsetting you, its okay to step away from it as long as you need. maybe see how you feel when you come back to it and if the hateful feelings are still there, there is no obligation to engage further

(and as a bottom line if anybody reading this is considering playing pizza tower i suggest you pirate it instead of paying for it)

[lillywillow]

Right Place, Right Time

Summary: When you think you have gone to the wrong exercise class, you decide that maybe this is the class for you after all. Especially when you see the cute instructor.

 Word Count: 1266

 Pairings: Fitness Instructor!Steve x Plus Sized!Female Reader

 Warnings: Some insecurities

 You had made the decision to start getting into shape. Nothing too extreme, just some exercises to gain a little strength, build a little stamina and maybe lose some weight in the process (not that you were in a rush to do that part). So far, you couldn’t find a class that you liked. You felt so insecure around all the other girls that were a lot skinnier than you and it hurt that some of them openly bullied you. Also, some of the classes left you too sore to do anything else. Luckily, this was all about to change.

…

 You first heard about this class at the community centre from a flyer in your apartment building and thought you would give it a try. When you got there however, you felt a little out of place. Looking around at the people at the desks and chairs that had been set up in front of a whiteboard, you noticed all the other people attending the class were women much older than you. Some could be your mother, other your grandmother.

 “Hello, are you looking to join?”

 You turned to look at whom the voice belonged to, only to see a gorgeous blond man smiling at you.

 “Uh… is this the Improve Our Bodies and Minds class?” you asked, feeling butterflies creep into your stomach.

 “It certainly is. Come take a seat. We’re about to begin.”

 Shyly, you took a seat at the back of the class. The woman sitting next to you nudged your arm, making you look at her. She bobbed her head in the direction of the man at the front of the class writing on the board and waggled her eyebrows as if to say, “Pretty cute, right?” You smiled politely and nodded. She grinned and turned her attention to the front as the instructor began speaking.

 “Welcome, everyone! For those newcomers, my name is Steve Rogers and I’ll be your instructor. In these classes, we’ll start with ways we can take care of our body, then move onto some exercise and finally end with a brain game as it’s important to exercise our minds too.”

 Steve began the class by asking some of the ways things can go wrong in life. Everyone offered suggestions, from falls and accidents to diseases. Next, he asked how you could avoid some of those things. Some were simple solutions, others he recommended going to a doctor although if ever you feel like something isn’t right, you should go to the doctor anyway.

 Next, you got up to exercise, moving to stand in a circle in the cleared space of the room. Steve put on some music and began with a slow warmup which merged into a little bit harder workout so subtly, you barely noticed the pace had picked up. He was funny too.

 “Oh-no, here comes the ex. We gotta push them away. And push, and push,” he instructed, marching on the spot and making a pushing motion in time with the music.

 The group laughed and copied the movement.

 “Looks like they didn’t get the hint. Now we gotta punch them. And punch, punch, punch… by the way ladies, I don’t actually recommend punching your ex if you see them…”

 This earned another laugh.

 “Now we’re going to be like the can-can dancers. And kick, and kick,” he instructed, kicking his leg in front and repeating the action with his opposite leg. “Only go as high as you can manage. We don’t want to be hurting ourselves…”

 Steve was also caring.

 “Good job listening to your body, Gertrude,” Steve praised as one of the women sat down, looking fatigued.

 She still participated the best she could from her seated position.

 You were puffing but not wheezing, sweating but not drenched in it and best of all, you were having fun. Steve could run circles around the sadistic woman who ran that spin class you went to.

 Steve ended the section with some stretches and balance exercises.

 “Great job, ladies!” he cheered, giving you an applause. “There’s water, tea, coffee and fruit for you. Feel free to help yourselves.”

 You grabbed yourself some fruit and a cup of water and headed back to your seat for the brain games. Steve erased what he had written earlier and wrote out the alphabet.

 “For this game, we’re going think of dog breeds that start with each letter of the alphabet. Who would like to start?”

 A few hands went up and Steve selected people. At first, it was easy. Akita, beagle, corgi, dalmatian but as you got closer to the end of the alphabet, it got a lot more tricky. You were all wracking your brains to come up with something.

 “I can see the gears turning,” Steve grinned.

 Eventually, you had to give up when no one could think of a breed starting with Z. With that, you all said your goodbyes and packed up.

 “Did you enjoy your first class here?” Steve asked you, stacking the chairs away.

 “It was a lot of fun,” you confessed, helping him with his task. “I definitely want to come again.”

 “That’s great,” Steve smiled.

 There goes that swarm of butterflies again. As you made your way home, you already couldn’t wait for your next session.

…

 Over the next few weeks, you were really starting to enjoy your exercise classes. You bonded with the ladies, had fun and you could go to Steve with all your health questions. Not once did he make you feel unimportant or stupid when you asked him things and although he was not a qualified nutritionist, he would assist you in any dietary questions where he could. The ladies would also try and encourage you to ask him out on a date.

 One day after class, you were once again helping Steve pack up the room. You noticed he was a little fidgety now compared to all the other times you had been alone.

 “Steve, is everything okay?” you asked.

 “Yeah… yeah, um… I just, I wanted to ask you something?”

 “Oh?”

 “Yeah… I was just wondering, if… maybe you would like to go out on a date sometime…”

 Steve blushed furiously, looking away. You found him really cute seeing him all shy and awkward compared to the confidant and sometimes flirty guy that instructed you all.

 “I’d love to go on a date with you, Steve,” you smiled.

 “Really? That’s awesome! I… I hope you don’t think I’m the kind of guy that does this to get women,” he blushed.

 “No, I don’t think that. I can tell you’re a sweet guy who cares a lot about his clients… Although, I’d keep my eye on Barbara if I were you. She really has a thing for you,” you playfully teased.

 Steve laughed.

 “So, pick you up at six?”

 “It’s a date,” you agreed.

 You couldn’t believe your luck. You were embarrassed when you first came to this place thinking you had come to the wrong class but here you were walking out feeling more confident about yourself, gaining a few friends and to top it all off, going on a date with the attractive man who ran the class. It just goes to show that life is all about timing and sometimes you just get it right.

[imaginationofomi]

Come Together

Forty-Four

Two weeks removed from Antigua, Ezra was antsy, sitting in a circular booth with charcoal leather seats that offered a view of most of the restaurant from his angle of the obsidian glass table. Furthest from the commotion, it was quiet enough for him to think but loud enough to remind him that he wasn't alone, that he needed to behave accordingly.

Ezra loved Nayeli. He loved her in a way he'd never loved anyone before and he knew it because only a woman he felt that strongly for could convince him to meet her and her lover for dinner.

Madness. He was living in complete and utter madness. His knuckles and fingertips grew sore from constant clenching and tingled from the return of blood as he let them relax. He stretched out his sweaty hands, rubbing his palms on his pants and scanning the semi-crowded space for red curls and green eyes.

Two women approached the table, dressed to impress and made up, questioning why a handsome man sat alone. The leader of the duo was average height and shapely with tanned beige skin and light brown eyes, her hair in a freshly stitch-braided bun. She was conventionally pretty, maybe considered a knock out in another state, but in California, one could throw a rock and find a similar face. Ezra was polite, chatting them up before he let them know that he was waiting for someone and kindly stated that he didn't need company.

"I told you he had a girl." the shorter of the two said as she pulled her friend away. He watched them leave, knowing the sway of the first's hips were just for him. She turned to look back, winking and mouthing the words call me. That was when he noticed the receipt she'd left behind, her name and number written on the back of it. Gabrielle. Though he probably wouldn't contact her, he slipped the piece of paper in his pocket and resumed his search for Nayeli.

She was late. It wasn't like her to be late and not call. The devil on his shoulder told him that she was with Isaiah, that they would walk in hand-in-hand, assert the importance of their relationship, that he would feel small and undervalued, like an extra in their movie. He started to get angry, embers smoldering behind his eyes as he thought about what he would do if that actually happened.

He envisioned choke slamming Isaiah on the table, making Nayeli watch as life faded from her boyfriend's face. Nothing would give him greater satisfaction, except Nayeli leaving that nigga to be with him and making it clear. He wanted Isaiah to suffer, to know that he was second best and there was nothing that could be done about it. He wanted Israel to feel what he felt and then some. His thoughts turning evil made him sigh.

"I'm not mature enough for this shit," he muttered, running a hand down the top of his head.

"I don't think you are, either."

The words startled him. Unnerved him. Nearly made him fall off the unstable ledge his mind balanced on. Isaiah stood at the other side of the table in defense mode.

They were in public. Nayeli planned for that on purpose. She hated a spectacle as much as Ezra did and figured he wouldn't be tempted to create one in a crowded restaurant. The possibility of a lawsuit and jail time also kept him on the right side of wrong.

"Nayeli didn't come with you?" he asked, scanning the restaurant again and trying to make the other man feel as if he were hardly affected by his presence, never mind the fact that he sat up straighter and fixed his face to resemble the unbothered as soon as he realized who was there.

"She said she'd meet us here." Isaiah sat down across from him, a tall glass of beer in one hand, rosary bracelet around the other wrist, one that was gifted to him for protection after he broke his leg by the woman that made them both question the loves of their pasts.

Ezra was nursing cognac, wanting to be in his right mind for whatever may come of their discussion. Isaiah stared him down, ready for action if that's what it came to.

The air between them was thick and icy. Neither wanted to be there but sacrifices were being made in hopes that things would work out in their favor. Ezra took in his competition, made comparisons, made assumptions. He was maybe half an inch taller, definitely wider than Israel. They both looked strong, were strong, but he had the upper hand in that department. Isaiah had him in speed, the only man able to dodge his fist when he sent it soaring toward that asshole's face.

He expected Isaiah to break their eye contact, to bitch out, but it seemed that he was being studied as well. They continued to size each other up, pondering what the other had that Nayeli needed so badly she had them meeting in a restaurant. Only one person had the answer to that question, and she'd left them both to fend for themselves, "Have you heard from her?"

"She told me was that she was on her way 30 minutes ago."

It was Friday evening. There was normal end of the week traffic and the added traffic of tourists gearing up for nightlife. Friends and families enjoyed dinner, shows and other activities. Some groups pre-gamed and started their bar crawls. They had no way to tell when she would get there. Ezra sipped his drink. His opponent did the same.

"Why are you here?" Isaiah asked and set his glass on the table.

"Same reason you are," Ezra replied.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"Because you love Nayeli as much as I do."

"I love her more than you do. More than you ever can or will."

"How you figure?" Ezra questioned neutrally, doubting those words were true. No one understood the depth of his feelings for that woman. They were made for each other by God Himself, and no one could take that away from him.

"I see her, beyond the physical. I know her soul. I understand her in ways you can't even imagine."

That pissed Ezra off because he assumed that there was an implication of Israel getting to experience her first. He took it as disrespect, not realizing that sex was the last thing on Isaiah's mind, "What makes you think I don't know her soul or understand her?" His tone flipped from calm to irked.

"If you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Isaiah stated plainly, "You wouldn't throw money at her as an apology. If you knew her, you'd know the only thing she wants from you is to be treated better."

A fire sparked quickly in Ezra then. Who the fuck did Isaiah think he was speaking on a relationship he wasn't a part of? He would take it from his family but not a random nigga that wanted his spot, "Don't talk like you know us."

"I know enough. I've been the one holding her together for months. When she was walking around trying to play it cool, I noticed something was wrong. She was becoming a shell of herself and you didn't give a fuck. I did." Isaiah was angry, offended that a man that won the lottery couldn't see what was in front of him until she was gone. He was pissed that Ezra had the audacity to think their love for her was the same. It could never and would never be, "Do you know what it's like to watch the love of your life start to lose what makes her who she is? To watch her cry when she thinks no one is looking? Do you know how broken she was?" he demanded, beer abandoned as he folded his hands on the table.

Ezra knew exactly what that was like. He felt the trickling effects when he interacted with Nayeli, and it all came to a head on the way to Antigua. Their conversation on the plane did a number on them both, but he was glad it happened. They were better for it, the fighting finally out of their system. He rightfully blamed himself for the change in her, had been reprimanded and punished. He didn't need another reminder that he was the reason the two of them were sitting at that table waiting for her, "I watched Nayeli change the same way you did. She wasn't broken at first. I saw her almost everyday, and she was fine��"

"She wasn't fine. She lost sleep. She was miserable. She was hurt. If you bothered to pay attention to her, you never would've thought she was okay. You fucked her over and got pissed when she didn't crawl back, but you think you deserve—"

"Alright. You made your point." Ezra was moving into irate territory. No one wanted to see him irate. He took a gulp from his glass and tried to keep it together.

"I haven't even begun to make my point." Isaiah had too much to say and not enough time to get it all off his chest because Ezra didn't let him speak for long, "You—"

"Why did you agree to this? You can't be okay with it. I'm not."

Swallowing his previous words, his eyes darkened with venom as he answered, "Don't try to compete where you don't compare. I'm nothing like you."

"Nigga, answer the question."

Isaiah almost said something that would've blown the whole evening to pieces. He knew how to hit where it hurt, but he decided to keep that tucked in his back pocket. Ezra would undoubtedly try to prove that he had the upper hand, and it would be the perfect opportunity to shut him down, "I love her. It's that simple."

"Why?" Ezra questioned him.

"You've had the chance to be with her, and you're really asking me that?"

"I wanna know why you love her so much that you're willing to let her be in a relationship with someone else. It doesn't make sense to me. How does it make sense to you? This shit ain't normal."

"Again, I understand her. I've been in love with two women before, and it's not my first go around being with a woman that had other partners. It was different because I didn't love Aubrie, but I'm not a stranger to it."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"I'm trying to spare you, but you must want your feelings hurt."

"Quit talking to me like I'm some punk because the next time I swing at you, I won't miss," Ezra threatened through clenched teeth, "I doubt you'd be cool if this were the other way around."

"I'm not like you, so it would never be the other way around. I'm not dumb enough to dump her."

"Just dumb enough to share her." Ezra was losing patience. Hands balled into fists once again, he sat back and counted to ten, hoping the numbers would keep him from reaching across the table. It would be just his luck if Nayeli chose that moment to walk in.

"You keep going the way you're going, I won't have to worry about that. But check this, and pay attention because it might go over your head. She's a person. Not a bag, not a piece of furniture, not an object. A person. I can't posses her any more than you can so all that "sharing" shit means nothing. She's a woman with her own mind capable of making her own decisions. Do I agree with her decision? Fuck no. Will I stand by her anyway? Fuck yeah. That's the difference between us. You put yourself first. I put her first. I will always stand for her and by her because I love her too much not to."

"Why?" Ezra pressed, refusing to accept the answers he was given. He was looking for cracks in their foundation, something he could use to prove that Isaiah was all talk, not realizing that the information he was asking for would do the opposite.

"The way she walks, the way she talks, the way she smells, the way she thinks, the type of person she is. She's a divine presence on this planet, and I'm alive because of her. She saved my life," Isaiah admitted, running his fingers over his rosary beads.

"How?"

Coming to the conclusion that EJ wouldn't stop asking until he was satisfied with the answer, Isaiah decided to be completely honest and let the chips fall where they would, "May 13, 2017. That was the day I met her," he started, the memory playing in his head like the opening scene of a film, "I'd been grieving my parents for a month, struggling just to make it through the day. I'm their only child, and they were all I had. After their funerals, I basically turned in on myself, never wanted to be bothered. Max hosted a candlelight vigil and bonfire to honor them and try to give me a sense of community or remind me that I had one, I should say. I didn't want to be there, but I showed up to listen to people talk about how badass and great a leader my dad was, how much they loved and respected him, how he loved nobody more than me and my mom. As tough as it was hearing all the stories, they brought me peace, and I needed it. Every day that week, I prayed to die. Every morning, I woke up disappointed. I didn't realize I was depressed until it was almost too late." His explanation was digging up old feelings.

He still missed his parents, still struggled with that loss and the feelings that accompanied it. He didn't know where he would be if he didn't meet Nayeli, "My parents were hardcore Catholics, and I wasn't the praying type back then, but on the way to the beach, I prayed for the first time in years because I wanted to know if there was a reason for me to keep going. My family was gone. I felt like I had nothing left and the future looked bleak. I had no plans to stick around. I was getting ready to leave the bonfire when Nayeli showed up." He smiled at the mental image of her in her shorts and cropped sweater, "I smelled her before I saw her; cookie butter, vanilla and brown sugar, I'll never forget it. She was holding a box of chocolate chip cookies, raving about how she finally perfected her recipe, completely shook up the vibe in a good way. I remember looking up, and with the sun behind her, I thought I saw Heaven. Literally. I'd never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. I was sure she wasn't of this world. She was all hair and gold jewelry and legs. She had a belly ring with a manta ray charm then, and she wore puka shells around her neck and right ankle. I hadn't talked much after my parents passed, only spoke when spoken to, but she changed that. I stood up to introduce myself and before I could get a word out, Max pulled her to the side."

"They talked about me for maybe ten minutes. She never told me what was said, but I could feel every time she looked at me, and when she was done talking to him, she sat with me. Introduced herself and offered condolences but didn't try to force me to talk like everyone else had that day. I would've done or said whatever she asked of me, though. She radiated good energy, made me feel like the world wasn't a dark place. She put her hand on my knee, and it was like all my stress vanished in that moment. I knew I'd be okay as long as she was with me. I think we sat in the same spot for over an hour. People left, but she stayed, even after the fire went out and Max packed up the last of the food."

"Out of nowhere, she let out this rank ass burp that sounded like it came from a grown man. She looked so embarrassed and kept apologizing to me. I smiled for the first time in five weeks, asked her how something so big could come out of someone so tiny, and then we talked for hours, found a 24 hour coffee shop after the beach closed and kept talking. She's been a part of my life since, and she's never let me down. At a time that I felt all alone in the world, she filled the hole in my heart. I've lost almost everything over the years. Friends, family, you name it, and she's always there to help me through it, to listen to me, to hold my hand, whatever I need at that moment. With Nayeli, I feel like I've lost nothing at all. So I will be anything I need to be for her. I'm blessed that she wants to be with me, and if I have to deal with you in the meantime, so be it."

Ezra regretted opening his mouth. He remembered Nayeli telling him that Isaiah lost a lot and Max mentioning that his dad died in the line of duty, but he had no idea the man lost both parents let alone close together. He had no idea of the depth of the relationship between Isaiah and Nayeli.

Prior to breaking up with her, he couldn't remember her even mentioning Isaiah's name, but hearing the story of how they met, watching as it was told, he learned the truth. Isaiah held in no emotions when he talked about Nayeli. Everything was written in the look on his face and the sound of his voice. This wasn't a battle Ezra could win without foul play.

"I'm sorry about your parents," he said, the bite in his tone gone. Although he couldn't relate to losing parents, he knew he wouldn't be doing well in the head either if he lost both with so much of his life left to live.

"Thanks." Isaiah scanned the restaurant, knowing Nayeli was nearby but unable to catch a glimpse of her. They were so in tuned that he could feel her and had felt her in the space for a while, but she was hiding, likely watching them before she made her entrance.

"You didn't have to tell me all that."

"You asked. I want you to understand what she means to me, what we mean to each other. I've loved her longer. I love her deeper. I love her without conditions. I'm here because for some fucked up reason, she loves you. She deserves to have everything she wants, and I will do whatever I have to do to make sure she gets it as long as I'm breathing. If you're not willing to do the same, you shouldn't be here."

Another stare down ensued, and Ezra was getting ready to back off. He loved Nayeli. There was no doubt about that, but he didn't know if he loved her the way Isaiah loved her. If he loved her enough to accept that he'd never have all of her heart. He was moments from conceding when she rushed over, eyes wide with panic as she tried to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry I'm late! Traffic's a mess," she explained, stopping short of both men as she glanced between them and began chewing her lip, "This is so much weirder than I thought it would be." When she planned the meeting, she took many things into consideration and none of them involved the awkwardness of choosing who to greet first. She didn't want either to feel slighted, so she continued standing there, waiting for one of them to decide who got the first hug and kiss, "Is someone going to get up and hug me?"

Isaiah stood, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning down to whisper in her ear, "You lied to me."

"I stretched the truth," she whispered back, referring to her "delayed" arrival. She'd reached the restaurant shortly after Isaiah did, slipped in behind him and watched from the other side of the building as her men conversed. She wanted to see if they could be cordial without her, realizing her mistake almost a few minutes too late. Isaiah kissed her jaw, and she started to relax until she got a good look at Ezra's face. He was pissed, the opposite of what she wanted them all to be. Offering him a smile that she hoped would calm his nerves, she let go of Isaiah and stepped toward him, "You're not going to hug me?" she asked, poking out her bottom lip in a cute pout. Ezra slid out of the booth and gave her a hug. The disconnection between them was obvious, and she tried not to frown. With both men seated again, she stepped back, "I'm not feeling the energy at the table right now. I'm going to the ladies room. Please do not kill each other and when I come back, we can all try this again. Excuse me."

Turning on her heel, she scurried away and proceeded to pace the marble tile of the restroom while the men were willing her to return.

"You see how uncomfortable she is? That's because of you. She knows where I stand," Isaiah said, twisting the rusty screwdriver into an already infected wound.

"Why did you wait seven years to make a move?"

"She was with that ugmo and thought she found nirvana in his asshole." He shrugged. Ezra coughed to mask the laugh that ended up coming out full force anyway. At least they had something in common, disdain for her deceased ex, "One thing about Nayeli, you can't tell her what to do. She might spiral for a minute, but at the end of the day, she's going to do what she wants. She wanted to stay with his crazy ass."

"That nigga was nuts."

Isaiah let out a small chuckle and shook his head before he continued, "He was, but that's not the only reason I waited. When I was at my lowest, Max brought me into his family. Mentored me at work. Treated me like a son. Out of respect for him, I didn't cross that line, and I didn't know how to tell him that I was in love with his baby girl. She's his favorite. He won't say it but I know she is. I didn't think I had a chance in hell at getting his approval, and I didn't want to potentially mess up the vibe at work. To do what we do, we have to be a team. One wrong move, one irrational or emotionally charged decision can cost somebody their life, so I kept my feelings to myself."

"I never told her, never hinted at it. We've always had a really good relationship. She's always been open with me, she gave the best advice. We could talk about anything, and I didn't want that to change. Then around four years back, at the annual barbecue, she was bummed because the dead man was supposed to show up but didn't. That was probably the first time I'd ever seen her frown since I met her, and I couldn't let her walk around like that. I danced with her to cheer her up, spun her around until she got dizzy and damn near fell over from laughing so hard. That was the first time I got to hold her for longer than a minute. Max saw the way I looked at her, the way I've always looked at her, called me over to the grill and flat out asked me if I loved his daughter. He didn't beat around the bush, didn't try to ease into the conversation. He just asked. Even though I wanted to, I wasn't going to lie to my captain's face, so I said Yes, Sir. He looked so serious I thought he was gonna lift me off the ground by the collar of my shirt, and he's big enough to do that shit, but he said that he would be proud to have me as a son in law and gave me his blessing. I would've gone for it then, but she kept playing with the ghost and I didn't want the bad karma of trying to wreck a relationship. Then I met Rose, and we were together up until last year."

"You just forgot about Nayeli?"

"I couldn't do that if I wanted to. My feelings for her never went away, so they didn't get along. Well, I won't say that. Nayeli's sweet to everyone, but Rose hated her because she knew how I felt and assumed feelings were mutual. Nayeli didn't feel that way about me back then, at least not to my knowledge. I was just extended family to her, and by the time I left Rose, Nayeli had met you." His window of opportunity was narrow, but he managed to squeeze his way in, thankful that EJ fucked up or it wouldn't have happened.

"Why did you leave your girl?"

That was still a hard topic for Isaiah. He'd done the math, and if Rose had carried to term, he would've been a father to a newborn by then. The further he got up in age, the more he longed for a family of his own, a wife and a little girl and boy made from love to carry on his name after he left the world. The thought of that being stolen from him left a sour taste in his mouth, "Too far," he said, and EJ took that moment to be an asshole.

"Sore spot?" His smirk made Isaiah want to fight. He'd yet to see a redeemable quality that made the retired champion worthy of Nayeli's love.

"She aborted my kid without telling me."

All traces of amusement left EJ's face, replaced with remorse that Isaiah didn't care to accept, "My bad."

"Yeah. Nayeli was there for me through that, too. Stop looking for shit to make you feel like you got one up on me and pay attention to her," he said for the second time, and before EJ could respond, Nayeli returned.

"This doesn't look any better than when I left," she sighed and ran her fingers through her curls. Looking at them both, she fiddled with the hem of her shirt, "Someone let me in." Once again, Isaiah was the first up, helping her slide against the leather until she was seated in the curved part of the booth, "I really don't want this to be so formal. Relax, please." No one listened, her body included. She started to think she made a grave mistake, wondering if she just asked to have the meeting too soon or fucked up by thinking they'd be able to have one at all. Already there, she had to make the best of it, "Thank you both for coming. How are we doing?" Silence followed her question, no matter how many times she looked them in the eyes. Sighing again, she turned her body to Ezra, "How's Princess?"

He found his voice then, able to focus on something other than the way she was going back and forth between them, "She's cool. Got that thing with her teacher squared away. She's taking the test Monday morning before school starts." Tati showed signs of being too advanced for the third grade, so the administration department had to decide if they were going to bump her up a grade or keep her with the rest of her class while giving her advanced work in the subjects she excelled in. She would be tested to see if she could keep up with the fourth graders in other subjects before a final decision was made.

"That's good." Reaching over, she rubbed the back of his hand and grew sad when he slowly pulled away from her, "Is she nervous at all?"

"Not about the test. She's worried about being the smallest and people picking on her."

"The school has a no bullying policy."

"When has that ever stopped a child from being an asshole?"

"True. Lord, I hope I don't have to go up there and act a fool." She absolutely would, too. Her mom never played the bullying game when they were in school, and Nayeli would ride for her daughter the same way. She got ready to speak again, but Isaiah was looking at Ezra like he wanted to kill him and that worried her, "What was said while I was gone?" she asked.

"A lot."

"Please, no more pissing contests. It's not a competition," she reminded them.

"Feels like it," Ezra spoke, "You got me sitting across the table from this nigga like this shit is regular, and—" Quiet laughter stopped him mid-sentence, "What the fuck is so funny?" he asked Isaiah, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"You are. So concerned about yourself when you should be worried about her."

"Don't tell me what to be worried about. You sat there for the last half hour tryna make me feel a way because you don't like this shit any more than I do."

"Whether I like it or not doesn't matter. I'm here for her, to listen to what she has to say and to make sure she's good. You're here for you, and you still have a hard time comprehending that we are not the same."

"Enough! That was uncalled for," Nayeli interjected, shooting Isaiah a look that told him to back off, "I didn't ask you to come here to see you fight. I wanted to have a civilized conversation. I want you both to know how important you are to me," she said, trying and failing to catch their eyes. Leaning her forearms on the table, she breathed through her frustration and discomfort as she thought about what their situation looked like to the other patrons. Surely a hot ass mess. Being that Isaiah seemed to be taking things better, she focused on Ezra again, slipping her hand into his and tightening her grip when he tried to pull away, "Can you look at me please?" The contact was brief, only a few blinks in her direction before he was flagging down the waiter to order another cognac. Nayeli asked for a glass of soda water to settle her stomach before he departed, "We are all way too grown to behave without sense and more than capable of conducting ourselves with dignity. I want peace. I deserve peace, and I know I'm reaching right now, but I would really appreciate it if you two learned to be civil at some point in time. I'm not saying today. I'm not saying tomorrow, but eventually I do not want to feel all of this tension between us. I've made my choice. I chose you both, and I want to do my part for both of you. Tell me how you're feeling, Ezra."

He was surprised she was showing him so much attention. The way Isaiah talked about her and the way she talked about him on the trip, he assumed they would be all over each other. She truly was trying to make them feel equal, and he respected her for that, but he was still having a hard time, "You for real?"

"Yes."

"I feel like this is a game to you, like you're just trying to see how far you can take it before you actually make a decision."

"Love is not a game to me, and like I said, the decision has been made."

"How are you sure you love us both?" he asked.

"Imagining life without either of you hurts in ways I don't like to hurt. I feel at home with both of you. I feel safe.....most of the time anyway." Nayeli had to be transparent. For what she wanted to accomplish, they ALL needed to be honest, with each other and themselves.

"I don't make you feel safe?"

"Emotionally, no. Not at all, and I'm not wrong for feeling that way. I hope it changes soon."

"What have I done to make you feel like that?" The animosity in his voice reflected his sour mood, and it was only going to get worse the longer he sat there with them.

"I'm not going to list all the ways you've fucked up, but I will say this. It's different when we disagree. You go into defense mode instead of listening to me. Like you're doing right now. You took the negative out of what I said instead of focusing on the fact that I have hope it will change and that I'm allowing space for that to happen, something you asked of me."

"So that's what it is? You feel like he listens to you and I don't?"

"There are an abundance of differences between the two of you. That's one of them, yes, but I don't want you to focus on him giving me something you don't. I don't want this to become a contest of who does what better or more because that's not driving my decision to be with you both. Love is. I want us all to be our best. That's it."

"The world ain't perfect, Shortcake. I'm not a kumbaya ass nigga that's above all the bullshit. You can't ask for something like this and expect people to be calm with nothing bad to say."

"I didn't walk in here with that expectation at all, but we talked about this. I thought we made progress in Antigua."

"So did I."

Silence fell over the table once again, their waiter feeling the tension as he dropped off drink orders and asked if they wanted any appetizers or were ready to order dinner. Nayeli didn't have much of an appetite and stated she was fine. The men didn't order food, either. She looked around helplessly, scolding herself for being so naïve.

They'd taken a nasty turn, and she was unsure of how to course correct, unsure if it was worth the fight since she couldn't foresee the situation getting any better.

She didn't think it would be so difficult to date two people at the same time. The fact that she wasn't a man kicked her in the ass. If she'd been born the opposite sex, no one would blink an eye at what she was trying to accomplish. In fact, she would be applauded by a good portion of the population. Men had it way too fucking easy.

Nayeli glanced at Isaiah for support or maybe a clue of what to do next. He gazed back at her, but he was no help. She was on an island by herself.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she said quietly, eyes on Ezra. For the first time since she arrived at the table, he looked at her. Really looked at her, and she saw so much swirling in his brown eyes that she gasped.

"I don't like the way this feels."

"What can I do to make you feel better about it? What do you need from me to make this work?"

He felt like he was going to regret asking, but he had one side of the question answered. It was time to learn the other, "I need you to be real about how you feel. Tell me why you love me. Then tell me why you love him," he finished, nodding his head in Isaiah's direction. Nayeli feared his reaction, but she'd already made the decision to be true to herself. She looked at Isaiah, silently apologizing because she knew it wasn't fun being forced to listen to what she said next.

"I love that you've never been dishonest with me. The truth can be hard to tell, but you always do. I love that you remember the little things and that you can take an idea and turn it into something spectacular like you did for my birthday. I love that you're not afraid to get your hands dirty. You're extremely caring, and you can do whatever you set your mind to. I love that you were nothing like I expected but exactly what I needed. I love that you're a family man and that when you see what you want, you're all in. I love that you support my dreams. I love your work ethic and watching you do anything because your look of concentration is so sexy. I love the twinkle you get in your eye when you're about to say something dirty and the way you smile at me. I love the sound of your breathing when you sleep, that you always have to touch me somehow, and that you wake up looking for me if I'm gone too long. I love that you'll go above and beyond for the people that matter to you. I love the face you make when you yawn and when you stick your tongue out at me. I love our morning prayer sessions. I love that even though you hate medical dramas, you still watch them with me. I love that you're always down for a board game and that you can kick my ass in Scrabble because literally no one else can. I love you for a lot of reasons. Too many to list." She was going to go on, but she could feel Isaiah's growing discomfort and didn't want the tide to turn again.

Ezra was doing better, reassured but knowing it would be short lived because he requested two responses and had yet to hear the second. He decided to bask in the moment and returned the affectionate squeeze she gave his hand as he saw some of the fear in her eyes dissipate. The night should've ended there, in his opinion. However, they had a ways to go.

"And him?" he questioned hesitantly, motioning to Isaiah for the second time.

"Isaiah is..." Nayeli turned her attention to her blue eyed lover, reaching out so her free hand could be wrapped in his. He gripped hers eagerly, running his thumb along her skin. With physical holds on them both, she felt comfortable enough to continue, "the other half of my soul. I've never felt more seen than I do when I'm with him. He knows what I need before I do. I love that we can go anywhere or do anything and have a good time. We don't need to make plans. We can just go and see where the night takes us. I love that he doesn't let me help him make pancakes because he thinks his are better—"

"They are."

"Shush. I love his laugh and how his whole body shakes with it. I love the sound of his voice when he first wakes up. I love that he's a jazz junkie and that we read together. I love the things he says when he thinks I'm sleeping. I love the way he looks at me. I love that he can make a meal out of almost anything. I love that he knows a bunch of random facts that'll never come up in regular conversation and that he feeds me when I'm hungry. I love the way he plays in my hair when he's tired and that he has to kiss my forehead before we fall asleep. I love his determination, how excited he gets about helping people in need and that he never lets me take the easy way out of anything. I love how much of a sci-fi nerd he is. I love when his hair grows out and starts to curl. I love that he loves nature. I love that he's a voice of reason and that he's always willing to try something new. I love that everything feels natural with him. There's no rush, and it never feels like work. It feels like I'm floating. We just flow." She smiled at Isaiah, her expression quickly turning into a frown when she felt a sudden emptiness in her left hand. Ezra had let her go. Her head whipped in his direction, and she tried to reach for him again, but he folded his hands under the table.

"Sounds like you love him more."

Nayeli pleaded with her eyes for him to listen to her, "My heart is in two equal pieces. There is no one over the other. I need you both," she stressed, desperation coating the words that went unacknowledged. Left without a response, she somberly faced Isaiah, "How are you feeling?" she asked him, and his response came so quick that she didn't have the chance to blink.

"As long as you're happy, I'm good."

"I need you to be happy, too."

"I'm happy when you're happy."

She shook her head at him, "No, no. I don't want to hear that right now. This is about communication. Communicate. Tell me what you're actually feeling."

Isaiah brought his free hand up to join the two of theirs already connected, raising hers to kiss the back of it. The look they shared made Ezra feel even more unstable.

"You said it perfectly. You are the other half of my soul, so I don't care to hear you explain why you love someone else. I feel almost robbed in a way because I fell in love with you first, but he's had more time to be with you. He got to kiss you first. He got to hear you tell him that you loved him first. He got to sleep next to you first, and it should've been me. It bothers me that you have history, it bothers me that the situation is messy. It bothers me that all of this is stressing you out, but I want everything you want to be within your reach. I want you to be at peace. If this is what it takes, I'll live with it. I know what we have and hearing why you love me eases my mind. We're good, Lil Bit." Isaiah kissed the back of her hand again.

She was grateful for him. Extremely grateful because she knew how rare it was to find a man like him. She wanted to kiss him so bad she nearly snatched him forward, but she hadn't forgotten about Ezra on the other side of her and his obvious feeling of inferiority shined like a bright stage light, making her hot and uneasy.

"What do you need from me to make this work?" she asked Isaiah the same question she asked Ezra. His request was easier to grant.

"Faith, trust, and pixie dust," he replied with a smile, referencing her favorite childhood film. She giggled and rested her cheek on their hands, "All I need from you is effort and honesty. I want to know that you want me, and if you don't, I want to know that, too. Don't try to sugarcoat or worry about hurting my feelings. Don't lie to me."

"I won't," she promised, excluding the small fib about her location. She regretted not being at the table for their initial conversation, and the result of her actions was her punishment, "I realize that I have put us in an unconventional situation, but I thought it was necessary for us to sit down together for multiple reasons. I want us all to talk and come to some type of agreement or an understanding because this isn't going to work without mutual respect. I respect you both, and I want you to respect each other because I'll be splitting my time between the two of you, and I want it to be fair. I don't want to go back forth about demands like a mediator. I don't want you fighting over who gets what day or where I lay my head at night. I don't want to have secrets or do anything behind anyone's back. We're adults, and we need to act like it. We should be able to communicate and come to resolutions without much fuss." She looked at them both, but she was talking to Ezra. Overall, Isaiah didn't have a problem with communication. He liked having clarity. So did Nayeli.

"It'll never be fair," Ezra voiced, ready to escape the table but not quite done torturing himself. If he walked then, he wouldn't come back, and he needed to be sure that he was truly willing to wave his white flag. He was uncomfortable, but he expected Nayeli to make it easy for him to put his foot down and say hell no. He expected to be ignored, forgotten about so he would know that his presence wouldn't be missed and it would give him the push he needed to move on. Instead, she was trying her best to hold onto him and the strides they'd made on vacation. She wanted him there, and that fed his dwindling hopes.

"I want to get as close as possible, and I'm willing to make concessions because my schedule is the easiest to adjust out of the three of us. I do need some time to get things in order business wise, but after the festivals, I won't work weekends anymore except for weddings that have already been booked through the end of this year. I can cut my physical hours at the bakery, too, if that will help. So with the free time we have, we need to decide how to split everything up. I want a schedule in place so neither of you feel like I'm intentionally spending more time with the other. I've already started a google calendar, and I sent the link to both of you," she explained.

"Don't get so focused on us that you forget to make time for yourself." Isaiah moved further into the booth, shortening the length of space between him and Nayeli. They were still holding hands, and her posture softened as she gazed gratefully at him.

"Right. This first one is just a rough draft, but thank you for reminding me." She hadn't accounted for that when she sat with her MacBook in her lap, mapping out makeshift stints of time so she had an idea of what their weeks would look like, "So I was thinking, since your shifts are 24 hours, three days a week, I could see you on your off days in between and for the first two days of your four day weekends. The days you're at work and the other two days of the long weekend will be reserved for Ezra. We can make adjustments when we need to. I'll give you both access to edit the calendar so we can work together." As it stood, that would put her with Ezra for five days and Israel for four before the awkward cycle started again. She gave Ezra a slight advantage because of Tati, but when she looked at him, she couldn't decipher what he was thinking. She just knew it wasn't anything positive.

"That sounds like a packed schedule and no time set aside for you." Isaiah returned her attention to his side of the table. She sighed as she tugged at the roots of her hair with the hand Ezra abandoned.

"I'm trying to make my availability as even as I can with all things considered. There are only seven days in a week, and your work schedule shifts throughout the month. If you have a better way to break everything down, please share because this was the best I could come up with for right now. It's this way or we struggle to find time, and I don't want that." The injury to his leg brought them closer since she assumed responsibility for him. His time off work, her taking him to and from physical therapy and appointments when she wasn't working or on Mommy duty, any free moment was spent with him. Now, things were changing, and she wanted to minimize the loss as much as possible.

"I don't either, but you can't pour from an empty cup, so take a day out of my scheduled time, and do something for yourself. See your friends, go get your hair and nails done, get some work done or rest. Do anything that feels good to you."

"But—"

"Whichever day you decide, I'll keep it open for you, and after you're done doing whatever you want, I'll make you dinner. Don't neglect yourself trying to keep our feelings in check. You're a woman, not a machine. I need you to take care of yourself the way you take care of me, okay?"

"Okay."

The urge to kiss him was there and strong once again. No one worried about her wellbeing like he did. It made it even easier to love him. She hoped her eyes conveyed what she felt for him as they exchanged glances, though she couldn't relish in the feeling because of the cold front coming from her left. It began to turn into a game of emotional ping pong, her energy shifting and bouncing back and forth. Though she remained physically connected to Isaiah, she turned the other way.

"Ezra, does that work for you or do you want to look for another solution?" With him having the upper hand in the form of a few extra days a month, Nayeli thought for sure that he would be okay, but looking at him, her heart dropped into her stomach as he shook his head.

"Nah. None of this is working for me."

His exit from the table was swift, and he didn't bother looking back as he walked to the bar to pay for his second drink and left. Her feet wanted to carry her out with him, but she stayed put, heart sinking as the woman she watched slip him her number saw her moment to strike and went for it. Nayeli sighed.

"I didn't want it to go like this," she said to no one in particular, "I knew he wasn't gonna take it well, but I thought he could handle it." In Antigua, he was on the fence, but he told her this was okay. He'd somewhat accepted it, said he deserved it. They were supposed to figure it out as they went, let whatever was supposed to happen, happen. They still had things to work on with each other. Now, that step in regrowing and strengthening their relationship looked to be light years away, if it happened at all. Nayeli was discouraged and crestfallen, kicking herself for thinking the evening was a good idea.

"Go after him," Isaiah told her. He saw the emotions rolling over her face. He didn't want her to be upset, and it was his fault EJ was having a hard time. Had he kept his cool, the conversation might've gone better. Nayeli blinked up at him, conflicted because she didn't want to choose between one or the other, and it felt like having to make an impossible choice. She looked at the exit then back to Israel, "Go. I'm fine." He tried to sound reassuring as he nudged her toward the other side of the booth. She scooted out slowly, not wanting to walk into a conversation she didn't need to hear, but she didn't want Ezra to leave before she could talk to him.

"I'll be right back." Like lightning she dashed to the exit, nearly pushing the glass door into the wannabe sister wife. She paused and went for the other handle, returning the look of disgust that was thrown her way.

"Your nigga's a bitch," the pretty but angry woman said as she reached over Nayeli's head to hold the door open.

The rational side of her kept moving forward, but she made sure to look over her shoulder and snap, "He knows a slide when he sees one!"

"What the fuck you say?!"

"I didn't stutter, hoe!"

"Aye, chill!" Ezra rushed over and stepped in front of Nayeli before things took a turn for the worst. He could see a security guard and the valet watching them, waiting to see if they needed to call the police. He remained a protective barrier between the women as they shouted obscenities back and forth. Nayeli waved her hand dismissively and told the girl to find something safe to do after being threatened. Her face showed no fear, just irritation. Ezra grabbed her elbow to steer her away from the confrontation, stopping near the rock pond and accompanying tropical plants. The sound of the trickling water helped calm them both down, "What was that about?" he asked, glancing toward the door to make sure Gabrielle was gone. Their brief conversation didn't go well, concluding with insults after he returned the receipt with her number on it and told her that he wasn't interested. He thought he was polite, but she didn't take rejection well.

"She called you a bitch," Nayeli huffed and shook her arms to loosen up, "I thought about knocking her teeth out, so be happy I just called her a hoe."

Ezra once again found himself laughing when he didn't want to. He was still upset, and Nayeli defending him further clouded his mind. But it also made him feel good. It let him know that he mattered to her, and he'd been struggling to feel like he did since he got there.

"Don't start squabbling over me."

"She started it. I would've finished it, but that's not the point. Please come back inside," she urged, ready to beg if she needed to, "There's more to be said, and I don't want to do it without you." Grabbing both of his hands, she tried to coax him back into the restaurant with her. He stood firm, a wall of muscle she couldn't move on her own.

"Why'd it take you so long to come out here?" he asked, eyebrow quirked.

"I'm in a tough spot. I don't know what's appropriate, and I'm trying to handle the situation with as much care as I can. I don't want to upset either of you."

"You thought this wasn't going to piss me off?"

"It would've been idiotic of me to assume that. I figured things would be tense, but I thought you would try to be more understanding of my feelings. You understood where I was coming from in Antigua. I thought we had a good conversation and that this would help—"

"Help what? I don't know how to wrap my head around this shit, Nayeli. I don't understand how you can love us equally or even love us both at the same time. Do you know what I saw in there watching you with him? Something we haven't had in a long time...if we ever had it at all. Have you ever loved me like that?"

"Of course I do! We planned to die together! We blended our families after knowing each other for like three months! We talked about getting married! We started planning a life together! We have an almost eight year old that's been calling me Mommy for close to a year. Where in all of that did you get that I never loved you that much?" she questioned, confused on how he could possibly think she felt stronger for Isaiah.

"Okay, yeah, you take care of Tati. Yeah, we did all that, and you fell for another man. You said he's the other half of your soul. You never said that about me."

"I didn't think I needed to. I thought knowing how lost I was without you would tell you everything you needed to know. I thought me trying to make this work would tell you. We haven't been a couple in months, Ezra. We've been apart longer than we were together. My life should've continued without you a long time ago, but I still want to be with you. I'm fighting for this, for us. That's not enough for you?"

"No, it's not because what happens when he asks you to marry him? At some point, he will. What's your answer gonna be? You can't marry us both, not legally. So who gets to stand with you in the church you grew up in and promise to love you forever in front of God and your family? Which one of us will be holding your hand when you're pushing out a baby? Who wins at the end of this?"

"It's not a competition!" It was all she could focus on because she hadn't given much thought to what lay ahead, about what she would do if Isaiah asked her to marry him, who she would have children with first, who she would live with. Her mind glazed over all of that for a moment in the beginning and hadn't touched it since. The short answer was both. She wanted that life with them both, and she couldn't have it without being judged.

"Life is a competition, and right now, he's winning," Ezra said, dropping her hands and stepping back when she tried to reach for him again.

"No one is winning! You're giving up! You're not even trying. You promised me you'd try." Her voice cracked as tears began to build in her eyes. She quickly caught a small droplet with her knuckle and blinked the rest back.

"I don't know if I can do this."

Heart splintering, she chewed her lip as she paced the cracked sidewalk and wrecked her brain looking for a way to salvage things. Why wasn't love easy? And why did she have the most difficult time of all? When she did everything right, her relationship didn't work out. She was trying to follow her heart, and it appeared that the outcome would be the same, "What do you want me to do?"

"Let him go."

"How would you feel if he told me that?"

"Relieved to know he's not a bitch." Ezra scratched the top of his head and exhaled through his mouth.

"You're implying that he's less of a man for accepting that I love you?" Nayeli demanded, pacing halted and suddenly pissed off. Ezra kept quiet, jaw clenching and unclenching as he prepared himself to feel her wrath. The look on her face told him that he struck a nerve, and there was no un-ringing that bell, "You're wrong."

"How am I wrong?"

"He's more of a man for taking me as I am and loving me anyway, for allowing me to be free and honest with myself and with him. He accepts every part of me, the same way I accept every part of him and you. He loves me with his heart and soul, and he doesn't let his ego get in the way of that. He doesn't let anything get in the way of that."

"And I do?"

"Yes, you do! Your ego is the reason we're even here! I've tried to meet you in the middle, and almost every single time, you have turned your back on me. No matter what I say or do. No matter how I try to accommodate you. Your feelings get hurt, and I get punished. I can't make you do anything. I can only ask, and if your answer is no, I accept that. I've tried. I've done all I can do with the hand that I was dealt. I know where you stand now, and I won't ask you to try again," she said, her voice shaky with emotion. She didn't want to walk away from him. It felt like someone grabbed ahold of her sternum and was trying to rip it out of her chest, but maybe they were just meant to walk different paths, "Can I pick Tati up tomorrow or are my privileges revoked again?" She sniffed and thumbed a tear off of her cheek.

Ezra's heart broke seeing her cry, and it made him pause. He thought she wasn't afraid to lose him, that Isaiah being in her life made him less important, but there she was in front of him on the steps of a breakdown while the "better" man sat inside, waiting for her to return. She came after him when he wasn't sure that she would.

She left "the other half of her soul" sitting alone at a table to tell him that despite another presence, she wanted to be with him. She was trying, and she was right. His ego did a good amount of speaking for him, making it impossible for him to fathom that she loved him and Isaiah. Ego and what other people would think if they knew he let her have a relationship outside of theirs. His boys would clown him without a doubt. His family wouldn't know when to stop giving their input. He definitely wouldn't want the truth to become public knowledge. He could see the hell they would face if he gave in, and he didn't want that to be his life. Their life.

He wondered if the thought ever crossed her mind, if she worried about perception or had blocked out all the noise. He had questions, concerns, a fear of not meeting expectations. His head was a mess, but he was certain about one thing. He didn't want to be without her, "Nayeli—"

"Can I pick her up or not?" She cut him off, clearly finished with their conversation. He didn't even know what he wanted to say, so he was going to let it end there.

"Yeah."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Nayeli walked away as quickly as he'd left the table, disappearing into the restaurant in a flash of auburn and turquoise, unaware of Ezra's eyes following her until she was out of his sight. She knew she looked like hell approaching Isaiah. She didn't try to hide it as she slid back into the booth to grab her purse. Isaiah caressed her back to soothe her ill feelings.

"I apologize," he said, moving closer and kissing her temple.

"You don't have anything to apologize for."

"Yes, I do. I pushed him, said some things I shouldn't have."

"What did you say?" Heat flashed in her eyes as she looked up at him, recalling the very tense moment she observed when she knew things had gone south.

"I wanted to get under his skin, and I did."

She didn't want to be angry, but the feeling simmered in her belly as she forcibly accepted her fate. Hot air blew out of her lips, her ears warmed, and the outer corner of her left eye twitched.

"You said you were okay with this," she spoke quietly, rubbing the back of her neck with both hands.

"I said I was willing to try," he corrected her, "If there is a next time, I will try harder." Neither thought there would be a next time, but Isaiah hated seeing her frown, even more so this time because he caused it.

"Let's go home," Nayeli sighed, taking a second to check the notifications on her phone. She got back to Maxine and Morgan, leaving the rest of the missed calls and messages for a later time.

"Yours or mine?"

"Yours. Your bed feels nicer."

"Because it is nicer. You like to sleep on bricks," Isaiah teased and helped her out of the booth.

"Mine is comfortable enough to serve its purpose. If I had a mattress like yours, I'd never get up. Should we stop and get food or do you want to cook?"

"Sushi?"

"Yes!" Their fingers interlocked as they moved toward the exit, and Nayeli was entirely surprised to see that Ezra hadn't left yet. He was on his way back in, stopping when he saw them coming out. She dropped Isaiah's hand almost immediately, eyes hopeful that things were turning around.

Ezra fidgeted, something he didn't do often, and briefly glanced at Isaiah before his eyes landed on Nayeli. She walked forward and stopped in front of him, gazing up as she waited for him to say something. He still didn't know what he wanted to say, but he didn't want to blindside her when she arrived to pick Tatiana up the next morning.

"Can the two of us revisit this conversation tomorrow?" he asked, providing himself with more time to think while leaving the door open for reconciliation. His mind told him that talking alone would fare better than the weird three-way date they were currently in the middle of. Isaiah being right there made it difficult to focus on anything other than the strangeness and unfairness of it all.

"Just the two of us?" Worry coated Nayeli's tone.

"Yeah. I'm not ready to deal with this—" Ezra motioned between the three of them, "yet. Not like this."

"Fair enough. If you are serious about talking, yes, we can revisit the conversation tomorrow."

He exhaled and released some nervous energy, silently asking her for a hug and grinning when she rushed into his arms. With her tucked against his chest, he felt like he could do anything, but one look at Isaiah decreased that feeling significantly. She probably made him feel the same way. Ezra tried to keep his thoughts under control and focus on Nayeli.

A soft, end of summer breeze blew a few of her curls across his nose. He caught a whiff of her shampoo, the scent jarring him out of the tornado of thoughts destroying the landscape in his head, "I'm sorry."

"No apology necessary. We have our differences, and that's why we're going to talk about them. I love you," she assured him, sneaking her hand up the back of his shirt to feel his bare skin, "I'll see you tomorrow." His lips touched her hairline then her forehead, and her eyes slid shut for several seconds. He kissed both of her cheeks and her nose before he let her go.

"I love you, too."

She was happy to hear it.

☼☼☼

The hum of the AC was the only noise in the room. Nayeli lay on Isaiah's bare chest, knees straddling his body, the tips of his fingers drawing lazy patterns on her back. A sheet covered them from the waist down, and she sighed quietly as she arched into his hand.

She should've been more relaxed, but the evening's events were heavy on her mind. She couldn't stop thinking about Ezra, about how he was feeling. A large part of her wished that she'd left the restaurant with him instead. He needed extra care, more attention. He was probably stuck inside his head, and she wasn't there to reassure him.

It made her worry more. She wondered if he would change his mind about talking, if the next few hours apart would solidify his choice to opt out of being with her. Thinking about it made her intestines twist, so she tried to think about something else. All her brain could come up with were scenarios of what could've been if she hadn't chosen to let them sit at a table by themselves.

Chest to chest, skin to skin, two beings in tune, Isaiah felt that something bothered her. She tensed on top of him. Her heartbeat quickened between them, and every thump made him anxious. He touched her face, brushed her curls back. When she lifted her head, he said, "You got a lot going on up here," and tapped her temple, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Nayeli did want to talk about it. She wanted answers, wanted to know exactly how and when the night went left. Giving herself some leverage, she placed her forearms on his chest and rested her chin on them.

"What did you tell Ezra before I got there?" she asked. All of Isaiah's movements halted at the unexpected question. He eyed her carefully knowing he was likely about to get himself in trouble.

"How do you know I told him anything?"

"I watched you both for a long time, longer than you think. I saw you doing most of the talking. What did you say?"

Although he was aware of the fact that she was present before she made herself known, she hadn't told him just how long she'd been in the restaurant with them, but if she saw him doing most of the talking, he was going to assume she'd been there the entire time. He couldn't lie to her, and he didn't want to. That didn't take away from the fact that he was afraid he would upset her so much she'd leave.

"I told him about the day we met," he said after a lengthy pause. Nayeli sat up more, a look of confusion clouding her pretty features.

"Why that day?"

"That was the night I fell in love with you." He'd known before they even left the beach, "He asked me why and I answered."

Nayeli's memories of that day were as clear as a scrapbook in her mind. She remembered the first time she saw him, how exhausted and worn down he looked. She remembered the first time he smiled at her, how his first laugh sounded like he was learning to do it all over again. She remembered every conversation, every time their skin brushed against each other's, the coffee shop they sat in that was once owned by her grandparents, became her bakery and was now owned by her. When the realization that her life had completed a full circle hit, her heart soared.

"We talked for hours in the corner of the coffee shop." She grinned at the memory, "That must be why it's your favorite place to sit when you visit me."

"Anywhere you are is my favorite place to be," he said, "I never wanted that night to end. I didn't want to leave you."

"Me either. You were a stranger, but I was more comfortable with you than I'd been with anyone." And that was saying something because Nayeli was comfortable around almost everyone. It was the too trusting and optimistic nature within her. Thinking back on the beginning moments of their friendship, she felt terrible for the way things had gone, "I'm sorry, Isaiah. I wish I'd known you loved me or at least figured it out sooner." It would've saved them both from the heartbreak they experienced at the hands of other people, but that thought made her wonder if it would've changed the course of meeting Ezra for the second time.

"I didn't want you to know."

"Why? Were you worried I wouldn't feel the same way?"

"That, and I didn't want the relationship we had to change for the worst if you couldn't see me as anything other than a friend. Getting to spend time with you, even if it was just for five minutes, was always the highlight of my week. I wouldn't have been able to handle losing the bond we built. I didn't think your dad would be cool with it either. Once he told me he was, things just never lined up for us."

"Now I understand why you were so adamant for me to verbalize how I felt." It was more than the way they'd ended up in his bed that first night together. For him, their friendship hung in the balance, and unrequited feelings could've blown it all to hell. He didn't know that the moment her butt touched down next to him that day, she vowed never to leave, "For the record, not that it matters now because I am quite clearly head over heels for you, but nothing would've changed for the worst if you'd told me. You still would've been my favorite firefighter. Farmer's market Sundays would've remained a tradition. Honestly, I think you should've gone for it."

"I wanted to respect your relationship." The person she was in the relationship with didn't respect it, but she wasn't going to be upset with Isaiah for doing the right thing.

"Thank you," she said, scooting up his body to peck his lips. He grabbed her neck softly and held her in place when she tried to move back. His fear of her leaving was mitigated, but there was still room for error. He wanted to keep her close and keep her on the topic at hand.

"Did you ever think of me as more than a friend before that night we went to karaoke?"

"I did. A couple of times, actually. Do you remember the barbecue four years back? The day Jalen bailed on me at the last minute?"

"Mhm." He tried not to smile at the fact that they were in sync. It could give off the wrong impression with the subject content, but little things like them having the same markers of important moments with each other solidified that they were supposed to be together.

"That was the first time I considered it. I wasn't expecting to feel some of the things I felt that day. I chalked it up to me being upset and vulnerable, but the possibility was there after that. We've always had fun together, and I loved that every time I saw you after we met, you were happy. No one ever smiled as much you did when we were around each other."

"That was you rubbing off on me."

"If you'd asked me out then, I think I would've said yes."

"What about your boyfriend?"

"We were going through a rough time. Me being me, I was holding on for dear life, but everything that happened that week should've been my last straw. The week before, truth be told. You could've been the kick in the pants I needed to get the hell out of there." Instead it was Ezra years later, and even as she sat in her current predicament, she was glad that it was, "That makes me sound like a horrible girlfriend, when I think about it," she winced.

"You shouldn't feel horrible for being unsatisfied in your relationship. He should've done his job."

"You should've told me how you felt. You miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take."

"I wouldn't have gone through that shit with Rose, either." It was only on his mind because of his conversation with EJ. He shared too much, but he stuck by not wanting to take it back. He hoped his truth humanized him.

"I'm sorry she did that to you."

"Not your fault."

"If that never happened, would you have married her?"

"Probably. I don't know how long it would've lasted, but probably."

"Because you wanted to or because it would've been the right thing to do?"

"Because she was there, honestly. I loved Rose, but we had a relationship of convenience. I was comfortable, and when we found out that she was pregnant, I was happy to have a son or daughter, but I wasn't exactly itching to move things forward in the relationship. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the real reason she decided not to keep the baby," he said.

"I thought she told you she wasn't ready to be a mom?"

"That is what she told me. I don't know if I completely believe that."

"Why would she lie?"

"Telling the truth would be admitting something she never wanted to." He felt guilty thinking about it because he hadn't hurt Rose intentionally. He was a present and attentive boyfriend, but he loved who he loved and Nayeli would always be at the top of that list, "She knew I wasn't all in. She wanted me to be, but I couldn't shake you. She knew if I had a choice, she would be second, and who wants to admit that?"

"That's why she hated my guts?" Nayeli never understood the hostility she felt from Rose when they were around each other. She never overstepped boundaries, never initiated physical contact around her. She wouldn't even look at Isaiah too long because she knew how women could be. It never made sense that Rose acted like Nayeli was a fly she couldn't swat. Now she had the answer.

"If you knew I was in love with another woman, would you hate her guts?"

"Absolutely," she responded too quickly, face warming as she tucked her chin and shook her head at herself, "It's something I need to work on. If you do fall in love with someone else, I want to mean it when I say I'm happy for you."

"What makes you think I would fall in love with someone else?"

"Nothing. Life happens. I don't expect exclusivity from you."

"Because of EJ?"

"Yeah. You don't want things to be fair?"

"I'm not concerned with the equality of the situation or finding another woman to waste my time with. My only concern is you," he said, sliding his fingers into her hair to rub her scalp the way she liked, "But I do want to know where you think we'd be if he was never in the picture."

"Depends on if you ever got up the nerve to ask me out. Technically, I came on to you." Her first and last time ever doing that for a man. It was nerve wrecking, and she already found what she was looking for in two people.

"Let's just say I did make that move, where would we be?"

"Annoying the shit out of everyone with how cute we are together. What brought this on?" she asked, struggling to keep her eyes open because the head massage felt too good.

"I love you, and I don't want to have to hide it."

"You don't. Ever." Nayeli was confused about where his head was at. The only time they toned things down was at the station. Everywhere else, they were loud and proud. But then she remembered that it was just the two of them for a time. There were three, now, and certain dynamics were going to change, "What's worrying you?"

"We talked about stuff in theory, not what would happen if it actually worked out. What do we tell your parents? Our friends? What do we do for holidays? The more I think about it, the more this is gonna start to feel like a custody arrangement," Isaiah sighed.

"It felt like that when I was trying to plan everything out. That's why I want you guys to get along. You do have some things in common, you know. You're both soccer fans, you both can't resist looking at my ass when I'm doing yoga, you both eat food. These are things we can build on." She tried to lighten the mood with a smile and some teasing.

"I'm being serious, babe. Your birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day. How are we going to work that out?"

"Flip a coin or draw straws. I don't want to pick and be seen as the bad guy because you guys didn't get the holiday you wanted. Hell, if it's up to me, we'll all be together," she stated.

"Together, how?"

"Not together together, but I want the three of us to be able to hang out without any conflict. Dinner, events, shopping, fun days. You guys could become cool enough to hang out without me sometimes. Okay, I hear how weird that sounds, but think about how easy it would be if we got to that point."

"You're asking for a lot."

"I'm aware."

"EJ's not going for that."

"Not if you're being an asshole about everything. I brag about how calm and understanding you are, so don't show your ass and make me look like an idiot. And what else did you say to him? I'm going to ask him the same thing anyway. I'm just giving you a chance to tell me your side of the story."

Isaiah huffed and looked up at the ceiling. He didn't regret any choice he made, but the weight of those choices was beginning to press down on him.

"I needed him to understand why I'm not going anywhere. I said more than I should have, but I wouldn't take it back. I don't know what you see in him. Who you are and who he is doesn't match up. I let him know I don't think he's good enough for you."

Nodding slowly, Nayeli rolled off of Isaiah and moved to the edge of the bed, tempted to put on her clothes and leave. Ezra's behavior was starting to make more sense, not that she thought it was going to be a walk in the park to begin with.

"Why did you do that?" she questioned calmly, doing her best to keep herself from reacting poorly.

"Because it's the truth."

"If it is or if it isn't, being with him is my choice to make. I wanted it understood that this not a competition nor do I want it to be, and you turned it into one," she said, her disappointment in him as clear as day.

"It wasn't just me."

"Did you come at him first?"

"Does that really matter?" His non-answer was answer enough.

"Yes, it does. Ezra okayed this in Antigua. I told him you are a permanent part of my life, and he said okay. You are the reason that changed. You didn't have to push his buttons, Isaiah."

"He didn't have to do half the shit he's done to you. You want me to apologize for not liking the idea of you being with somebody that has no regard for you as a person?"

"No, I don't want you to apologize for it, but I don't want you to go out of your way to make him uncomfortable, either. That rule is for both of you. Mutual respect. We all need to have it. Today, it was the heat of the moment, and I made the mistake of letting you two talk without me there first. That was bad judgment on my part. I had too much faith in you guys, but when I talk to him tomorrow, I'll see where his head is at and we'll go from there."

"You already know how that's gonna go down." 

"The only thing I know for sure is that I promised him that I would stop doubting him. I'm not going back on that promise." She just hoped Ezra held up his end of the bargain.

[sevenaldzdramashit]

A problem with "forgiving" that I see here: if no one changes opinions or admits some mistakes were made and at least apologizes for it etc. ... forgiving can't be implemented 🤧 It's not "forgiving" then, it's "I see you did something(to others) but I don't care(about others), i like you anyway" aka "well you didn't do anything to ME personally"(is there one word i can use to describe the whole thing?). Which could be considered "supporting" since you know there's a problem but choose to do nothing about it, on personal level, I'm not offering to go outside with a banner....

I personally didn't do shit publicly for a long time, I showed support by not supporting those who hurt those who I support lol, not supporting = not being friends with, not hanging out together in any way(l don't count times when i was too stupid to recognize who was under the red butterfly mask....) etc.

It's a simple idea....

You can't "forgive" Gilorien, for example, when he keeps "trying to find a girlfriend" by sending some disgusting messages to people and seeing nothing wrong with that.... It's what he thinks it's normal to do so there's no remorse no regret no apology, if you don't see a problem in it - it's not like you "forgave", you just accepted it and supported it.

I politely called it "we have different opinions" but...

You think weird unexpected sexual messages in Journey spaces can't hurt people, and if people feel hurt - it's their fault, they need to stop being hurt.....

I simply believe it hurts people so sending inappropriate messages like this should be punishable that's it.

Even if i personally wouldn't care if it happened to me, even if i just laughed and blocked, even if "I've been through worse shit" - it's not about me, not about you, it's about people who were hurt by Gilorien's actions.

You can belittle their experience and feelings but it won't make them stronger( if it's what you want...). Support won't make them weak... Supportive environment helps process shit safer and get less damage imo

I'm trying to understand, I guess it might feel like....10 huge knives are sticking out of your back, you're bleeding dying etc but no one even noticed, and then someone with a not life threatening cut appears and asks for help, and people even help... And you're like wtf? Like Just put a band-aid on it? It will heal in a few weeks??

It doesn't erase the fact "the cut" is still real damage Gilorien caused, doesn't matter who wins "the severity competition"(the idea of making it a competition already sucks but i understand how it can make someone Feel something)

Wounds that 10 huge knives sticking out of your back left DEFINITELY need to be cared about, there is no questions!! Someone's "cut" doesn't take anything away from you, well at least in this situation for sure

So support doesn't hurt, doesn't matter if it "seems" unnecessary for someone(you), it depends on a person, we have different needs etc you're right we're different, if you personally don't need support in situations like this it' okay, but someone else needs

I know the idea "if you don't face enough challenges, you can't grow and become strong" like when the environment is too good you donn't have the opportunity to learn how to deal with shit and then you just don't have this problem-solving skill and sooner or later Life:tm will fuck you over

however DAMAGE doesn't make you grow, it traumatizes you.... You can learn how to deal with it but it fucks you up and changes forever, often not in a good for-you way, you basically just learn to adjust and cope and live with it, when you manage to exist kind of stable it's called "healing" but you don't gain actual advantages - you develop skills to balance the damage so it's not -10 anymore, it's just 0, not +10.... Yes now you have some skill but you developed it because you needed it to fix a hole in a boat, the boat isn't upgraded, it just can stay afloat........

Online messages are not a challenge, it's disgusting damage that made the victims lose trust, and then the entire community and even the game. If there was more support, it would be much less bad obviously... Now it's not even just about Giloriens messages. And not just the victims but also people who are supportive, like naikousei.

"the world is cruel, you can't let yourself be traumatized by online messages" - anyone would benefit from not being affected by shit of course, but it's not a choice if you get affected, and you shouldn't be blamed for feeling hurt.... You can ignore your own feelings and pretend you don't care, and ofc you look "strong" this way, but it doesn't remove the feelings.. Seems like sucking it up doesn't make you stronger, it hurts you more? I find it cool people can admit they're hurt and ask for help. It's a skill, i don't see it as weakness

You can "just block" and never talk about it or say it's normal to send inappropriate messages to random people, by doing this you will contribute to enabling this behavior, and then apparently the plan is to teach people to not be hurt by it instead of not letting this happen/making it clear for anyone including "just a guy who wants a girlfriend he didn't know he did something bad" that its not ok ?..

"life is cruel this shit WILL KEEP HAPPENING no matter what"

Yes there's no way to make it 100% safe and nice but it doesn't prevent you from not enabling it on a personal level.... It's cool to try to make it a little better anyway?

Again it's not about going outside with banners or anything epic even, it's how your opinion affects your decisions that affect other people rtc... Our(humans) shit is connected and it's cool when we prioritize People, and we all can work on making A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE IN THIS DISGUSTING CRUEL PLACE a little better 🙂 i know it's sparkly fantasies and humans don't work like this though...... Could we choose to try though

"what about Gilorien's feelings then??"

Well just don't do shit to others and it should be ok..

Seems like "the presumption of innocence" usually works ..on personal level. People liked Gilorien before they knew, WELL THEY STILL LIKE HIM so his feelings are cared about enough......... Can't say the same about some of his victims and their supporters though

So another problem is not admitting there's a problem with Gilorien's actions AND with supporting/enabling/defending his actions

Yes we can't remove him from the game and online spaces entirely but we can admit his behavior is problematic and make decisions about how we need to treat him and his friends and supporters, based on that. Why you ostracized some of the victims and their supporters but not Gilorien and his supporters?.. if you banned Gilorien, why you're okay with his supporters? Shit like that...

You'd say "it's not your business who I communicate with" - it wouldn't be if the situation was resolved but the victims naikousei and I are left in this "grey zone", we lost what was important to us, people keep having fun together even though they know - no one takes the responsibility for doing shit. Not talking about it means letting them(you) get away with this.

Yes i also thought "why is that my problem at this point? If you want to be friends with Gils supporters I just won't be friends with you that's it, peace. If you suffer eventually is not my business or responsibility and you're not asking for help so it's ok" but no, i don't want people to forget what happened and IS happening, again, because the situation hasn't been resolved. My partner was affected and never got even an apology because no one wants to admit shit it's real, obviously there's the victims, and even I was affected. Why i need to just stop "bothering you"?

"just block" me if you don't like it (it doesn't always work see) but I'm still there

...Wait why I'm even trying to "explain" why sending disgusting sexual messages to journey players is wrong...

[transhawks]

*posts that are going to get you a box of my favorite orange flavored chocolates mailed to your doorstep (anyways, yeahh!! Lmao, it was so wild to me to read a post that lists everything Hawks did and I’m going like yeah!!! And then it ends off with something like “and that’s why I hate him and he’s evil incarnate” we are two different people lmaoo, I feel like you’re the only appreciated of unhinged Hawks on this site. He can be a sad little chirp chirp while still being crazy. So r other ppl

That sounds delicious actually. In all seriousness I had to disengage with actual Hawks "haters" in late 2020. I was very critical of him, argued with Hawks apologists (specifically in the whole Twice aspect) left and right, was getting frustrated at people just ignoring the clear references to the current political situation in the work, but seeing the actual Hawks hate hurt the nonetheless. I'm really lucky that a bunch of us in the Jinkei server and dbhwks spaces were really down to clown him and roast him, but there was still an element of at least finding him an interesting character if not liking him. A lot the hardcore Hawks haters not only didn't find him distasteful (which isn't wrong imho) but also felt that anyone who felt he was interesting was approving of his actions.

I had to justify why I liked him as a character to so-called friends, even a beloved best friend. Why I found him interesting - as if that invalidated my well-worn anarchist/leftist ideals and years of them and all the political activism and organizing I got involved in my late teens/early twenties. It was like... a very cruel time. I have a whole personality disorder that makes me think in polarities and extremes, and that space and group on here was not helping.

And then his development seemed to stagnate (or more I just didn't really understand what Horikoshi was doing with him) and I don't know, I clung on to what I originally liked. It really took reevaluating the entire manga and starting to find all of him funny to really, truly love him again.

He's a fascinatingly complicated character, incredibly well-crafted by Horikoshi, and I'd say among his top-tier written characters, like Tomura or Dabi. Now, that's on his *complexity*, nothing else. Not that I go looking for such opinions, but I'm going to clarify that and save some Hawks haters time gossiping about me saying "Hawks is a good as Dabi or Tomura according to local Hawks-obsessive transhawks", nah, we're talking about complexity and his narrative. Those things are very different than the character being ethical, not that any of them are.

And! And! It's okay to like the confusing, unhinged characters who bring chaos! 2020 me could never understand loving All For One, but he's so fascinatingly hypocritical and hilarious that he's quickly becoming a favorite.

I just regret we spent so much time as a fandom ascribing moral values to liking certain characters rather than just fucking enjoying them as they are. That wasn't healthy. That wasn't right of us, or me, specifically. I'm still someone who believes that the fiction/reality argument is bunk and not understanding that there isn't an actual separate space or how much any sort of art medium affects and shapes our values is a big problem, but I think when we started saying that anyone finding a character interesting was condoning their actions was when the plot was lost.

[inaturalist-propaganda]

*face palm*

When will cis people learn to shut the fuck up when they have literally zero stake in the conversation and feel that they are nonetheless an expert.

hihi said:

I say all of this with a great deal of respect for you and I don’t want it to come off any other way. I’ve been really hesitant to comment on this situation at all since I don’t want to start anything unnecessary but I hope that I can add something to this conversation that might be found helpful.

At this point this discussion has long stopped being constructive in any way or form, and is being unnecessarily divisive. I feel like, as a community this topic has been resolved, staff have made a final decision and have given what I see as an honest and sincere apology, they have updated community guidelines and the moderator thread has been closed. I understand that this issue might not be resolved for you since this has personally effected you in ways I, as a cis person couldn’t understand. But if you truly want a resolution, and a shared understanding, starting out with asking for a bullet-point list of everything the staff did wrong isn’t how you do it. I get you are frustrated, as there is a lot to be angry about but being amicable, even if you feel like the situation doesn’t warrant being amicable is the best way to actually get a conclusion you would like to see from a situation like this.

"I’d love nothing more than to be able to get back to sharing fun stories and stuff but I literally cannot do that until the paid iNaturalist staff prove that I’m actually welcome here, and that they will have the backs of other marginalized people in the future"

From what I’ve read, I feel like this incident as a whole has only further shown how much this community cares about the many great LGBTQ+ people in this space, and I hope that in the future people will be just as quick to criticise bigotry, intentional or not with the politeness and respect that I have seen multiple people use on this thread and others. I’m pretty confident saying you are welcome here, and I’m pretty sure even those whose words started this would say that.

My biggest issue with all of this is how much people from both sides, moderators included attribute malice to each others words and actions. From what i’ve seen, no one here meant to hurt you or anyone else, but a lot of people made mistakes, and it’s on all of us to forgive and move forward. It is much easier to believe that a small team of staff where overwhelmed by an inflammed situation and poorly chose which messages to hide and which message not to, and that you and others made important and valuable comments about this to the community, staff, and moderators and were understandable upset by it, rather than attribute malice to everyone’s actions.

I hope we can all move on to celebrating this community, and sharing further actions in the future that could be done to prevent future incidents like this. Remember that we are in a community that is very diverse, and that includes ages and backgrounds, and many people on iNaturalist are new to many aspects of pronouns and the like. But everyone that I’ve met on iNaturalist so far has been well-meaning in their words and actions.

[veinereastath]

Jᴜᴅɢᴍᴇɴᴛ Dᴀʏ [Aʀᴛʜᴜʀ Hᴀʀʀᴏᴡ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ-sʜᴏᴛ]

Sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɢᴏᴇs sᴘʏɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ Mᴀʀᴄ, sᴛᴀʏs ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ, ᴏʜ ɴᴏ. Wᴏʀᴅs: 2611 Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Nᴏɴᴇ. Tʜɪs ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ɪs ᴘᴜʀᴇ ᴀs ғʀᴇsʜ ɪᴄᴇ.

Aᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Aɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ-sʜᴏᴛ ᴏғ Hᴀʀʀᴏᴡ, ᴍʏ ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ/ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ. I'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ 2ɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ, ᴀs sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. Hᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ, sᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢᴏ ᴡɪʟᴅ.

Iᴛ's ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇss ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴀɴᴀʟʏsɪs, ɪɴᴛʀᴏsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙɪᴛs ᴏғ ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ. Aʟsᴏ, ᴜɴᴅᴇʀʟʏɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ. Nᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴏғʀᴇᴀᴅᴇᴅ + Eɴɢʟɪsʜ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, sᴏ sᴏʀʀʏ ɪɴ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs.

Aᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ AO3.

_____________________________________

    She started to spy on Harrow's community in London at the beginning of May. While these people did nothing in particular to grasp the actual attention of the authorities, neither the lower or the higher sort, she could feel there was something eerie and wrong about them as soon as she stepped in between the buildings they occupied. There wasn't a lot of people there, at least not as much as possibly could, considering the amount of living space; she estimated there to be around seventy to ninety people at best. They tended to come and go; and if someone seemed to disappear, they disappeared for good, never to return. She quickly noticed the pattern – if someone was no more to be around anymore, the last person they spoke to was Arthur Harrow. Each and every time.

Considering his role in this little merry cult he has build, it was understandable that he had the right to deem someone unworthy and send them back home, wherever it may be. However, considering who he was, according to Marc, and the mysterious cane he almost always had at his side, it was hard to believe he would just allow people to leave. She was pretty sure that the only form of sending someone back was, for Harrow, to send them back permanently. To another world, literally.

She shouldn't be surprised – she was aware of his past dealings with Khonshu, as well as his current obsession with Ammit. She was fairly certain that despite all those gentle smiles, pats on the back and words of semi genuine comfort, he would be ready to sacrifice all these people in those communities he's build around the world in a blink of an eye, if only it would bring him closer to awakening the crocodile goddess that seemed to drive his every action, thought and gesture.

She had a chance to see him many times, though she did her best to avoid a heads-on confrontation. Yes, they exchanged some words, and she played the card of the most innocent, pure soul on this earth, in order to push her cane-judgment as far to the future as she possibly could. Harrow, to her relief, seemed to be convinced enough by this facade to actually postpone it, and did not push her into the subject. In exchange, she did what she could to help the community, even in the simplest tasks. She walked around, talked to people in order to know them better – both because her cover required it, and because every single piece of information could be important.

Harrow asked her about her past, and sometimes she could feel him watching from afar. Whether he suspected her actual agenda and just allowed her to play, waiting for her to slip, was a mystery to her like the man himself. After nearly four months she still barely knew anything about him – anything real, anyhow. Even though the facade of genuine politeness was masterfully crafted – yes, she was truly impressed by his abilities – she knew that something way darker was hidden underneath. Sometimes she could swear she can see it, a darker shade of something ominous, hiding in the depths of those blue eyes of his. They were full of wisdom, but they were also very expressive. To what extent he could control what they actually were showing – she also didn't know. It was driving her mad, because the best description of Harrow she could deliver to Marc was basically "he's extremely clever, cunning and can adapt to any situation accordingly, like a chameleon. He knows what to say, when to say and how to say it. He knows what strings to pull, what questions to ask, what to do to push his goals further." Shortly speaking, she could say that "Arthur Harrow is an A-class manipulator" and that was it. Because of how good he was, she couldn't get under that mask of his.

She admired him, and was intrigued by the way he acted, but at the same time was genuinely afraid everytime he came into her vision and their eyes connected. Even though he always made sure to send her a polite smile, she could swear that something was wrong. He knows, something seemed to tell her in the back of her mind. He knows, he's just seeing how far you're willing to go with this. Leave, tell Marc you can't do anything else and just suggest you can help him in more direct way, instead of being his eyes and ears.

She wanted to leave, many times. And, interestingly enough, and she knew it could not be a coincidence, he seemed to appear just when she was about to stroll out of the street occupied by the community and get out of London. He casually came over, and started to ask her about her worries – like he could actually sense something in her head was trying to fight back. What exactly he could get by allowing her to play for this long, she didn't know. And she was afraid of what his reasoning might be. When the very first days of September came, their relationship became... Strained, to say the least. He knew about her true purpose, and she was aware of this. He seemed to communicate with her with silent stares, his smiles towards her became more eerie, different, and his eyes shone with something else when they spoke. He didn't call her out directly – actually, he didn't even leave anny bread crumbs or slight suggestions. No, he spoke to her as he always did, his words pure and comforting, but the undertones were obvious to her.

She should run, and yet she stayed. One day longer, two days, three days. Week. Two weeks. Why, she wasn't sure. Sometimes, when she was laying awake in the middle of the night, when mind likes going haywire, untamed, she had these thoughts – maybe he actually got under her skin, to the point where she liked talking to him, where she liked those undertones of danger in his stance, where she liked the fact he played this silent game with her – and perhaps even he enjoyed it, too. Maybe they had this weird, private relationship of 'I know, you know that I know, but we both like it, so let's keep knowing, playing, and see where it goes.' It seemed absurd, but that was the most accurate description of her current reality she could think of.

Everytime these thoughts were going too far, she hit herself with a pillow. But they still came, nearly every night, and she felt like she was starting to get insane. Was this the side-effect of being around him?

"Your troubles never seem to truly leave you, do they?"

She gasped, turning around to see him standing right behind her, his cream-colored coat blowing slightly in the wind, with a strand of hair cutting through his forehead. He tilted his head a little, giving her one of those smiles of his. She responded in kind, bowing her head a little, reminding herself about the innocent face she has to pull if she wants to survive.

"It's nothing." Was her response, an obvious classic of its kind. "I think I'm just tired, is all. My mind is slipping of its boundaries."

He chuckled, his eyes temporarily leaving her face, looking at the face of the moon above, shining on the cobblestones of the street with a familiar, blueish hue. "Yes, our human minds like to make those attempts of escape. Still, it's worth giving ourselves a try at gaining more control." Harrow looks at the bench nearby and gestures in its direction, asking her to follow. She complies, even though she knows that every time they have these little conversations, each and every one leads her closer to her possible demise. Still, if she wanted to run away, she should've done it sooner. An hour before, for example. Or last week. Or last month. Two months...

She blinks hard in order to scatter her thoughts away, focusing on the way Arthur walks – he isn't limping, she already noticed that. He was perfectly able of walking without this cane of his. What never ceased to amaze her, however, was that creepy crunching of glass in his shoes. And it was fairly easy to hear, too. How was he able to sneak up on me?

She sits next to him, folding her hands on her lap, shivering slightly. Not really because of the cold. He notices, of course. She tried to not focus on that, hoping to regain control of the situation fast enough to be able to get rid of him. And, preferably, finally get out of here. She was staying too long.

"So, what's on your mind on this fine evening?" Harrow asks, his eyes looking for hers. It's a trap, because she knows that if she looks at them for too long, it will be harder for her to remain composed. No more than three seconds, she reminds herself. Three seconds of eye contact, then look somewhere else, fidget with your hands. Act small, he will get bored and go away.

Well, that never exactly worked, but a bit of naivete in the time of stress can't hurt, no?

"A lot, I guess." She says, chuckling awkwardly. "Maybe it's my turn for middle-age crisis or something."

He smiles. "Oh, I think you're definitely too young for that." She looks at him again, and those blue eyes are watching, analyzing. In the light of the moon, they almost look otherwordly. And they seem to tell her something else, something that is hidden and requires more than just three second of eye contact to decipher. It's like he's genuinely tries her to break that rule she has, to push her out of her comfort zone and step into the light.

Considering how the moonlight is shining on him, yet she's mostly hidden in the shadow of the tree above their heads, the metaphor works quite well.

"Well, yes, but I suppose some kind of, emmm, 'identity confusion' is possible even at my age." She looks at her hands again, trying to hide away from his gaze. It's impossible – he sees everything, and it feels nearly physical. "It's nothing important. It goes away as quickly as it comes, won't be an issue in a few minutes or so."

"Struggling with ourselves is probably the toughest battle all of us have to fight at some point." He says, lifting his chin slightly. "But the most important thing to remember is not to be scared of it. Step ahead..." He seems to drawl out the last two words, and that deliberate shift in his tone of voice lights the little, red diode in her mind. He's warning her. "... Take responsibility."

The diode, she thinks, very quickly metamorphoses itself into a huge red neon banner. She looks at him, not sure what to say, and he's smiling slightly. It's a charming smile, truly, it awakens in her something akin to genuine attraction. If to ignore how it literally seemed to say to her 'I know.'

Fuck.

"You think I should step ahead?" She finally gathers her courage back, but her voice isn't that little and innocent anymore; though she can't hide the undertones of pure uncertainty and fear. Harrow catches it mid-flight and adapts accordingly. At this point, she knows that every gesture he makes serves a specific role – she noticed the way his long fingers gently trace the line of the crocodile heads on his cane, how his left foot taps the ground quietly a few times. Five times, she counts.

"I do." His voice is smooth and rough at the same time, like honey coated with warm sand. "I think it would do you good, my pure little soul."

She gulps, then takes a long breath, ignoring how it almost sounded like a genuine pet name. "You think I'm pure?" Another question. It's nothing more as trying to buy herself some time to gather enough ideas to formulate a plan. A plan which right now she desperately needs. She briefly looks at the moon above them. Full moon. Huh, weird. The time for the full moon isn't until five days from now on.

Harrow's slow, silent purr once again brings her back to the present moment. Whether she's grateful for this or no, she can't tell. Her mind picks up on the sound he just made and seems to revel in it for a short while, and the cringe she feels towards herself makes her shiver once more.

"Well, I suppose it's up to debate." He shifts, eyes travelling to his right, where he clutches his cane and slowly brings it between them. Oh, that's bad. Still, he doesn't yet make any move towards grabbing her wrists. Yet. "We've both waited quite long to see this for ourselves, don't you think?"

She blinks, a bit too fast for someone who's supposed to stay calm. "I didn't think time was so important." She admits, her eyes tracing the lines of the crocodile heads. In the light of the moon, their amethyst eyes seem to actually shine.

"When we fight in the name of eternity, the idea of time may seem small." Harrow's left hand moves to his right arm, and he slowly starts to bare the tattoo of scales for her to see. She does her best to try and control the rising panic. Could she try to run away? Possibly. They were, interestingly, totally alone. Actually, the street seem to be deserted, the only people she could notice were very far away.

Everytime someone dissapears from this community, they are left with Harrow alone right before they're last seen.

"So, is this finally time for my judgment day?" Her voice is quiet, and even though she tries to sound sure, she knows he can feel her tremble. Was she a good person? Yes, she liked to believe so. Unless Ammit decides that stealing a candy bar from a supermarket at the age of eight was a mortal sin, that is. Or, the cane actually can predict who would stay loyal to Ammit no matter what, while the whole "purify of evil" motto was just a ruse. That could be a possibility. Egyptian Gods were liars, after all. Like all gods, she supposed.

She feels the touch of Harrow's figertips on her palm, and it cuts her train of thoughts short. She blinks again, surprised at how warm and truly comforting his touch is. He traces a small circle with his thumb, and then his right hand briefly cups her cheek. His smile is back on his face, delicate, pure... Almost sorrowful, like if he knew what is going to happen and somehow regretted it. But in his eyes she can see cold steel, and which one if true and prevailing, she didn't know.

"Don't be afraid." His hand leaves her face, but before it does, one of his fingers very briefly brushes across her lower lip. "You did well. It was actually amusing to watch you."

And that's all he says before his fingers clutch around her wrists, slowly but surely. His grip is strong, but not painful – it's actually weirdly comforting, though she can clearly understand the hidden message. Don't run. You have nowhere to go.

The tattoo on his arm starts to shift, and she looks at it, hypnotized. And in the moment something cuts through the night sky, in the light of the early full moon, she can feel a sharp breath of the wind, and scales on Harrow's arm turn red.

[cacodaemonia]

okay but. when the vast majority of the "antis" are poc asking you to take a moment to consider the often racist tendencies behind your actions, have you considered that you /might/ be in the wrong here?

if you're doubling down on this stance because you feel you've been harassed, there are some really helpful and well worded posts i can send you if you're interested that explain some of the issues facing the tcw fandom at large! as a white person, they've been very helpful showing me some of the harmful aspects of fan engagement that i didn't have the words for

Ah yes, another anon with concrete proof of their claims.

Anyway, this is a good example of a whataboutism, where anon is trying to take my stance that sending death threats to real people over fictional ships is shitty, and turn it into me being racist.

It's a super common tactic in political arguments, and is often successful at burying the original point in layers of other, usually unrelated topics or accusations.

As I've said before, I'm not going to argue or try to change people's minds, because that's an exercise in futility.

The rest of this post, under the cut, is not directed at the fandom police (who, by not just blocking me, show how devoted they are to being angry over harmless internet content), but to others who might be at risk of being manipulated by their gaslighting.

So first, I apparently need to point out that shipping doesn't inherently have anything to do with race or racism. It can, for certain individuals, and there are obviously a plethora of nasty aspects of fandom that are racist and awful. But antis muddy the waters by crying wolf about others enjoying fictional space people who do not in any way represent a real world group and have no equivalent because they're millions of literal clones.

When they make such a fuss about something that is not harming anyone, they drown out the voices of those addressing actual problems. I know of several poc who have been driven out of fandom because they disagreed with the antis and were then shouted down and harassed for not caving to the arbitrary demands (much like religious extremists, who harm others if they don't conform to their religious creed).

As someone who has been heavily involved in political activism (not keyboard activism) for anti-racist causes and various other progressive issues for many years, it's easy to see through the attempts by antis to hide their obsession with policing fandom experiences of others behind the claim of 'speaking for poc.' Elevating the voices of those who have been historically marginalized is extremely important, but when they simply use that as an excuse to be hateful, they're not doing anyone any good.

Ask yourself: by harassing individuals (about whom they truly know nothing) online, how are the antis helping marginalized or disenfranchised groups? If they really wanted to create positive change, they could put their excessive energy toward fighting systemic racism and inequity by holding mass media and lawmakers accountable, rather than bullying fans who have no power and just happen to have slightly different views on fictional characters.

It's a way to get attention and feel powerful, plain and simple. They drag others down in order to feel superior—or whatever motivates people who enjoy harming others, idk.

I'm glad that the internet preserves this stuff, because maybe some antis will look back in a few years, after they've had enough life experience to understand that real world issues aren't black and white and can't be solved by screaming on the internet. Maybe some of them will realize how needlessly cruel they've been, and how much harm they've caused to real people who just want to share something they like with others.

I won't be responding to any other similar asks. I'm on Tumblr to have fun with fandom stuff, not to engage in the dumpster fire that is the real world or listen to poorly constructed arguments for why everything is 'problematic.'

[photiniainsummer]

Dancing with the Dark

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: You've taken to lingering around Dark's office late at night when he thinks he's alone with his old jazz standards.

Or so you thought, until one night you find the door open.

You've always wondered what exactly he does behind it...

It's listen to music. Get your mind out of the gutter. ;)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 6860

Author’s Note: No warnings - this is really all just tooth-rotting, tender, slow build romance. There is dancin' and smoochin', though. 👀 Also posted to AO3!

It wasn’t something you had intended to intrude on. The Manor is big, but not that big, and it just so happens that the quickest route to your bedroom means you have to pass Dark’s office suite. As your nights have gotten later and later, trying to keep tabs on Mark and the poor, scattered egos he’s made and dumped, more and more often have you caught soft, crackling music drifting out from behind your sort-of boss’ heavy office door.

At first, you mostly ignored it, noting it with a small smile and continuing to bed. It’s really none of your business what the shadowy man does in his free time, you figured. Plus, you all manage to live on top of one another, despite the Manor’s size, which puts privacy at a premium - who are you to deny him some when he can get it? But as time has passed and you’ve worked intensely together, the original enmity between you two has turned into a professional respect and eventually, you’d hazard, a friendly banter. At least, such as Dark is willing to joke around.

And so, tempted by your mutual softening, and maybe a little curiosity as to what kind of music your ‘leader’ listens to, you’ve found yourself pausing in your path to bed when you catch him playing a record. At first, you only stopped briefly at the top of the stairs with his office across the landing from you, taking a moment to appreciate a few bars of dreamy jazz. It was peaceful, almost magnetically melodic. But you quickly grew self-conscious in your eavesdropping, and, not wanting to seem nosy (despite the fact you definitely were being nosy), moved along to your room.

You crossed the landing to the bit of wall near his door, next, but kept a keen eye on the stairs behind you in case you needed to make a sudden retreat. For a week or so, you took longer, lingering there at the mouth of the short hallway to his office. You would take in a full song before you got antsy, concerned Dark might get up to make a late-night cup of tea and discover you. Even so, you had found it hard to pull yourself away from the lilting voices of his records - time seemed to slow, for just a little while, and you felt you breathed easier, deeper even, once you were back in your bedroom.

Finally, now, and most nights for the last month, you’ve let yourself truly relax just outside his door. He never leaves, not that you’ve seen, and so you’ve taken to resting in the shadow of the short hallway and letting the hypnotic drags of a brush across a snare, crooning voices over a string quartet wrap around you. Dark’s music is never truly jazzy, never truly swinging, and it soothes you like very little else can these days. It’s steady - you think that’s what’s so appealing about it - drawing you in at the end of a long day for a moment of reprieve, floating outside of time in the gentle shade of this corner of the Manor.

You’ve gotten used to it, to be sure. The sleepy, tripping dance of a horn greets you at the end of each long day spent combing through Mark’s videos, hunting for hints as to his next move. The quiet moments spent letting the gentle jazz unwind some tight thing in your chest have become just as much your routine as they are Dark’s - and you understand why he takes the time. Until you started lingering to listen, you were harder up for time alone than you thought with barely a moment to spend in your own head. Everything was focused on maneuvering around Mark, a seemingly endless game of cat-and-mouse that left you tossing and turning and jittering yourself into an exhausted unconsciousness each night. But now, you fall asleep faster, wake up feeling more rested having actually relaxed before bundling down under your covers. You had found a little corner of peace, thanks to Dark. And, perhaps, thanks to your damned nosiness, as the man himself had called it once.

Only occasionally as you lean against the wallpaper have you allowed yourself to think about the man behind the door. For all your collaboration, Dark is still a mysterious, calculating, and distant figure. It’s by his own making, too. He’s been content to work closely with you planning Mark’s downfall, but keeps his own cards so close to his chest you have to wonder if he can even see them now, so to speak.

Perhaps he knows them well enough not to need to.

You’ve learned not to pry too much about any of the egos’ pasts and what they remember of them, unless you’re just in the mood for awkward, dead-end conversations. Wilford doesn’t seem troubled in the moment, human bouncy ball that he is, but responds vaguely - even for him - before up and disappearing for a few days. Google spouts some kind of technical jargon about his assembly warehouse that you can barely keep up with, then focuses intently on changing the subject. The Host only gives you one of his polite little smiles and reminds you that your futures are ‘of a more pressing nature’ than his past is.

The only one you’ve totally avoided trying to bring up the subject with is Dark. Your first real conversation had edged on it, and his reaction - aura practically blowing all the lightbulbs in the room, crackling copies of himself writhing in rage - had been pretty clearly in the ‘not positive’ camp. You’ve not had the stomach to unnecessarily incite his ire, so most of what you know about him, you’ve put together yourself. A vague understanding of his blended nature, the people he was before, their relationships to Mark… But it’s all guesses and deductive work about people long gone from the plane you inhabit. Grasping at shadows and context clues to paint a portrait of how the being, who deeply dislikes the outsize attention his central role as Mark’s primary ‘villain’ commands, came to be.

Yet, you do know some things about what he’s like. That he doesn’t seem to need to eat or take breaks of any kind. That he’s single-mindedly devoted to stopping Mark in his tracks, and intensely methodical about the whole endeavor. Even when you think you’ve caught him reading something for fun, it turns out to be Mark-adjacent. It’s impressive, you admit, but also why hearing those strains of songs sung long ago, finding him doing something unproductive has captured you so. To think of him taking time for himself, doing nothing but enjoying some music… it simultaneously feels incredibly decadent and comforting. For all his hardworking exterior, there are quiet moments Dark takes to relax. Even more than his music, that soothes something in your heart you didn’t even know was tense.

Plus, good lord. The man listens to croony, moony, love-sick music late at night when the rest of the Manor has retreated to their own separate corners. How could you not melt?

Yet it’s impossible for you not to wonder what exactly he does behind his office door. It’s always firmly shut, and even with the proclivity toward psychic abilities in the Manor’s residents, you can’t completely school the curiosity it inspires. Listening to a couple croon about the stars or something equally cheesy from your spot out in the hall, you’ll often picture him relaxing in one of the high-backed armchairs situated near the heavy fireplace. Maybe he’s shut the door to his workspace proper, allowed himself some wine from the cellar, propped his feet up… Maybe he’s truly relaxing, thinking of something altogether having nothing to do with his work. It’s anachronistic enough to your steadfast image of him to be ridiculous, but you also can’t help but hope it exists in some form, protected behind the dark wood that muffles already-quietly trilling piano keys.

This is why, late one night, you’re stopped in your tracks at the foot of the stairs, already able to hear his music. You’d been just about to pull yourself up the stairs by the handrails, eyes bleary from staring at your screen all day when you’d picked out the dreamy march of brass. You’ve only ever been able to hear his records when you’re standing on the landing - is something wrong? Cautiously, you ascend the tightly winding stairs, your thoughts mirroring the spiraling steps as they scramble, chasing away any haziness.

Reaching the landing, you find dancing firelight spilling out across the thick Persian rug there, Dark’s door cracked shockingly wide. The sight is almost obscene, illuminating the spot that has been your shadowy cocoon. It’s only made more stark by the clarity of the music that lilts through the air. You have the keen, embarrassed feeling that you should not be seeing what you’re seeing, that you’re intruding, infringing on something private - even though all you can see of the office is a little bit of wall just inside the door. Even so, the sudden need to stop this, to preserve something personal, quiet, safe for Dark overtakes you. You’re spurred into action, crossing the space on careful feet. You move to shut the door, to right this obvious wrong, but as your hand takes the old brass knob, the music from within murmurs tender thoughts of lovers embracing after an age apart. Even with your goal so firmly in mind, you can’t stop your eyes from flitting over the sliver of his office the crack in the door reveals.

And, oh, what it reveals.

As if intentionally centered for your view, Dark is, as you’ve imagined countless times, tucked into one of the armchairs near the fire. His suit jacket has been carefully folded and hung over the back of his chair, his starkly white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a bit of the skin at his throat. More is revealed by the tilt of his head as he rests it back in the crook of the armchair’s wings.

You’ve never seen him so… undressed before. You immediately flush, embarrassedly shooing the thought away before it can become anything more than a passing observation. You’re thankful to see that his piercing eyes are gently shut, the breaths he draws steady and quiet. Even his aura is still, nonexistent except for his colorlessness. The dull ring that accompanies him, too, is almost completely silent. Whatever remains is drowned out by the softly crackling gramaphone to his side.

Although you know he doesn’t need to sleep, the tender image of him relaxed enough as to fall into it twists something so totally in your heart that it keeps you there, hand on the doorknob. You know you need to close the door back, and carefully, too, so you don’t pop whatever bubble of peace he’s floating in, but… It’s like having a dragonfly land on the tip of your finger, spotting a deer at the edge of your garden, catching the sun breaking over the horizon and truly beginning to dawn. How can you look away before it ends?

But you’re playing with fire in waiting for this moment to end, and, unfortunately, you get burned.

At least, it feels like you do. Suddenly, Dark’s head comes up, his eyes cracking open, and the cold heat of being caught scalds the back of your neck. You go to close the door, but it’s too late - his black eyes catch yours, and he calls your name. It’s gentle, a distant question, but it still makes your heart sink into some pitiful little depth of your stomach. There’s no way to play this off casually; he sounds truly awake. Either he wasn’t actually sleeping, or you’ve startled him enough to banish any hint of drowsiness from his voice. You’ve ruined this precious little thing, your knowledge of it revealed, and, gosh, you feel miserable for it. But you were called, and so you crack the door a little wider, an apology already on your lips.

“I was just going to shut it for you, I’m sorry,” you offer, quietly, as if trying not to interrupt the music still going at his elbow.

Dark doesn’t immediately respond, watching you with his usually piercing, contrasted eyes. Yet, they’re softer, tired - was he actually sleeping? The gramophone crackles like the low fire nearby. The record playing spins wobblingly, curled with age. The music is even dreamier unfiltered like this, giving the lowly-lit room a hint of unreality. Time seems to stretch between you, and when he finally speaks, his echoing, multi-throated voice only adds to the feeling you’re imagining things.

“...you may come in, if you would like.”

Something has gone horribly wrong. He, or another ego, is dying or has died, you’re certain of it. That, or Mark has figured out your plan to collect them and gotten to one first, maybe Yancy or the Captain, taking them out of the picture or scooping them up for himself. It’s the only obvious explanation your startled mind can offer for seeing Dark so markedly undone - his jacket, his shirt, the door…

Just as quickly, you realize how ridiculous the thought is. Dark wouldn’t look like a rather sleepy cat, cozied up to the fire with his music of choice, much less invite you so casually into his inner sanctum if things had gone to hell. No, there’d be more rending of reality or quick, tense words - a contingency plan thrown into action.

Which means you actually have to deal with being invited into his office late at night, a place you’ve hovered around and imagined for nigh on a month. You force yourself to respond casually, nodding as if this is normal for the two of you as you step over the threshold. He gestures for you to shut the door, and you do, gently putting it to rights before crossing the bookshelf-lined room to join him.

Like you always do. Obviously.

Once near the fire, you can see his aura is beginning to stir once more, the edges of him blurring with compelling darkness. In all the imagining you’d dared to entertain, you have never considered what his face would look like in these moments. His brow is relaxed, his expression open, and though his attention is fully fixed on you, it doesn’t cut through you or hunt for answers. He is merely regarding, the firelight only able to cast dancing shadows across his face for all its warmth. He’s relaxed. Relax-ing .

It’s, again, almost obscene. So much more than you anticipated. It’s one thing to imagine all that you have in theory, a different one to see it in truth, to experience it. And Dark, relaxing, is something you can barely take your eyes off of. He looks so much more like a person, undone after a long day of work, not quite ready to trip off to bed. With his aura so reserved, only mildly undulating at the very edges of him, you could almost dismiss it as a trick of the light, if not for how he absorbs and negates color.

Just a man.

Trying to stay casual, you prop yourself on the chair across from him, chin in hand, and you both watch each other for a moment. Both quiet. Both tired. Except your silence is tinged with subtle awe. At being invited in, at being here, at seeing him this way. It’s like the killer panther that typically stares you down from the shadows giving you a lazy, sun-warmed blink. As much as you try to treat Dark normally, there are moments when you can’t help being amazed - though it’s usually due to his eldritch powers and not him engaging in the simple act of sleeping.

Which begs the question - why leave the door open while he was so indisposed? Mild concern rises again, and you feel compelled to ask.

“Is everything okay…?”

You swear his eyes twinkle, amused. It’s hard to tell with the fire dancing like it is, his face remaining otherwise unchanged. You want to frown, wondering how loud your thoughts have been, but leave it.

“Yes... and no, as always. Nothing has changed, if that is what you mean. There is no need to worry.”

Coming from anyone else, it would be a formality. Your shoulders would stay hunched, your brow might furrow. But when Dark says it, when he speaks more quietly than you think you’ve ever heard him speak, it scatters whatever remaining fears his invitation had kicked up to the wind. You exhale. It is a comfort, but… It doesn’t explain why he invited you in. If you had really ruined his illusion of privacy, would he so readily let you walk over its remnants?

Suddenly, the answer is clear - so simple and obvious as to be startling. You speak before you can question the thought.

“Just want some company?”

Dark continues to watch you, but his gaze loses some of its lethargy. The panther stirs, considering. Weighing. Calculating. Heat rises up your neck ever so slightly - that will teach you to jump to conclusions.

But then he hums and gives an affirming nod. He gestures to the seat you’re leaning on. “Again, if you would like…”

Is that hesitancy?

You really feel like you’re dreaming as you settle across from him. He just wants company. He hesitated. He couldn’t even ask for it. Notably distant Dark, who never joins the rest of you for meals, for after-dinner drinks, who you rarely ever see outside his office… wants company. Although the chair’s winged back curls around you and radiates warmth absorbed from the fire, you find it difficult to relax as he continues to, turning his black-and-white gaze to the fire. Does he want conversation? Comfortable silence? How are you meant to parse what he’s wanting against the background of how surreal it is that you’re actually here?

But little things remind you that this is very much happening - the heat of the nearby fire, the music’s volume being slightly louder than you’d imagined. Although, you remind yourself, you’ve been hearing it muffled by heavy wood until now. It’s still relatively soft, just clearer up close. Your eyes fall to the gramophone piping it out. You’ve seen it in passing, but it registered about as much as the carved wooden globe on the mantle - furniture, meant as a finishing touch for the room. It looks like a true antique, though, its curved neck and ornate mouth lovingly maintained, polished to a shine apart from a few inevitable age spots. It’s close enough to Dark for him to operate without getting up, records tidily shelved underneath.

Your eyes edge back to the man seated so nearby. His slowly awakening aura is gently tugging at your attention, but he himself pays you no mind. That relieves you, somewhat, a silent answer to what his idea of ‘company’ is.

You realize, then, that you’ve never simply existed with him before. Throughout your time at the Manor, you two have only ever been in each other’s company to work or exchange information. There’s always been a goal, something to focus on, to accomplish. But now… there’s nothing. Nothing to do but exist.

Why does that suddenly feel so hard?

You must be thinking rather loudly, because Dark’s gaze slides leisurely from the flames onto you. He tilts his head, but not in that strange drifting motion it sometimes does, gravitating to some sick angle of its own accord. No, he’s just curious. You smile sheepishly, wondering if all your mental spinning has disturbed his peace, made him second-guess inviting you in.

“Too loud?”

Another amused flicker in his colorless eyes. “No louder than usual.”

So tired Dark has jokes , apparently. You give him a look. “Not exactly comforting.”

“To be fair, they are much quieter than when you arrived.” It’s almost a compliment - at least he’s not calling you loud anymore. Letting that be a comfort, you attempt to relax back into the chair. It, like the rest of the Manor’s furniture, feels straight out of a period drama with none of the damage of age. It’s still as soft as it was whenever Dark crafted this bubble of reality.

“It’s hard when you can’t control it - like I have noise cancelling headphones and can’t hear myself or anyone else.”

He hums. “You do not need to explain it to me.” Ouch. You look to the fire, taking the inside of your cheek between your teeth. When will you learn to keep your foot out of your mouth? Dark senses the sudden silence and mildly clears his throat. “I mean… Only to say that I understand you do not have the same ability. I do not hold it against you.”

His voice still has that quietness to it, a low, gentle undercurrent. It’s practically an apology, how he chooses his words. You shift, rubbing your finger joints with your other hand. You’ve been told it looks like hand-wringing, but it soothes you and the soreness there. “I think you saw it differently, when I first got here,” you hazard, just as quiet as you look back to him. Dark is watching you evenly, but something shifts in his brow as he recalls that first day. How different your tones had been, how differently you’d approached the other. You’re only feet from where that first conversation took place, and yet…

“...much was different, then,” he murmurs. “I was, perhaps… harsher than I should have been. I was unaccustomed to the sensation, not at my best.” He seems to stop himself there, closing something that was edging open before looking back to the fire. “I have grown used to it. The sound of your thoughts does not trouble me, but you have also improved at closing your mind. It is impressive, for someone unlike the rest of us.”

Good lord, maybe he actually is dying. You don’t think you’ve heard so many kind words from the man in all your months of living together. His gaze stays fixed on the flames, even as you stare at him, a little stunned. Silence draws out between you, filled only by tonight’s accompaniment. Yet, it doesn’t spark with nervous energy or prickle in pointed coldness. It crackles like ancient records warped with time, old oak burning to warm a place apart from the rest of existence. You settle deeper into the armchair, eyes turning from the shadow you’re keeping company.

He only barely catches your pleased little smile, finding it hard to look at you for too long.

-

From then on, Dark leaves the door open for you, although cracked much less wide than before. When you call it a night, you make your way through the Manor to your seat near his fire instead of right to bed. Although the weather of the world still reaches you, the place Dark maintains is always just slightly colder, so the fire’s warmth is never unwelcome. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you sit together in silence, but regardless of how chatty either of you feel, there’s always music curling underneath the moment. Dark doesn’t sleep like he did the first night, but he always has his coat off and that softer turn to his eyes by the time you arrive. It’s strange, at first, to see him switch so much between his work and leisure personas, and at first you wonder why he’s not always so relaxed. Surely things would be less tense.

And then you remember Wilford’s incessant gunfire, Google’s underlying objective, the weight of his very existence. Without his steady, cool glare, the Manor would be full of bullet holes, and they’d all probably be dead with Mark free to break reality to his whim. If Dark wasn’t so tightly wound, everything would come undone.

So you enjoy - scratch that. You let him be how he is, in each moment, without comparison. Sure, it’s nice to talk to Dark when he isn’t grinding out words from between his teeth, and seeing him undone has removed whatever distance might have remained between you, but to say you enjoy him…

Christ. Who are you kidding - you really enjoy him.

It really happens without you noticing, and it almost drives you nuts with how cliche it all is. Things just build up - he has a pillow placed in your chair just so for your lower back, you pull the smallest of smiles of him with a well-put observation (and find that his eyes crinkle the same way the other egos’ do) - until one night he asks you to dance.

He’s not quite so blunt as that about it, but it’s essentially what happens. You’re sitting together, having fallen into one of those comfortably quiet moments when a song comes on that you recognize. Not from your time lingering around Dark’s door, but from before you came to the Manor, vague memories welling up of a ballroom dancing class in undergrad you’d taken for fun full of sore toes and sweaty hands. You laugh, suddenly, startled at just how far away that moment feels. You try to cover it with your hand, but you continue to chuckle as something about the ridiculousness of it gets to you, and Dark watches you with some mix of amusement and concern. There’s a little of that predator’s intentionality there - searching for answers. You shake your head as you calm, dropping your hand but still smiling.

“Just… I know this song.”

“Oh?” Read: Continue.

“Well, I… Back in my first year at university, I... well, I signed up for this ballroom dancing unit. This was one of the songs we used, I think.” Dark inclines his head as something changes in his gaze. Your last little aftershock of laughter passes and you settle back into watching the fire lick at its grate, content to let it lie. But Dark continues to watch you. Feeling him still staring, you look back - very little of that soft turn to his eyes remains. He is a man focused. “What?” you eventually ask, shifting under his stare.

“I did not know you danced.”

You fluster, then, scoffing at the idea, eyes falling to the carpet between you. “I… don’t. Unless you count slow dancing, I guess. It was just the one class. Forever ago.”

He’s not content, fixated. But quiet. Considering. Weighing. Then…

“Would you like to?”

You look back quickly enough that you wonder if his aura pulled at you in tandem with your surprise. “Wh. I… Now?”

He nods, slowly. You just stare, trying to process the idea and coming up with no clear thoughts. Then he does something funny - he actually shifts under your scrutiny, gaze flickering away for the briefest of moments before returning to you. That alone is enough to stun you further, Dark looking practically shy, but he explains. “In my day, I was an avid dancer. I enjoyed little else outside of… work. I can show you how.”

You momentarily wonder which of his past lives he means before you find yourself nodding in agreement. Even if you hadn’t wanted to, this is… new. Dark offering so much at such little gain to himself, unfurling those cards from so close to his chest. Refusing now might mean they would never come away again.

“Can you?” Your voice is surprisingly dry, distant, but Dark doesn’t seem to notice, focused on the task now at hand. On you. He only nods and rises from his chair in a smooth motion before offering you a hand.

From experience, you know he leeches color from whatever he touches, even things in his vicinity if his aura is expansive and active enough. Yet, you’ve never had reason to make direct contact, and so you still watch in minor surprise as your hand loses its luster and gains a black-and-white cast when you take his. “It isn’t permanent,” he explains as you stand to join him. “It’s only… plants, that can’t handle it.” He sounds mildly embarrassed, and it clicks why you’ve never seen him in the Host’s garden. The future-sighted ego had probably barred him from the place years ago.

“Oh,” you reply lamely, and he ducks his head somewhat before leading you to the more open space between your chairs and the outer office door. There, he turns smoothly and you’re in position, having used his hold on your hand to subtly guide you closer. Your other hand lands on his upper arm, almost at his shoulder, and he gently shifts his elbow under yours to guide it to rest on top, near his collar. His own hand comes to rest higher on your back than you remember from class, almost on your shoulder blade.

It feels so proper, how you stand, how he holds you… Against the age-old music set to guide you and the Manor’s unchanged decor, you can almost see who he was before - the swish of a beaded skirt, the creak of a heavy cane - but then he speaks, heavy with shadow, and all you know is the darkness in your arms, here and now.

“Just a simple step. You remember a waltz?” You nod - did we dance this close together back then? “Good. Then you know to follow me. Stay relaxed...”

The idea of relaxing flies out of your mind the minute he guides you backward. All your mental energy is focused on not laughing in pure nervous surprise as he seems to get closer and closer before your muscle memory manages to kick in and you’re stepping back with him. You’re slightly out of sync, and he slows just so to catch up with you before he brings you back up to the pace of the song. “Relax,” he murmurs, dipping his head so much closer to yours than feels decent as he speaks, as if sharing a secret. “I have you.”

You certainly do, you think, immediately glad you’ve been practicing keeping your mind closed more often. With all the time you were spending with Dark in his off-hours, you had felt it was only fair that you didn’t overload him any further. That extra practice is coming in handy now as your thoughts swirl behind the dam you imagine holds them back from the general psychic public - your dance partner in particular.

True to his word, Dark keeps it simple, guiding you slowly around the open space, easily turning you in lazy patterns across the floor. And thank goodness for that - anything more complicated and you wouldn’t be able to balance it with how hyper-aware you are of everywhere the two of you touch, the feeling of his firm shoulder and crisp dress shirt under your hand, the skin of his palm against yours - softer than you’d imagined, with calluses inside his first finger from years of pen-writing.

All the same little anxieties bubble up, long-forgotten but haunting you now with a vengeance. Are you gripping him too tightly? Are you anticipating his movements too much? Is your hand getting sweaty, or is that normal? Can he hear you breathing funny? You’ve thankfully settled into a comfortable angle of faces, yours turned slightly to the left and down, eyes fixed firmly on the curve of his shoulder. You don’t think you could trust yourself to make eye contact just now. You can’t say how exactly Dark’s face is turned, though, so focused on keeping your eyes where they are and your thoughts in check that you haven’t looked - nor do you hear him speaking your name until he squeezes you ever so slightly.

You turn, bidden, and you’re practically nose to nose. His stark eyes are already watching you when you meet them, and it steals whatever shallow breath was in your lungs. Up close, you would think you would be able to discern a hint of color in his irises, find that they were really a dark, dark brown. But they are truly, completely black. And they watch you so carefully, thoughtfully, with barely any room to breathe between you.

Your face must betray how the proximity startles you, because you get treated to another of his small, almost imperceptible smiles. Up close. You can see how it pulls at his eyes, and you’re thankful now that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I… Yes?”

“You’re quiet,” he explains, after a beat.

“Do you… typically talk, dancing like this?” When did your throat get so dry? Dark chuckles, low and only for a moment.

“You can... But I was referring to your thoughts.” Uh oh.

“Oh…?” You try to sound normal, mildly interested instead of panicked, already floundering for what to say. Dark’s eyes flicker across your face, and you feel horribly exposed. As if, through the underbrush, you’ve just caught the gleam of a predator’s gaze.

“The closer you are, the more clearly I hear them. Yet…” He pauses, turning you past a low table. “I can barely hear you at all.” Then his voice grows softer, somehow, and your throat feels like it’s never known water. “Where did you go?”

“I…” You swallow fruitlessly, dropping your gaze back to his shoulder, to safety. What can you say to explain the sudden, obvious gap without blurting oh, it’s nothing, I only just realized I’ve been falling in love with you for the past couple of months when you asked me to dance and now I’m trying not to lose it while you hold me. “I’ve… been practicing,” you try. It’s the truth, at least. But you still can’t meet his eyes, though you feel them keenly observing you. “Didn’t… Didn’t want to be shouting at you, from, well... this close.”

He’s quiet then, focusing on sweeping you steadily around the room. The song has changed, your pace slowing somewhat to match the new one, and he takes the chance to guide you through a slightly more complicated step, jettisoning words in favor of taking you through a lazy spin before you fall back into the same step as before. You think you might have dodged a bullet as you settle into the movement, your gentle contact not so new and mind-reeling as it was when you started. But then he speaks, and the echo of his voice almost covers his words for how low it is.

“I… enjoy hearing your thoughts. Hearing you.” Dark’s hand holds yours more firmly as the one on your back brings you close to his chest. He’s practically cradling you against him, and you turn your face towards his in the moment to keep from being trapped looking away. You’ve never seen him make the face he’s wearing now - so serious, brow pulled just slightly, intent, yet that searching intensity has faded. Earnest . “I… I enjoy you. Unless you want your privacy, you are free to… be open with me. If you would like,” he's quick to add, his signature phrase that feels so much like as you wish.

You’re grateful he brings you to an easy stop, even as the music continues behind you because dancing has become beyond your grasp. Your eyes flicker across his shadowed face, mind scrambling as the dam you imagine creaks dangerously within. How much is too much? You hunt for clues in his expression, his face betraying so damn little like always, but then - then - his eyes flicker ever so briefly to your lips, and your eyes perceive a slightly darker shade of gray unfurling across his cheeks.

So you let go.

You don’t drown him in it, of course, but you allow your mind to open slowly once more. He inhales a forcibly steady breath, eyes searching yours once more as he processes, weighs, and finally draws you completely into him, head turning just so to finally fit your lips together in a kiss that feels like crisp, refreshing relief and wood smoke under a winter moon. You breathe in, feeling how cool he is to the touch, how steady he is under your hands, your kiss, even as his aura constantly roils.

Dark drops your hand to cradle your head and draw you further in, your arm finds its way around his broad back. His lips leave yours and you’re already starting to imagine your next kiss before he interrupts and gives it to you, a low sound in his throat and his hand bringing a tilt to your head that makes you incredibly thankful for how he’s holding you up. You kiss, and kiss, parting and rejoining in soft pecks and long presses that make the old standards you’ve bonded over sound like both the truest truths and palest lies.

Eventually, though, he withdraws, letting you catch your breath, soothing you with small kisses trailing from your lips to your jaw and back toward the joint of it and your neck. He’s adoring and unhurried - though the farther down his lips descend, the less air you can properly draw in. He slows on the softer skin there, hand still supporting your head where you tipped it back for him, and inhales gently as if he, too, needs to be steadied. His voice is a distant rumble, as much in your head as it is spoken. “Is my music really so moony...?”

It’s so sudden, your thoughts laid bare against the hint of his insecurity. A laugh bubbles up and out of you, breathless waves shaking your body. You only hold onto him tighter, and he squeezes you back in turn. You can feel him really smiling down against your neck, the pull of his lips and rounding of his cheeks evident against your sensitive skin. Why had you even tried to hide?

“The fact that you could sing any of them while gazing longingly at the stars should answer your question,” you tease, and he’s laughing with you, settling into just holding you close. “...but I like it. It’s romantic.”

“It was not my original intent, but...what wonderful results,” he murmurs, kissing your throat once more before coming back up, letting you catch your breath properly. How does he make the cheesiest things sound good?

“Mine either,” you admit. His brow quirks above warm eyes.

“No? What, then, was your intent in imagining how I chose to relax?” he asks, a wicked tease coloring his tone. You blink, and then heat rises up the back of your neck, your ears burn. He knew?? The whole time?????

“You could…” Your voice is distant as Dark draws the back of his hand softly across your cheek, fingers trailing the blush rising there. His eyes dip to follow it, watching it unfurl under your skin with the most damnably amused smile you’ve ever seen him wear. Damn him. Damn him, of course he knew!

“You should know doors can do very little to stop me…” You groan miserably. “But I liked it. It was romantic,” he continues, echoing you. It has such buried mirth that it only serves to embarrass you further, so you worm your arms against his chest, trying to push him off. He only chuckles that deep chuckle and holds you closer, lips pressing to your temple. “And so kind of you to want to protect me and my little moment… Did I really look so deliciously undressed...”

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” And here he had been playing coy this whole time! Letting you just dangle all your most embarrassing thoughts for anyone to see! You continue to struggle against him, if only to register your complaint. “You’ve completely ruined this, I hope you’re happy, you insufferable--” He dips and catches your lips again, humming and silencing your insults with his kiss. For all your indignant protesting, it’s impossible not to melt against him, your hands that tried to push him away stilling against his chest before sliding up to meet behind his neck. When he finally breaks your embrace, you huff softly. “I can’t believe you.”

He’s smiling, but sobers slightly as you hold each other, his eyes just taking you in. “...it was a comfort to me, to know I was not alone in my affection… despite all my hesitation in admitting it. I did say I enjoy hearing you for a reason, lamb.”

You’re melting, but then your nose wrinkles. “Lamb?” Dark tilts his head.

“Pet?”

“Why all the animal names?”

It’s his turn to huff, then. “It seems I am not as skilled as Wilford when it comes to terms of endearment.” Your nose wrinkles further, the rotating cast of gushy names the mustachioed man throws around only making you wince with laughter.

“Please, no, I know you can do better than those.”

Dark puffs up a little at that, somehow pleased by the implication. “I’ll have to put my mind to it when I’m fresh, then. But for now…” He draws back, taking your hand into his, the other sliding up your back and into position. “Shall we?”

“Gladly,” you murmur, and he leads you in an altogether different dance.

[variousqueerthings]

ok i saw the tv glow

obviously. spoilers. but the first point stands as a spoiler free review.

the funniest thing im going back to with this movie is that a few days ago i was being driven home by a cis woman who's very nice and informed and is super into movies and the like and i mentioned how i was excited but tense about this film, because so many trans people i know online have gone absolutely wild about it and i didn't want to go in knowing the plot because i wanted to be surprised by a film that is probably going to be really different in feeling to most anything I've ever seen before, and her answer was "oh huh. the plot's not really trans though" (paraphrased)

so the plot is very very trans.

but also. this movie looked me in the eyes and said: this one's for you. not for the group of slightly rowdy (but polite enough during the movie itself, although the person next to me shifted a lot) cis guys that came and sat down next to you, not for the cis woman who drove you home the other day, not for the non-nerdy people that you grew up with that thought you were an oddity in their midst (sometimes negatively, sometimes positively)

THE BELOW IS LONG

this movie isn't just a movie that is very very trans. it's a movie that is very very trans about a particular time growing up that existed just pre-DVD as a capsule to an experience within queerness that is inherently fannish. I'm just a smidgen younger than the leads, but I remember this time. although my proper fan days began just post-DVD, my first movie experiences were all VHS and my first TV watching days were also during VHS recording

I also grew up in a small town. different continent. same small town feeling. the Haze. the Disconnect. time is non-existent, adulthood is a blank space (but one filled with terror), you have got to get out or you will die (you may die anyway, but you have to get out)

so this is a movie that's anti-taking-action. that is, Owen/Isabel is described early on as kind of a wuss by Maddie/Tara, and it's not Maddie's getting-out and becoming (returning to) Tara story that we actually follow -- we hear about it at one point, but it's Owen who's the narrator and Owen tamps everything down. Owen stays. Owen stays in the same house. Owen continues onward, carrying the feeling of wrongness/emptiness on and on and on, Owen's life stays hazy, Owen feels like nothing

within that haze there are Moments -- the dress (and Maddie smiling bashfully), the identification with Isabel, the pink ghost drawn on the neck, the really Big moment of Owen/Isabel putting his/her head through the TV, and of course Tara returning to help get Isabel out as well and briefly succeeding in making Owen wonder what if there is another me who is powerful and beautiful that I can become?

and then the ending. that wondering. that acknowledging that Isabel is dying. that Owen who is Isabel is dying. that there is a light inside of you that can get out if you do a lot of painful work, and you have until you die. even more aggressively tamping it down and apologising, but... maybe this door, now opened, might stay open? maybe it'll take another 20 years, but...

There Is Still Time

needed to take a moment to exhale there. I'm a relentless optimist and i do think this text is optimistic, in the sense that it's not clear cut, which is something Jane Schoenbrun talked about -- the feeling that they had that doing this was like having to bury yourself alive, because it is that terrifying, and that transition is not a neat process of before-and-after in the way you see it in many narratives.

in the case of this story it's not not a transition story in my opinion. while it is about stasis and how that repression decays you, there are moments (as mentioned) of enacting change, even if they are very brief. putting on a dress is a choice, allowing oneself to acknowledge that "this isn't right, this isn't who I am" is a choice, the end of looking at the light within is a massive choice. transition, in many cases, is fits and spurts, forwards and backwards, daring and undaring (aw drat I'm making binaries right now, ok hold on) and daring in a direction that actually turns out to be the wrong direction and being forced to un-dare and trying this or that and thinking this was wrong or bad, but realising later that that was your own shame holding you back, and this choice was right for that point, but we've outgrown that now and--- transitioning is not a binary choice, nor is it chronological

every brief Moment is courage. Quentin Crisp telling the world she was a woman posthumously in her memoir proves It Is Never Too Late.

SOME OTHER THINGS PART ONE: GENDER

Wanna take a moment to mention some other things that spoke to me in this film

first, I think it's very strongly hinted that Maddie/Tara is a non-binary lesbian. The lesbian part is stated outright, but the casting of Brigette Lundy-Paine, the fact that this character is going through very similar emotions as Owen when they're both kids and as adults because they're connected psychically/via the soul, the evolving grunge-to-butch aesthetic, the "that's not my name," and coming back for Isabel, knowing that Owen is Isabel, the like-for-like of it all, THE T4T OF IT ALL!!! If Owen is the person who represses and stays behind then Tara got out, but because Owen is the POV character and deadnames Tara and runs away then that "I never saw her again" becomes potentially suspect, because Owen, after all, cannot open up himself to find his own she/her, never mind see Tara's potential gender queering journey for what it is -- also this is based in 90s TV in which the best one can do for anything called queer gender is a woman who is coded butch (and even that is fucking pushing it in terms of suspension of disbelief in this film), that feels... very very very intentional

this leads into the next part -- the way this movie deals with liminal space and gender, which again hearkens back to the Moments and to this in my opinion being about transition rather than non-transition (or perhaps the idea that non-transition is impossible in a story about queer gender). because transition is liminal space, and trans and nb and gender diverse people get this, we've lived in these spaces, I'm living in it right this fucking second, massively courtesy of my government and society! Owen is Owen in most of this film, because Owen cannot be Isabel, Owen has repressed Isabel so deeply, Owen will perform Owen until possible death, except the ending gives us that door-open-a-crack that makes me think that Isabel will make it, although the intentional ambiguity is the point -- many many people have lived their entire lives with these Moments, with these acknowledgements, with these breakdowns, and continued to repress even harder. how many "men" and "women" were not men and women? we really won't ever know, and this also feels like a kiss blown to them, a small bit of respect, because Tara is not the POV... neither is Isabel... it's Owen who tells us the story...

but yeah this really will be the only movie in modern days that can cast a cis man (at this point of writing, I'm not gonna put Justice Smith in a box though + I think it's also very deliberate casting on his part, because this isn't like casting some random straight cis guy (continues my feud with Eddie Redmayne forever) who isn't Connected to the material, Justice Smith is in the community, he has the ability to communicate this story, which is the whole point, genius casting 10/10 no notes) as a severely repressed woman, also because of the inherent fantasy/scifi conceit, like nono, this is a woman who is trapped in the wrong reality in the body of an ostensible "man"

the fucking. the layers. to that sentence on its own. because being trans can frequently feel like being in the wrong reality. it's not just that I, the person, am wrong, reality itself is wrong, it's moving incorrectly around me, people are blank, time is too slow or too fast (or both at once), the world is a haze, but you know what's real?

TV shows

SOME OTHER THINGS PART TWO: TV SHOWS

So I've heard on the grapevine that some people (mainly cis) see this film speaking to the dangers of nostalgia and like. sure that's in there, but also no that's wrong. or shallow, at best. or cis, at best

I am the person whose life was saved by TV shows. where I differ from the lead is, well a. I'm not repressed (not about that at least) and b. I never had the moment of looking back at the thing that saved my life and going "oh. this is stupid. embarrassing. humiliating even."

I had an adjacent experience that went something like: "oh. this thing isn't real. it'll never happen to me. i will never actually be saved in the way I dared to imagine when I was a kid. the scales have fallen from my eyes and I am utterly alone"

I think these are very very similar feelings and I imagine many people have had both (I think Owen has a bit of that second one within the first) and it's heartbreaking. that doesn't mean that being saved by them was wrong, or identifying intensely with them was wrong

I did read Jane Schoenbrun saying something along the lines of how TV shows for them replaced relationships, specifying romantic, and I think it's the one place I'll put some "death of the author" on there, because to me none of that journey was a negative. the tv shows, the books, the movies, the music, those narratives, they were life-saving -- and they still are, but differently (no tardis, no enterprise, no howl's moving castle, no portals into other realms, no vampires and monstrous friends, no mysterious destinies, no people coming into my life with Undertakings, no reinventions of reality... the saving comes from what all of these things mean, not their literal progressions, which was a tough pill to swallow and I will probably always be a bit of a fantasist in the end). and I will probably forever be someone who feels more deeply about them than about personal relationships

I have very meaningful, important personal relationships, but as someone faaaar out in the aroace field of things (loveless is a thing I've been writing a lot of poetry about recently) for me it was about finding peace within that, not "fixing something that was wrong" and I don't necessarily think Owen needs that either

I do know trans people who ID as ace before they got to a point where they were confident in their own bodies -- often after starting hormones, and that was a good experience for them. but I come at Owen's continued relationship with The Pink Opaque from a distinctly aroace and neurodivergent POV

which is coincidentally also how I read Owen (well, the neurodivergence is fucking canon). whether Isabel would pursue romantic and/or sexual relationships is another question, and one that we never get a definitive answer on. Isabel and Tara are obviously lesbian coded, and there is the scene with the pink dress, so if anything, lesbians, and I can definitely see that read and I will be looking for Isabel/Tara fanfic + versions of this story where Isabel/Tara are in the real world, there is no The Pink Opaque reality they can jump into, they both needed to come out, and now they're t4t

but Owen's romantic and sexual identity is fairly firmly stated "I like TV shows."

so I said mood out loud accidentally at that point while watching and the person on my right (not the cis guys on my left) laughed. this movie experience really was having little like-for-like moments. Just like Maddie and Owen before Maddie becomes Tara and doesn't know how to free Isabel

but yeah, before I was anything, I liked TV shows. and now that I am... something... I still like TV shows. they won't "save" me in the way I wish they would have done back in the day, but I'm not much different to how I was then, with the two biggest shifts being a. I am more myself and not ashamed of it and b. I have the ability to express through words and visually who that self is

I like to think that the TV show -- the thing that fills Owen with so much shame for having been so important to survival -- is something that is True within all of the repression and lies. it does, after all, represent Owen's true self, Isabel. and the version that Owen watches in which they're all little girls and it kind of sucks (and Isabel isn't there...) is distorted, fake, canonically so

this isn't a thing saying "the things you liked as a kid are far dumber than you remember" it's saying something about Owen's state of mind, about how much Owen hates himself that this lifesaving thing can no longer reach him

and so I think that if Owen were in the future to become Isabel, being someone who doesn't "like" girls or boys, but likes TV shows would still be the case

something I go back to with my younger self is the things that I liked then that I still like now. I was expressing truths with the tools I had, and one of those was the way I imprinted on fiction

it's that aroace autism swag

A CONCLUSION OF THINGS

brain fucking. go brrr. I've not gone into so many things so quickfire:

the visuals and sounds of it: amazing, but also sensory overwhelm. it's the one thing that puts me at odds with Schoenbrun, but it does make sense for what they're trying to do

Me: oh that looks like Buffy in the finale of s1. OH that text is the same as the Buffy font (written and directed by...) OHHH THAT character is called Tara. AMBER BENSON!!!?????!!!!!!!

soundtrack: FUCK ME SOME OF THE BEST IVE HEARD IN A LONG TIME INSTANTLY ICONIC! INCLUDING THE PERFORMANCES AT THE CLUB

the American smalltown horror aesthetic, but actually the horror just is the American suburbs, don't need to put anything else in there

this one was for the 90s kids

people mentioned a lot of movies for this one, mainly The Matrix and Donnie Darko. yes, but also. these connections (esp Matrix obvs) continuing to build a thematic canon of what Trans Cinema is!!!!!

t4t -- yes I said it twice I will SAY IT AGAIN!

I've often felt that modern movies don't know how to be cool -- this movie? so fucking cool!

i saw the tv glow

will have. thoughts. do in fact have them. but need to process