#like these three groups are always being told their complaints are “non issues” more than pretty much any other groups from what I've seen

[unhingedlesbear]

Desperately need people to stop seeing marginalized people complain about something seemingly small and be all "Oh my god who cares" "This is such a non issue" like yeah maybe it is a small thing to you (the people saying this are not usually part of said marginalized group complaining) but if a lot of people are annoyed about it it probably is something to be annoyed about idk

[timelesslords]

Can u pls write a percabeth fic where Percy and Rachel are dating and percabeth are best friends and they end up spending the night together and it's been a week and they don't know how to tell Rachel and Rachel being bitter ?? Pls

This was kind of out of my comfort zone in terms of what I usually write lol but I tried my best!! I imagine this as like a mortal college AU :)

send me a prompt!

“Beth, you can’t walk home like this,” Percy said, exasperated.

“I’m fine! I’m hardly even drunk,” Annabeth said, trying (and failing) to quash the butterflies in her stomach when he called her Beth. Percy, having been her best friend for almost a decade, was the only person in the whole world who was allowed to call her that. He only pulled it out in rare situations, and every time he did Annabeth would swear her heart skipped five consecutive beats.

Not that he could ever know that, of course. Now felt like a more precarious situation than most-- she’d come over to his dorm so they could watch a movie together, and had ended up curled up together on his bed around his laptop. In fairness, his dorm was tiny and there was nowhere else to sit besides his bed, but if Annabeth imagined really hard she could pretend that it had all been completely intentional, and he was sitting this close to her because he wanted to.

“Hardly?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. And, fine. Annabeth had had… an amount to drink. A non-zero amount, some might say. More than Percy, and she had a way lower tolerance than him. She was buzzed, sure, but not buzzed enough to walk back across campus to her own dorm.

“I’m fine. It’s barely twenty minutes,” Annabeth protested. She started to stand up, but Percy gently tugged her back into the bed. She should have put up more resistance than she did, but, well. Who could blame her.

“It’s also three in the morning and you’re drunk,” Percy said, “Come on, just stay the night.”

“Stay where? Grover’s bed?” Annabeth asked, repressing giggles at the thought. It wasn’t really that funny a thought, but, well, she was tipsy.

Percy’s roommate was gone for the night to visit his girlfriend, leaving his bed empty. Grover was a cool guy, but he also had a weird tendency to leave soda cans just about everywhere, including in his bed.

Percy just rolled his eyes. “No, here.”

It took Annabeth a few seconds to realize exactly what he was saying.

“In your bed?” Annabeth asked, hesitantly.

“We’ve been sitting on it together all night,” Percy pointed out.

“Yeah, but…” Annabeth trailed off.

It was different. She knew it was different. And frankly, any other time she’d be absolutely delighted that Percy was offering that difference, but there was also the issue of Percy’s girlfriend. Percy’s girlfriend, who he’d met their freshman year and hit it off with despite the fact that Annabeth had been in love with him since she knew what love was. Percy’s girlfriend, who was in another dorm on campus not ten minutes away, not here but also not not here.

“But what?” Percy asked. There was the tiniest bit of a smirk on his face, and Annabeth shoved his shoulder, rolling her eyes.

“You know what,” she said. Maybe it came off a little more seriously than she’d meant, but he didn’t seem to care.

“It’s not like we’d be doing anything,” Percy said. Annabeth tried not to feel hurt at how foreign the concept of “doing anything” seemed to him in relation to him and her. But she didn’t have any right to feel any type of way about that, because she and Percy were just friends and Percy had a girlfriend who was not going to be happy about Annabeth spending the night in his bed, regardless of which activities did or did not take place there.

“Yeah, I know, but its just… I don’t know, don’t you think Rachel will be mad?”

“You’re staying here because you need a place to crash. She can’t be mad about that.”

“I’m pretty sure she could find something to be mad about,” Annabeth muttered, mostly to herself. Percy heard her though. They were sitting so close their shoulders were touching, so it would have been a miracle if he didn’t.

“Fine, I’ll sleep on the floor. She can’t be mad about that,” Percy said, actually making to get up like he was about to lie down right there and then. It was Annabeth’s turn to pull him back onto the mattress.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not sleeping on the floor in your own dorm room,” Annabeth said, “Besides, she’d just say I kicked you off your bed.”

Maybe Annabeth should’ve kept that last bit to herself, but she’d never been very good at hiding her feelings about Rachel. Percy sighed, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it.

“Well I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” he said stubbornly, despite the fact that Annabeth hadn’t even suggested it. She had to bite back a laugh at the indignant look on his face.

“Percy, I was never going to sleep on your floor. I was going to go home,” she reminded him.

“Well I’m not letting you do that either,” he said, “So I guess you’re stuck in bed with me, unless you want me to spend the night on concrete.”

“You’re so goddamn annoying,” Annabeth grumbled.

“Does that mean you’re staying?” he asked. His expression brightened considerably at the prospect, and Annabeth had to physically force herself to calm her heart rate down.

“Well apparently I don’t have a choice,” Annabeth said, rolling her eyes, praying to every god in the universe that she wasn’t blushing.

“Right,” Percy said, putting on some exaggerated confidence, “Obviously. So am I taking the floor or the bed?”

Annabeth knew he would sleep on the floor in a heartbeat. If she told him that she was uncomfortable being in his bed with him, he would gladly spend the night on cold concrete in the middle of winter in a dorm that had, frankly, terrible heating.

But she wasn’t about to make him do that. And if she was honest with herself, being in bed with him was the opposite of uncomfortable.

“The bed,” she sighed. Percy grinned triumphantly.

“I knew you wouldn’t make me sleep on the floor,” he said, and Annabeth finally let herself laugh.

“Yeah, because I told you so twice.”

“I think it’s because I know you so well, actually,” he said, finally closing his laptop that had been playing the movie earlier, and setting it on his bedside table. They’d turned the lights off earlier, and without the soft glow of the computer screen the only lights in the room were the faint street lights outside.

The bed was just a regular old twin, with not much space for either of them. That was why they were touching so much, Annabeth reminded herself. Just that. No other reason. He just put his arm around her shoulders because it was more comfortable that way, that was all.

It was late, and Annabeth was drunk, so falling asleep was easy. But she’d be lying if she said Percy didn’t help with that too.

***

It’d been a week since Annabeth had spent the night at Percy’s dorm, and they hadn’t talked about it at all.

She’d woken up the next morning completely hungover, and also with her and Percy’s limbs completely tangled together. The bed they’d shared was small, but it wasn’t that small.

Percy, of course, had acted like it was nothing. He’d teased her about her bed head and she’d half-heartedly teased him back about his morning breath, and then she’d packed her stuff from the night before and made her walk of shame back to her dorm. Except it wasn’t even a proper walk of shame, because they hadn’t actually done anything.

He hadn’t brought it up since, like it had been no big deal at all. Annabeth wished she could be so lowkey about it, but it was the only thing she’d been thinking about that entire week.

They’d already planned to meet up at the end of the week again, only this time in a group setting. A group setting meant Rachel was going to be there, and Percy might think their little sleepover hadn’t been a big deal, but Rachel was definitely not going to share that opinion. Annabeth was honestly dreading facing her so much that she considered bailing at least ten times. In the end, she decided that she had to just suck it up— she was going to have to face Rachel at some point, it might as well have been now.

All that to say Annabeth was a little surprised when she showed up at the party, only to find Rachel acting completely normal towards her. She was irritated towards Annabeth, but that wasn’t unusual. Rachel was always irritated towards Annabeth, and Annabeth was always irritated towards Rachel. But Rachel wasn’t pissed at her like Annabeth expected her to be. She wasn’t even not pissed, she was downright cordial.

All it took was one look at Percy for Annabeth to confirm what she already knew. He hadn’t told her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, grabbing Percy’s arm and pulling him down the hallway. Rachel was going to be pissed at her for that, but Annabeth didn’t care. Percy followed along without complaint, not even bothering to shoot Rachel an apologetic look.

The hallway was empty, or as empty as a hallway at a college party could be. The music was loud enough to cover up their conversation, anyway.

“Did you not tell her?” Annabeth asked, keeping her voice barely above a whisper. Percy immediately looked guilty.

“You don’t know that,” he said, as if everything about both of their demeanors hadn’t given it away instantly.

“Of course I do, she wasn’t absolutely furious with me,” Annabeth hissed. Percy looked, if possible, more guilty than before.

“Okay, fine, I didn’t,” he admitted, “But what’s the big deal? It’s not like we did anything.”

And there it was again, those two little words and the way he said them, as if anything happening between the two of them was an impossibility. It felt like a dagger straight to the heart, but Annabeth ignored it.

“I dunno,” Annabeth said, “I mean if I was your girlfriend, I think I would want to know.”

Percy had choked on his drink halfway through her statement, and was already coughing before she could finish it.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asked, alarmed. Percy just shook his head.

“Fine,” Percy managed to choke out, “I’m fine.”

“Am I going to have to heimlich you again?”

“Hey, you promised you would never bring that up again,” Percy said, pointing an accusing finger at her as he coughed again, clearing his throat a few times for good measure, “Besides, I don’t think it works for soda.”

“Fair. But don’t change the subject.”

“You changed the subject first,” Percy accused, in a not subtle attempt to change the subject once again.

“Because I thought you were choking, dumbass. You have to tell her.”

“Why?” Percy practically whined.

“Because the fact that you don’t want to means you know she’s going to be mad about it,” Annabeth said.

Percy groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“Why are you so smart?” he asked. It sounded like a complaint, even though she knew he didn’t mean it that way. It sure felt that way, though.

“‘Cause one of us has to be,” Annabeth sighed.

If Annabeth were smarter, she would’ve never agreed to spend the night to begin with. But it was way too late for that now.

They went back and joined the group, but Annabeth knew Rachel was staring (bordering on glaring) at her the entire rest of the night. She couldn’t even really blame her. She was going to be a hell of a lot more mad at Annabeth once she found out the reason Annabeth had pulled Percy away to begin with.

The very next day Annabeth was in her dorm room, trying to finish a project for her architecture class. It was due on Monday, but she’d been so distracted the entire week that she’d barely even made a dent in it at all. It wasn’t coming together the way she wanted to and Annabeth was three seconds away from snapping her pencil in half and throwing the whole draft away. Before she could, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Annabeth glanced down at her phone, but she didn’t see any texts. Maybe it was the RA doing an inspection, or maybe Piper had forgotten her key again.

But when Annabeth opened the door, she found Percy standing in the doorway. He spoke before Annabeth could even open her mouth.

“So, I told her,” Percy said, with absolutely no context. He knew she didn’t need it. Annabeth found herself gripping the door so tightly she thought her fingers might break.

“You did? What happened?” Annabeth asked, trying not to sound frantic. Why was he here? Why didn’t he just call her? What if Rachel had made him swear to never talk to her again and he was just here to say goodb--

“She asked me to tell her with 100% certainty that I didn’t have feelings for you,” Percy said, impossibly calm.

If Rachel had asked him that, why was he standing in Annabeth’s doorway?

“And?” Annabeth said, voice small. Her heart was practically pounding out of her chest, but Percy just shrugged.

“And, I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t?” Annabeth repeated, just to make sure she had heard him correctly.

“Nope,” he said, easily, too easily, “To be honest, I couldn’t even give her like, 1% certainty, but that would’ve felt a little rude to say.”

“So…” Annabeth trailed off. She couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. It didn’t make sense in her brain. Percy had feelings for her. And he’d broken up with Rachel, which meant— which meant—

“I think now is the part where you tell me if you like me back,” Percy said, interrupting her thoughts. He was smiling though, like he already knew the answer.

Annabeth did not currently have the mental wherewithal to form words. Thankfully her feet did the thinking for her, closing the already small distance between them and kissing him like she’d wanted to do for years.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” he said with a grin, when they finally broke apart. Annabeth was pleased to see he was a little breathless, at least.

“Shut up,” she laughed.

“Gladly,” he said, leaning down to kiss her again.

[elenyagrace]

left-handed

(also posted on ao3)

Ivan is right-handed.

That is just another fact in a long list of facts that need no further explanation. The sky is blue (except when it's grey, which it usually is in his hometown), the Fjerdans hate Grisha, and Ivan is right-handed.

It's a good thing that he is, for the children that favour their left hand over their right... Well, they're treated differently. He lives in a small village near the Fjerdan border, and many of its inhabitants share their neighbours' opinions on Grisha and other things they believe to be witchcraft - such as being left-handed.

So really, it's a relief to his parents that when the first time he gets a hold of one of his older brothers’ pencils, he picks it up with his right hand.

He doesn't join in when the other children pick on those that weren't so lucky, but he too regards those children with caution and mistrust. Like everyone, he knows that it is only a matter of time until the witchcraft that runs in their blood takes a shape more sinister than a simple preference of right or left.

There hasn't been a Grisha from this village in ages, but when a message arrives from the Little Palace that says that testers will visit them in two weeks time, there are no doubts in anyone's mind that the baker's son, Feliks, and the carpenter's daughter, Irina, will be revealed to be Grisha, for they both favour their left hand.

Ivan can hear his parents whisper about them whenever either of them passes, and he knows the other adults are doing the same. The other children increase their torment, and not a single opportunity to call them names like "freak" is passed by.

Once, when Ivan passes Feliks in the street, he sees bruises littering the boy's face. But he knows better than to say anything, knows not to get himself in trouble. No one worries for even a moment that Ivan might be Grisha.

So when the testers come, and neither Feliks nor Irina turn out to be Grisha, but Ivan does, it comes as a shock to everyone.

-

Ivan is sitting in a carriage on the way to the Little Palace, and the look on his parents' faces is still burnt into his mind like a fresh wound. His father left the room without a word of goodbye to his son, and his mother could barely stand to look at him as he packed the few belongings he possessed. Not one of his siblings bothered to say goodbye to him, but maybe that is for the best - Ivan is not sure if he could've endured it.

The Grisha who came to his home and tore apart his life are talking about something, but he tunes them out as he looks out of the carriage's window. They had tried to engage him into a conversation at first, but quickly left him be after his answers turned monosyllabic once he had told them his name.

Ivan knows, rationally, that none of this is really their fault. They were only doing their duty, and Ivan's father, who had served many years in the First Army, had instilled the sense of duty into his sons from the moment they were old enough to know what it meant.

But Ivan is allowing himself this one day to grieve the end of his life as he'd known it for the past ten years. Once they get to the Little Palace he'll accept his fate without complaint, as his father taught him to, but for now he watches the world pass by until nothing in his surroundings resembles the landscape of his home - his former home, he reminds himself - anymore.

-

By the time they pull up to the Little Palace, Ivan has decided to stop wallowing in self pity. His family might hate and fear him for what he is, but he is determined to do right by their name either way. He is going to be the best Corporalnik there is, even though admittedly, he is not quite sure what that will entail.

The first thing he notices when he steps out of the carriage is that in the courtyard they have entered there are three more carriages like the one he travelled in. He isn't really given any time to take in his surroundings before the Grisha who tested him corral him towards the other carriages.

Behind the carriages, Ivan finds a few more adult Grisha and a group of other children. Other recently tested Grisha? There are eight of them in total, some looking afraid, others like they have been crying recently and some looking awestruck by their surroundings.

Ivan's face is hardened by the resolve to prove he is not some little child crying for his mother. He straightens his spine and only allows himself a brief look at the facade of the palace that will be his home before returning his attention towards the adults. There will be plenty of time to admire the architecture later.

"Alright, listen up!"

All the children turn their attention towards the woman clothed in a blue robe with red and yellow ornations who had spoken. She introduces herself as Katya, an Inferni, and launches into an explanation of their new life at the Little Palace.

Ivan listens attentively, not wanting to miss anything, until somebody tugs on his sleeve. Annoyed, he turns to find a boy of approximately the same age as him - Ivan notes that he is one of the few children that had seemed neither scared nor sad, but rather awed.

"What's your name?"

He cannot be serious. Ivan can't think of a single reason why this question couldn't have waited until after Katya is done talking; and to demonstrate just that, the only answer he gives the boy is a glare before he turns away again.

Later, when they have been led to the dormitories where they will be sleeping and everyone is busy unpacking, Ivan turns around from where he had been putting away his things to find the same boy in front of him once more.

"You know, you never did tell me your name."

Ivan just glares at him again, hoping the boy will take the hint. He doesn't have any particular urge to make friends with anyone here, much less this boy who is way too cheery, and, by the looks of him, a city merchant's child. He was fine on his own growing up, and he won't change that now.

Except the boy doesn't take the hint. And when Ivan doesn't answer he simply tries again.

"I am Fedyor. It is nice to meet you," he says and holds out his hand for Ivan to shake.

Ivan considers his options and finally replies with a curt "Ivan." He turns back around without taking the boy's - Fedyor's - hand. This time, he takes the hint and leaves Ivan alone.

-

Only Ivan realises too late that the boy's retreat meant in no way that Fedyor decided to leave him alone indefinitely.

It is hard to avoid him, considering they share a dormitory and Fedyor too is being trained to join the Order of the Corporalki. With his sunny disposition and his affinity for other people, everyone assumes that when the time comes, Fedyor will join the ranks of Healers; just like nobody doubts that Ivan himself will become a Heartrender.

After only a few days, Fedyor has made more friends than Ivan could care to count, but for some reason that evades him, the other boy still insists on pestering Ivan whenever he can. The other children quickly stopped trying to involve Ivan in conversations when they realised he had no interest in exchanging anything beyond the most basic information; but no matter what he does to discourage Fedyor from speaking to him, none of it seems to have any effect on him.

Whether they are in class, eating in the dining hall, or in combat training with Botkin, Fedyor always tries to strike up a conversation. At first, Ivan simply ignores him, still hoping he will be left alone.

But when weeks have passed, and Fedyor still hasn't given up talking to him, Ivan decides to try another strategy: give a non-committal answer and turn the question around on the other. That way, Fedyor will chatter away happily, and Ivan can simply tune him out.

The only flaw in this plan is that sometimes, Ivan finds himself actually listening to the other. And, as over time he gets to know more about Fedyor, he realises with a start that maybe he doesn't mind the boy's company so terribly.

Mind you, he still doesn't like him, and they're certainly not friends, even though Fedyor seems to think they are. But maybe he isn't the stuck-up city boy Ivan had first thought him to be, and maybe some of the things he has to say are actually interesting. Ivan stands by his assessment of "way too cheery" though.

-

The years pass by in a blur. Ivan excels in all his classes; the only one to rival him being Fedyor, who excels likewise. By the time they are fourteen, Ivan has gone from 'if I ignore him for long enough, maybe he will leave me alone' to begrudging acceptance of Fedyor's company, to actually actively contributing to conversations instead of letting Fedyor fill the silence by himself, to 'oh no, we ARE friends, aren't we?'

So when the time comes for them to choose their future, Ivan is the only one who isn't taken by surprise by Fedyor's decision to become a Heartrender rather than a Healer. They had talked about it once, late at night, and Fedyor had admitted that he didn't think he could spend the rest of his life as a Healer.

Ivan had been puzzled at first, because Fedyor simply didn't seem like the kind of person that would choose a path that would undoubtedly require him to kill someone. But Fedyor had explained that while he did loathe the idea of taking a life, he didn't want to be sitting on the sidelines either, watching his friends and fellow Grisha die, while he was helpless to defend them.

This was a feeling Ivan could understand, and after that night he regarded Fedyor with a new-found respect.

So they both begin their training as Heartrenders, alongside a boy named Viktor and two girls by the names of Sofia and Polina.

-

Ivan still excels in his classes, and soon establishes a reputation for his talent in hand-to-hand combat - besides Botkin himself, there is no one who can defeat him. His training with Baghra, on the other hand, is going less than exceptional.

He has no issues accomplishing the skills that require both hands equally, in fact, he takes to those rather well. It's the skills that rely on the more prominent use of one hand after the initial crossing of the hands that trouble him.

It's not that he doesn't know the movements, or is executing them incorrectly. He has practiced them so often that he could likely perform them perfectly in his sleep. But for some reason, no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to move past the movements as a performance, doesn't achieve anything he's supposed to while going through the stances.

After yet another unfruitful session with Baghra (who had accused him of not even trying - despite the fact that he is trying so hard that he feels as though it might kill him to try any harder), he seeks out Fedyor.

He finds him sitting with Sofia and Polina, laughing at whatever Sofia is saying. Ivan finds that he doesn't want to ruin his good mood, so he turns to leave, but in that moment Fedyor looks up and spots him.

"Ivan!" he shouts, rather than speaks, despite the fact that Ivan is not standing very far from him. Polina, who is sitting next to him, is evidently not very happy about Fedyor yelling right next to her ear and shoves him away. Fedyor grins apologetically at the brunette before standing up and heading over to Ivan after bidding the two girls goodbye.

"Hey," he says as he walks up to Ivan, smiling brightly. Even after all these years, he is still way too cheery for his own good, but these days, instead of being annoyed by it, Ivan finds it to be comforting.

"Hey," he returns the greeting. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. Sorry."

"What? Oh, you didn't interrupt anything, don't worry! Besides," Fedyor adds, turning to look at Polina and Sofia, "I have a feeling these two don't mind me leaving them alone."

Ivan raises an eyebrow. But as he too regards the two of them, he sees what Fedyor means. They seem to be completely engrossed in their conversation, locked inside their own little world.

"So what are you up to? How did your hour with Baghra go?"

"Fine," Ivan lies, then immediately changes the topic to distract Fedyor, who, even if he noticed the skip in his heart's rhythm, lets him get away with it. "Spar with me?"

"Sure, why not?"

-

It's easy to lose himself in the rhythm of a fight, and that is exactly what Ivan needs right now. No time to replay Baghra's words over and over, no time to dwell on what a failure he's turned out to be -

In the very last second, Ivan realises that he would've almost hit Fedyor full force.

His fist stops in mid-air, then falls uselessly to his side. Fedyor too lets his arms drop and takes a step back, concern written on his face.

"Ivan?" His voice is soft, confusion evident in the way he says Ivan's name.

"Sorry, I -" he pauses, unsure how to say 'I was so angry with myself that I almost hurt you for real' without having to explain himself to Fedyor. "I wasn't paying attention."

"You've been doing that a lot lately," Fedyor remarks, almost casually.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" Fedyor sounds skeptical. "You didn't even roll your eyes at my joke this morning, and I know you usually would have, because everyone else laughed. You're constantly distracted, even in class, and you're never distracted in class! I can tell that something's wrong, and I want to help, but I can't do that if you won't even admit that there's something going on with you."

"Nothing's wrong. I don't need your help, Fedyor," he replies, determined to make the other let this go.

"So which one is it?" Fedyor asks, eyebrows raised so high they disappear behind his messy fringe. "There's nothing wrong, or there is, but you don't want my help?"

Ivan is at an impasse. No matter which answer he chooses, he'd end up lying, and Fedyor would know. There is something wrong, and despite his first instinct being to deny anyone else's involvement in his own problems, he does want Fedyor's help.

But he shouldn't need it, should be fine on his own.

Apparently his silence stretches on for too long, because Fedyor seems to take it as an answer of its own.

"Alright, I get it." He's smiling still, because he always is, but Ivan doesn't need to be a Heartrender to know that he's hurt. "Don't worry, I won't mention it again."

And then he's leaving, and a part of Ivan thinks that he should just let him. But the years spent with Fedyor have almost completely extinguished that part, and every other part of him is screaming, making him run after Fedyor, calling his name.

"Fedyor wait, please."

Fedyor stops walking, but doesn't turn around, so Ivan continues.

"There is something wrong, and I do want your help." He pauses, struggles to find the right words. "I just don't think that there's anything you or anyone can do to help me."

At this, the other turns around. His hands are crossed like they have been taught in training, so he must know that Ivan wasn't lying, but still he finds himself afraid to look at his face, afraid that his truthfulness hasn't made a difference.

"You know," Fedyor says, "sometimes actually talking about it instead of silently suffering already helps immensely."

For a moment, Ivan considers disagreeing, because what good would complaining about it do? He should just try harder, practice more, not whine about his issues when he has been given an opportunity that few are granted.

But when he sees Fedyor's face, cautiously hopeful, he folds.

-

"Have you tried using the other hand?"

Ivan looks up from the book he's been using to study, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

"What?"

Fedyor sits down next to him, not bothering to ask if he minds.

"For Heartrendering, I mean," he explains. "No one ever said that you had to use your right hand, you know?"

A few days have passed since their conversation in the courtyard, and though talking about it certainly hadn't provided him with a miraculous solution, Ivan had to admit that telling Fedyor had felt good. And now, whenever Ivan returns from his sessions with Baghra, Fedyor makes an effort to distract him from his thoughts.

"First of all, I'm quite certain you just made that word up." Ignoring Fedyor's look of pretended outrage, Ivan continues. "And no, I haven't. I'm right-handed, so there's no point to it."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to try, would it?"

"I don't need to try to know it won't work," Ivan says, exasperated. "I told you, I'm right-handed."

"You learned to write with your right hand, yes. But in a fight, you always prefer your left side over the right." He pauses, shrugs. "Maybe the same is true for Heartrendering."

Ivan groans. "Will you stop using that word?"

The grin on Fedyor's face already tells him the answer before Fedyor gives it. "No. It's a great word, I like it."

"You are terrible." But the grin that has somehow formed on his face belies the words, even as he punches Fedyor's shoulder.

"Seriously though," Fedyor says, teasing tone gone, "there's no harm in trying."

"No, maybe not," Ivan agrees, "but there's no point in it either."

"But you don't even know that if you've never tried!"

"Fine. I will try." Ivan closes his book and puts it aside. "But when you realise that we're just wasting our time, you will let me study in peace, yes?"

Fedyor eyes him warily, probably surprised that Ivan has agreed at all, before he nods. "Alright. Try to slow my heartbeat - if it doesn't work, I won't bring it up again."

Eager to be done with this, Ivan assumes position, and crosses his hands. He knows the movements well enough to mirror them easily, and so he draws his left hand back instead of the right - and stops short when he realises that he can feel Fedyor's heart beat in his hand as though he was holding it.

Fedyor must feel it too, if the smile that spreads across his face is anything to go by. But Ivan doesn't feel like smiling at all.

He can feel his own heart speed up, and a weight settling in his stomach. He drops his hands, abruptly ending the connection to Fedyor, who is looking at him in concern. It is too much to take and Ivan - Ivan, who, even as a ten year-old, had never been anything but stoic in the face of the unknown - Ivan runs.

He runs, ignoring Fedyor calling his name, paying no attention to where his feet are carrying him. He runs, because it's the only way he can think of to escape the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him.

-

Fedyor finds him under the tree where they often go, staring dejectedly at his hands.

"May I?" he asks, gesturing towards the spot on Ivan's left. Ivan knows that he isn't only asking to sit down though.

A few years ago, Ivan wouldn't have hesitated to send him away. But present-day Ivan hasn't really been able to say no to Fedyor in a long time, and so he only shrugs.

Fedyor settles down next to him, but instead of asking about what happened as Ivan had expected he would, he stays silent. He knows that it is an offer to listen, but Ivan can't quite bring himself to speak.

They sit like that for a while - minutes, hours, Ivan isn't sure. By the time he finally manages to speak, the sun has already set, and they must've missed dinner.

Once he begins, it's like something inside him has broken, and he can't stop.

He tells Fedyor about his hometown, about Feliks and Irina, and the way they were treated by everyone as though they were somehow lesser because they were left-handed. He tells him about the way his father had acted as though he didn't even know him when he turned out to be Grisha, how his mother hadn't even looked at him while saying a performative goodbye.

And he admits that deep down, even though he knew that his parents would never want to see him again because he was Grisha, he had hoped that if he could be as normal as possible, then perhaps one day, if he served the army well, they could look past that.

Fedyor doesn't interrupt him, even when he struggles to continue, just lets him spill everything that has been weighing on his heart for so long.

It's only when he has finished that he speaks. "You know there's nothing wrong with being left-handed, right? It doesn't make you evil, or bad. It doesn't mean anything at all."

When Ivan doesn't answer, he continues.

"Hey, look at me." He waits until Ivan reluctantly does what he asked, then says: "You know Sofia is left-handed too, right? Do you think that that makes her evil?"

Ivan can't help but snort at that. Sofia is probably the only person he knows who could rival Fedyor's cheeriness and kindness, and is just about the farthest from evil one can get.

"Exactly." Fedyor looks just as pleased as he sounds. "So why would it be any different for you?"

Ivan struggles to come up with an answer, but finds that he can't. Still, he can't help but feel like being left-handed would burn the last remnants of the bridge to his parents that he's been holding onto for the past six years to the ground.

Fedyor takes his left hand into his, carefully, as though he expects Ivan to pull it away. "There is nothing wrong with you, alright? You are Grisha whether you're right-handed or left-handed, and from what you've told me, that's not something they are willing to forgive.

"You said they treated them as lesser for being left-handed? Prove them wrong. Everyone knows you could be the most powerful Heartrender in the Second Army one day, now it's up to you: will you become that Grisha, or will you keep holding yourself back for them?"

-

In his next session with Baghra, he uses his left hand instead of his right, and accomplishes everything she asks of him.

He leaves with an almost imperceptible smile on his face, her approving "There he is!" stuck in his mind. Somehow, Fedyor still catches the smile and positively beams with pride.

In that moment, Ivan finds himself thinking that no Sun Summoner could ever shine brighter than Fedyor does.

-

As it turns out, Fedyor was right. By the time they officially complete their training and take their last exams, even the General has taken notice of Ivan's abilities.

He completes the final examination using his left hand, and passes with flying colours.

Later, when they step away for a moment from the group of Grisha they had trained with, who are celebrating the official end to their training as well as their last night together before they receive their first assignments in the morning, they once more find themselves sitting under their tree.

Fedyor once more takes his left hand into his, considering it before asking: "Do I get to say 'I told you so' now?"

"No, you get to shut up now." Ivan rolls his eyes, but his tone betrays the fondness that he feels, but would never admit to anyone.

"But I did tell you s-"

Ivan surprises both Fedyor and himself as he uses his left hand that Fedyor is still holding to pull him closer and into a kiss. (But it does work to make Fedyor shut up.)

-

No one else is surprised in the slightest when they find the two sitting there a few hours later, asleep, their hands still intertwined. But no one would ever dare mention it for fear of facing Ivan's wrath.

[trans-advice]

WINDY CITY MEDIA GROUP

NATIONAL Biden tracker, Task Force, trans journalist, Cuomo, West Virginia

by Windy City Times staff

2021-03-14

GLAAD announced the launch of its Biden Equality Accountability Tracker—a real-time record of the Biden administration's executive orders, announcements, legislative support and speeches that impact LGBTQ people and rights, a press release noted. GLAAD has tracked at least 24 pro-equality moves in the first 50 days, as well as noted LGBTQ Cabinet and staff appointments in the first days of the administration. GLAAD President and CEO Sarah Kate Ellis introduced the tracker in her op-ed in Reuters, and in the statement. See https:// Article Link Here .

The National LGBTQ Task Force announced the addition of two new staff members and the consolidation of two departments as part of the organization's growth and restructure under the leadership of recently named Executive Director Kierra Johnson, a press release noted. Former Creating Change Conference Director Andy Garcia will now head a combined department of conference, policy and advocacy staff as director of the Advocacy and Action Department. Also, Ashawnda Fleming joins the Task Force Development Department and Leadership Team as the new chief development officer and Desiree Luckey has been appointed senior policy counsel, focusing on the organization's democracy work.

Trans sports journalist Christina Kahrl—a longtime ESPN senior editor and co-founder of both the Baseball Prospectus think tank and the Baseball Writers' Association of America—announced on Twitter that she will be the next sports editor of the legendary San Francisco Chronicle newspaper, Outsports noted. She will become the first out transgender editor of a major, metropolitan mainstream media outlet in the country when she takes the reins of sports coverage of the largest newspaper in Northern California. The Chronicle is the state's second major newspaper after the Los Angeles Times. In a message to Outsports, Kahrl said she recognizes the importance of her platform.

Many of New York's LGBTQ lawmakers are echoing growing calls for Gov. Andrew Cuomo to resign in response to numerous disturbing allegations of inappropriate behavior and sexual harassment, Gay City News reported. U.S. Rep. Sean Patrick Maloney, chair of the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee, became the highest-ranking LGBTQ elected official in the state to call on Cuomo to step down when he issued a statement on March 12—the same day that new allegations surfaced. Congressmen Mondaire Jones and Ritchie Torres have also asked for the governor to step down.

Researchers at UCLA partnered with a researcher at West Virginia University (WVU) to publish a report addressing discrimination against the LGBT community in West Virginia, WDTV.com reported. Some of the key findings were that LGBT people in West Virginia experience discrimination in employment, housing and public accommodations. For example, data show 39% of LGBT adults in West Virginia reported having a household income below $24,000, compared to 26% of non-LGBT adults.

A Houston bakery is facing two separate lawsuits from former employees alleging they were fired due to anti-LGBTQ+ discrimination, out.com noted. Gilbert Johnson and Katherine Phillips told OutSmart the Dessert Gallery Bakery & Cafe fired them because Johnson is gay and Phillips is a lesbian. Johnson further alleged he was fired in part for hiring a transgender employee. "We take seriously any allegations like those outlined in these complaints but stand firm that these allegations are simply not true," Dessert Gallery said in a statement. "We believe the proper place to disclose the facts of this case is in the courtroom and look forward to that opportunity."

A bill to strengthen the sexually transmitted disease public-health infrastructure of California is better than a similar effort that had initially been introduced last year, a principal co-author of the legislation told the Bay Area Reporter. Gay state Sen. Scott Wiener (D-San Francisco) co-authored Senate Bill 306 with Sen. Dr. Richard Pan (D-Sacramento), who introduced it Feb. 4. According to a news release from Wiener's office, the legislation will "permit the Family [Planning Access Care Treatment] program to offer covered benefits to income-eligible patients, even if contraception is not discussed during the patient encounter; update California's [Expedited Partner Therapy] statute to include provider liability protections used in other states; permit HIV counselors to administer rapid STD tests; update state law to require congenital syphilis testing during the third trimester of pregnancy; [and] require coverage of home STD tests by public and private insurers."

Former First Lady Michelle Obama spoke candidly in a People Magazine interview about her struggles with low-grade depression during the COVID-19 pandemic and the challenges of 2020, encouraging people to speak more openly about their mental health, CNN.com noted. Obama told People magazine that she "needed to acknowledge what I was going through, because a lot of times we feel like we have to cover that part of ourselves up, that we always have to rise above and look as if we're not paddling hard underneath the water." She added, "We had the continued killing of Black men at the hands of police. Just seeing the video of George Floyd, experiencing that eight minutes. That's a lot to take on, not to mention being in the middle of a quarantine."

Thousands of Texans are slated to lose their healthcare provider after Travis County Civil District Court Judge Lora Livingston allowed the state to remove Planned Parenthood from its Medicaid program, CNN.com reported. Texas has long sought to ban Planned Parenthood, which provides abortions in Texas, from Medicaid. Medicaid funding does not cover abortions except in cases of rape or incest or when the woman's life is at risk, due to the Hyde Amendment, dating back to 1976. In 2019, Planned Parenthood provided health care to more than 8,000 Medicaid recipients in Texas.

South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem signed Senate Bill 124, a religious refusal bill that could grant a license to discriminate against LGBTQ people across a wide range of goods and services in the state, a Human Rights Campaign (HRC) statement noted. HRC President Alphonso David said, "While she may see discrimination as a path to the national far right spotlight, she should understand the damage she is doing to the state of South Dakota and LGBTQ people who are simply looking to live their lives free of fear and exclusion." Noem also signed legislation that would bar transgender girls and women from participating in female sports leagues.

Over objections from Democrats, Georgia House Republicans passed a sweeping elections bill that would enact more restrictions on absentee voting and cut back on weekend early voting hours favored by larger counties, among other changes, NPR reported. The bill's sponsor—GOP Rep. Barry Fleming, who chairs the House Special Committee on Election Integrity—said the 66-page measure "is designed to begin to bring back the confidence of our voters back into our election system" after Republicans lost confidence in the GOP-backed voting system following Democrats' victories in the November presidential contest and both of Georgia's U.S. Senate races.

The National AIDS Memorial announced Isabel Fatima (Ima) Diawara, of Los Angeles, as the first recipient of the Mary Bowman Arts in Activism Award, a press release noted. The newly created and inspiring program, funded through a multi-year grant from ViiV Healthcare, offers support to artist-activists who are working and committed to making a difference in the fight against HIV/AIDS. The Mary Bowman Arts in Activism Award honors the life of Mary Bowman—a poet, advocate, author, singer and young person living with AIDS who passed away in early 2019 at age 30.

A statue of late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg was erected in her hometown of Brooklyn on March 12—three days before her 88th birthday, USA Today noted. The unveiling also comes in the middle of Women's History Month as another way to honor Ginsburg's legacy and her fight for women's rights. The statue is part of a larger series called Statues for Equality, which has worked to increase the representation of women in public sculptures around New York City and beyond.

LGBTQ-rights advocates are uniting to support Noel Koenke, a former employee at St. Joseph's University who's appealing the dismissal of her LGBT-related anti-bias case against the university before it could reach a jury, Philadelphia Gay News reported. Koenke worked as an assistant director of music and worship at the university; however, pressure to stay in the closet eventually caused her to attempt suicide and resulted in the dissolution of her marriage�and she resigned in November 2017. Koenke filed suit in October 2019, claiming the university violated Title IX, which prohibits sex discrimination in educational programs receiving federal funds.

New York-based fashion designer Alexander Wang responded, again, to a growing number of sexual assault and harassment allegations, out.com reported. Wang had previously called the initial allegations "baseless," and said they were "fabricated"—but now, his tenor has changed starkly. On Instagram, he posted, "It was not easy for [the alleged victims] to share their stories, and I regret acting in a way that caused them pain. While we disagree with some of the details of these personal interactions, I will set a better example and use my visibility and influence to encourage others to recognize harmful behaviors. Life is about learning and growth, and now that I know better, I will do better." Attorney Lisa Bloom—who reportedly is representing 11 of those who have allegations against Wang—responded on Twitter, "We have met with Alexander Wang and his team. My clients had the opportunity to speak their truth to him and expressed their pain and hurt. We acknowledge Mr. Wang's apology and we are moving forward. We have no further comment on this matter."

Fox personality Geraldo Rivera posted a tweet announcing that he was pondering running for the seat that will be left vacant by retiring Republican Senator Rob Portman of Ohio, who will not be seeking re-election in 2022, Yahoo! noted. Rivera—who regularly butts heads with Sean Hannity and Fox News contributor Dan Bongino for his moderate stances on things like immigration—said he would have run as a moderate Republican. But his political ambitions didn't last long as he posted another tweet less than 24 hours after the first one, saying that the run is not going to happen.

Lawyers for former U.S. Rep. Katie Hill and her ex-husband, Kenneth Heslep, told a Los Angeles judge that they remain hopeful of settling her allegations of harassment and years of abuse—but they still asked that the groundwork be laid for a possible trial of whether Hill's stay-away order should be extended, the Los Angeles Daily News reported. Los Angeles Superior Court Judge Lawrence Riff ordered both sides to prepare lists of witnesses and exhibits they would use during the trial and submit them a week in advance of April 8, when a trial-setting hearing is scheduled. The judge said he was extending the temporary restraining order Judge Anne Richardson granted Hill on Dec. 8 until April 30. Heslep has denied allegations of abusing Hill, who resigned her seat in 2019 after nude photos of her were published and news emerged that she had a three-way relationship with her husband and a female campaign staffer.

On March 8, the Cambridge (Massachusetts) City Council passed a historic domestic partnership ordinance aimed at recognizing and protecting polyamorous and other multi-partner families and relationships, according to an item from the Polyamory Legal Advocacy Coalition (PLAC). The ordinance was developed with detailed input from the PLAC, and is the first of what advocates hope will be a wave of legal recognition for polyamorous families and relationships in 2021. Last year, Somerville (also in Massachusetts) became the first U.S. city to allow domestic partnerships of three or more partners.

In California, the second annual "Pride Ride" returns to Homewood Mountain Resort March 25-28, The Bay Area Reporter noted. Along with skiing and riding, there will be a variety of mini-events on and off the mountain, including a dual slalom drag race, ski parade down Rainbow Ridge, virtual scavenger hunt and more. See https:// Article Link Here .

[squidbatts]

to be charming and smart and disarming

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed, and Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

The appeal for storytime is a delaying tactic that would’ve worked wonderfully on Amethar, might’ve even stopped Caramelinda if they caught her in an especially sentimental mood, but the girls have miscalculated; Calroy keeps moving forward so he never has to think about days gone by.

or: four lies calroy purposefully told (and one time he told the truth by accident)

((i once again return with an offering of this super niche au. warnings for fratricide, non graphic violence, poisoning, and calroy-typical manipulation. please enjoy!))

{ao3}

one.

Liam Wilhelmina is a slight boy, all of his mother's sweetness and none of his father's strength, and he flinches when Calroy asks him if he’s enjoying Castle Candy.

“It’s nice,” He says, then, quick like he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble, “Not that I don’t miss my family! I love the Mountains, I love my mom, it’s just… my brothers…” He sighs and trails off. Calroy puts a hand on his shoulder and keeps his posture open, warm and supportive and very interested in what Liam might say about his brothers, if it’ll match the rumors of unrest that Calroy’s heard. Regretfully, Liam just turns his over-wide eyes up at Calroy and asks, “Do you have siblings?”

“I did, once. Seven big brothers,” Calroy offers, holding back a satisfied smirk when Liam perks up; few things are immediately bonding as being the youngest, and Calroy’s sure that he’s won Liam over. “But, you know, a lot of things changed during the War.”

(~~~)

Loose ends need to be cut, and there is no looser end for Calroy than his family. Not that there’s much to clean up: his father and second brother died of sickness when Calroy was still young, the War took four more of them, and his mother disappeared shortly before Calroy joined the War effort himself, when stories of Ceresia closing in began to drift to their town. He’s always imagined that she, widowed and miserable, went back to beg shelter with her Ceresian family, but Calroy doesn’t particularly care what happened to her as long as she stays away from him. Which, of course, leads him to his current issue.

“Aren’t you going to even pretend to be happy to see your favorite brother?” Delroy asks, grinning like he didn’t show up unannounced after three years of radio silence. Luckily, Calroy was able to keep him away from Amethar and convince him to go back to his inn rather than speak in the Castle, but it’s still a headache. They sit in a darkened corner of the inn’s tavern and Calroy tries to ignore the stickiness of his seat and the smell of wet fur and stale cola that permeates the room.

“What do you want.” Calroy says, voice flat. It’s not a question, because he knows what his brother wants, what anyone raised with the values of his mother would want from their newly royal sibling. He just wants to make Delroy say it out loud.

Delroy leans back and takes a long pull from his drink, eyes darting around Calroy’s clothes, lavish even when he’s actively dressing down. Delroy, on the other hand, looks much the same as he did when they were younger -- meticulously patched clothes in cheap fabrics, hair long and unruly, thick scar from a harvesting accident slicing the line of his jaw and immobilizing the left corner of his mouth.

“What do you think I want? My baby brother’s the Prince of Candia, aren’t I allowed to come calling for a little royal assistance?”

“And what do you mean by that?” Calroy asks instead of leaving, even though he hates the look in Delroy’s eyes; it’s all entitlement and surety, like he thinks this is acceptable and that Calroy owes him something just because he’s sixteen minutes older than Calroy.

“A title, ideally,” Delroy says. Mead sloshes out of his flagon when he slams it back on the table, looking at Calroy with twinkling eyes. “Or, you know, we are nearly identical. I bet if I cut my hair and got all dolled up like you, your loverboy wouldn’t even know the- urk.”

Calroy’s dagger is out and between Delroy’s ribs before Calroy even realizes he’s moving, and Calroy’s mouth falls open with shock at the same time that Delroy’s does. Delroy’s wide eyes start to go unfocused but he keeps them on Calroy’s as his mouth twitches back into that infuriating smile.

“Yeah, should’ve known that was a shade too far,” He says weakly, lips flecked with blood, “You always were the most like mom.”

Calroy’s face falls into a scowl at the comparison. He lifts a hand to cover Delroy’s mouth before twisting the blade and pulling it out. He feels his brother’s breath slow and eventually stop, and then he wipes his dagger on Delroy’s shirt, leans back, and picks up Delroy’s drink.

He can spare the time for a calming drink because from anywhere else in the room it will just look like Delroy’s passed out drunk. And, even if it didn’t, who’d accuse the Prince of Candia of murdering his kin?

--

two.

“How did you meet Uncle Amethar?” Jet asks as Calroy tucks her into bed. Ruby perks up ever so slightly from across the room.

The appeal for storytime is a delaying tactic that would’ve worked wonderfully on Amethar, might’ve even stopped Caramelinda if they caught her in an especially sentimental mood, but the girls have miscalculated; Calroy keeps moving forward so he never has to think about days gone by.

“Your uncle saved my life during the war,” Calroy says. He pushes Jet’s eager little head down onto her pillow and presses a kiss to her hairline, ignoring her complaints and doing the same to Ruby as he crosses the room. “Maybe, if you're both good little princesses who don’t try to sneak into the armory tonight, I’ll tell you the story tomorrow.”

(~~~)

There are many differences between selling weapons to Ceresia and leading Ceresian troops into Candian territory, but the main one for Calroy is that he signed up for one of those things, and most emphatically did not for the other. And yet, here he is, leading five soldiers towards the Candian camp. The soldiers are the worst kind, tall and broad-shouldered, looking down their noses at Calroy even though they need him, and they keep talking. They’re not particularly loud but in the dead of night and the middle of a war, any unnecessary noise is too much.

“We’re getting close, you should quiet down,” Calroy says, and the leader of the group snorts.

“No offense, sweetheart, but we know how to run an ambush.”

Then why did you make me lead you in here, Calroy doesn’t say. He just grips the dagger in his fist a little tighter, imagines the way it’d feel to remove the man’s tongue from his mouth, and reminds himself what the offered payout for this mission is. They get within twenty feet of the camp when Calroy hears the sound of sure, steady footsteps heading towards them. He tries to gesture for the soldiers to stop but they ignore him and walk directly into the path of Prince Amethar Rocks.

Fuck, Calroy thinks just as Prince Amethar says, “What the hell?”

It’s a lucky break for Prince Amethar, Calroy thinks as he tries to figure out an action plan -- wherever he had been coming from, his sword was already in hand, while Calroy’s companions were cocky enough to not even be on alert. It’s barely accurate to call it a fight with how thoroughly Prince Amethar destroys the Ceresians. When Prince Amethar is done and the bodies lay on the ground, he turns towards Calroy. Calroy stealthily drops his dagger and steps out of the shadows, endeavoring to look as harmless as possible.

“Hey, you’re one of ours, right?” Prince Amethar asks, lowering his sword like being on the same side has ever protected anyone.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Calroy says, hoping that the prince won’t follow foreign soldiers in my camp and Candian I’ve never met before to the correct conclusions.

Prince Amethar’s brow furrows and he looks Calroy up and down. He frowns. “You shouldn’t go out without your sword. You could’ve been in real trouble with those guys if I hadn’t come along!”

Calroy’s face slackens in disbelief, just for a second, before he fixes it into something appropriately appreciative. “You’re absolutely right, Your Highness, you’ve saved my life today.”

“Ha, guess I did,” Prince Amethar grins disarmingly. Calroy is caught off guard for the third time that night. “Anyway, enough of the ‘your highness’ stuff, alright? Just call me Amethar.”

“I- okay, Amethar,” Calroy says, enjoying the way the word rolls off his tongue, how Prince Amethar Rocks’ foolish trust tastes in his mouth. “But only if you’ll call me Calroy.”

--

three.

“My job is to guard the king.” Theobald Gumbar says even as he obediently follows Calroy, tone professional and steady like he spent hours in front of the mirror practicing it. It’s admirable, Calroy thinks, that Sir Theobald is still trying his stoic, stuck-up best to be respectful despite his obvious dislike of Calroy.

“Your job is to be Lord Commander of the Tartguard, which means that the protection of Castle Candy and everyone in Candia rests in your hands,” He pauses, lets that really sink in. Sir Theobald values nothing more than honor and responsibility, even when those duties require him to take orders from Calroy. “I applaud your dedication to the King but I assure you, Sir Theobald, that all that I do is for the preservation of House Rocks.”

(~~~)

Calroy prefers assassinations to ambushes, doesn’t like the mess or the dramatics of brute force attacks, which is why he only brings Sir Theobald along when he needs to seem dangerous; Calroy is more lethal on his own then his husband’s teddy bear of a favorite knight could ever be, but every minor lord in Calorum doesn’t need to know that. He has his own personal Tartguardsman, of course, but Sir Quincy doesn’t cut as imposing a figure as Theobald, and Calroy needs imposing when he visits House Whipperly.

Lady Valencia Whipperly is a fierce figure, with a swirl of white hair and the kind of posture that's bred into old Candian nobility, stubborn and proud and the only thing blocking the ratification of Calroy’s trade proposal with Fructera. To Lady Whipperly’s credit, the trade proposal isn’t great for Candia; the tariffs are too great for it’s few benefits but it will mean that at least three Fructeran nobles will owe Calroy a personal debt, and Calroy cares more about collecting favors than he does about Candian merchants, as does most of the Candian Court. Calroy doesn’t understand why Lady Whipperly won’t get with the program, but that’s why he’s come to visit Lady Whipperly’s less impressive, more easily swayed partner -- Ruthie Nougallo. She welcomes them with grace but Calroy can see her hands tremble as she politely curtseys to him.

“My apologizes, Your Highness, but my wife won’t be back for quite a few days,” Ruthie says as she leads Theobald and Calroy to her parlor. Calroy waves a hand dismissively and grins, just sharp enough to be scary.

“You misunderstand, I’ve come to speak to you,” Calroy says as he sits on one of the room’s couches. Ruthie’s legs begin to shake as well. “You see, I think we could help each other.”

“Help each other?”

“Mhm. Sir Theobald, the door if you’d please?” The look Theobald sends Calroy could freeze lava cake, but he goes nonetheless, far enough away that he won’t be able to truly hear Calroy with the bonus of blocking the room’s only exit with his size. Ruthie settles down next to Calroy when he pats the couch but she's nervously shooting looks at Theobald the whole time. Calroy grins. “Now, I understand that you alone can sway that lovely wife of yours. She’s a bit stubborn, hm?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t be silly, dear, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Calroy says, patronizing enough that Ruthie flinches, “Let me tell you a secret: my husband is a bit stubborn too.”

Ruthie’s eyes widen but she smiles, just a bit. Hook. “Is he?”

“Yes. Sometimes, even if he knows that something will be good for us, he's refuses it just because he doesn’t want to change his original opinion. I’m sure you know how that is.”

“Oh, absolutely! Last month, a Fructeran noble sent us some wonderful looking wine but Valencia refused it because she thought it was a bribe,” Ruthie says, leaning in conspiratorially. Line.

“What a shame! You know, good wine is so difficult to get these days. It would be easier if I could get approval on a trade deal with Fructera, but,” Calroy sighs deeply, almost too dramatic for his tastes but Ruthie eats it right up. “Your Valencia isn’t a fan of it. It’s really a tragedy, just imagine all the delicacies we could get shipped in if we had a true trade deal with Fructera. Why, House Rocks could have wine and fruitcake at every session of Court!”

“Every session of court…” Ruthie licks her lips almost absentmindedly and her smile grows. Sinker. “I’ll talk to Valencia. I’m sure I can bring her around on this.”

Calroy claps once, lets his true sense of accomplishment show in his smile. “Wonderful! I just knew you would be reasonable, Ruthie.”

--

four.

“You almost had me that time,” Amethar says as he offers Calroy a hand up. The training yard is deserted except for the two of them, no one else wanting to brave the stifling heat of the midday sun for something as exhausting as sparring. Amethar, of course, flourishes in situations like this, unflustered and delighted even with sweat dripping down his sharp jaw. “Where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”

Calroy uses wiping his sweat as an excuse to hide the annoyed twist of his brow. Trust his King to not leave well enough alone. “Oh, you know, here and there. Mostly the war.”

(~~~)

Calroy's days in Muffinfield Manor go like this: he wakes up, he runs through sword forms with Lord Cruller before dawn, he helps Lady Cruller plan events or take notes in meetings for the majority of the day, then eats a meager dinner alone in his room and goes to bed. When House Cruller put out a notice looking for a page, Calroy jumped at the opportunity: anything, truly anything, would be better than another season sweating through his clothes as he worked his family’s fields. And here, he has his own room, his own space, and the affection of the Crullers, who desperately needed an outlet for their parental instincts after their daughter and only heir ran away months ago.

It’s all worked out exceptionally well for Calroy, especially when it comes to his swordsmanship training.

“Your stance is too stiff,” Lord Cruller says, rapping his sword against Calroy’s locked knee. Calroy obediently bends, tries to recall and perfectly mimic the flowing movements that Lord Cruller has shown him, but the man’s sigh tells him that he’s failed. “I can hear you thinking, boy. You’re too stuck in your head. Don’t be too worried about the next move to get started on this one.”

“Sorry, Lord Cruller,” Calroy says, rote. Lord Cruller sighs again.

“You're too defensive. Someone with the brawn to back it up can stay still and let their opponent wear themselves out, but for a little thing like you? The best defense is a good offense. You have to move, kid,” Lord Cruller punctuates his words with a firm pat to the center of Calroy’s back, causing Calroy to stumble forward from the force. “Strike faster than they can strike you. In this world, it’s either eat or be eaten.”

“Yes, Lord Cruller, thank you, Lord Cruller,” Calroy dutifully replies, and he holds the advice close to his chest as he tips the poison his mother sent into Lord Cruller’s goblet that evening. Strike first, strike fast, and no one else can hurt you.

--

truth.

Far-flung countryman, I have received news of your upcoming nuptials. I know I have encouraged you to lean into his affection in the past, and even now I think of how easily all of this can be woven into our plans, but I can't help but wonder how quickly affairs of the heart can sour. Have you any worry that things could become messy for you?

Worry is the furthest thing from my mind, as I have apt reason to believe that he is firmly devoted to me. Yesterday morning, he called me the “guiding light of his life” simply because I recalled a name for him. It’s almost too easy at this point.

And what of you, friend? Have you become similarly attached to our dear Stone?

(~~~)

Calroy huffs a quiet laugh as he reads Senator Ciabatta’s most recent note in the halls of Castle Candy, delivered to him moments ago by a particularly harried and nervous-looking messenger. Calroy should technically be in his bedroom right now -- a lovely advisor’s suite near the guests’ wing, almost halfway across the castle -- but he welcomed today’s dawn from inside the King’s chambers and he can only imagine how many places the poor boy checked before deciding to risk insulting the King, the honor of the King’s intended, and possibly the entirety of the Court.

Not, Calroy muses as he returns to Amethar’s bedroom, that Calroy’s honor needs any protection; besides that fact that he’s no blushing maiden, Amethar invited Calroy back to his room for simple cuddling. Even when Calroy tried to initiate more, Amethar had simply turned heated kisses into slow and soft things that made Calroy’s stomach turn with their sweetness, yawned and took Calroy’s hand in his own when Calroy began to slide it down Amethar’s chest, wrapped his heavy arm around Calroy’s waist only to pull him close enough that Calroy could hear the steady beat of Amethar’s heart and feel the rumble of his every snore. Even now, a shiver runs down Calroy’s spine at the memory, mouth twisting with- well, with annoyance, mostly, and confusion. Who invites their intended to their rooms and then refuses to sleep with him? Amethar Rocks was truly, bafflingly ridiculous, even if his fondness for Calroy was extraordinarily useful. It’s with that in mind that he stops at Amethar’s desk to pen a quick response to Ciabatta.

My dear ally, have you not heard? I am the Stone’s dearest friend, and he is the love of my life. It’s all people can talk of these days. I thank you for your concern but I assure you, I will be fine, Calroy writes, underlining with a flourish. He hopes Ciabatta will get a laugh from the glimpse of how the Candian Court sees Calroy, as Calroy does every time he hears someone whispering about the romance of him and Amethar. He folds the letter for later just as Amethar groans from the bed.

“Cal?” He calls, voice sleep-rough and eyes only half-open. Calroy crosses the room in easy steps and settles himself on the edge of the bed, allowing Amethar to lay his head across Calroy’s lap. “Where’d you go?”

Calroy slants a hand over Amethar’s eyes to protect them from the weak sunlight spilling into the room and Amethar hums in appreciation. Something in Calroy’s chest tightens, like a gourdian knot that he can't begin to consider untying. “There was a letter to receive.”

“Court stuff?” Amethar asks, tone not quite whining but close enough that Calroy’s eye almost twitches. He hums noncommittally and pretends to listen as Amethar complains about how early in the morning he is expected to begin working.

A little lie, after all, never hurt anyone.

[punkscowardschampions]

Jac & Savannah

Jac: Are you warm enough? Jac: 🧣🤗🧤🤗🧥 Savannah: No but that's a total secret, okay? I can't cope with the others judging me for trying to look nice Jac: I'll never tell Jac: [subtly getting her a blanket or something though, obviously] Jac: no one can come for your look 😍 Savannah: [you know we're snuggling under this blanket together because shameless excuse to be close af] Savannah: oh I see, you're trying to warm me up by making me 😳 it's fine that can be our secret too Jac: [would be so 😳 forreal] Jac: you can blame the 🔥 Savannah: [putting her head on the bae's shoulder like we're not already close enough and doing a little happy sigh] Savannah: but your compliments deserve full credit, anything else would be unfair Jac: [patting her head under the guise of checking out the boujee hat] Jac: your outfit arguably deserves a higher class of event but I'm still glad you're here Savannah: [doing a hat swap because we do so love sharing clothes with the bae and it's amusing as well as a shameless excuse to check her out like hmm what do we think] Savannah: I'm glad I'm here too Jac: It would be weird if you weren't Jac: I'm as close to you as my siblings now Jac: in a different way, obviously but still Savannah: [swapping the hats back because the bae is serving a look and also then we have to fix her hair and make that a moment™ soz Amelia for this blatant flirting you are witnessing rn] Savannah: I feel so at home here, with you Jac: [when you think the bae is perfect so you can't even pretend to sort her hair, so you end up fussing with your own after her like ugh it's so unruly but we're 🥰 and seriously soz have a more or something] Jac: You are Jac: you're always welcome, even when we're celebrating weird non-holiday holidays Savannah: [just giving her all the compliments out loud because we see that fussy and also we don't care who hears us, again soz Amelia and snuggling again] Savannah: I'd make you the same offer in a heartbeat if I felt welcome at my house Jac: [snuggling her extra hard for a hot sec there] Jac: I know, baby Savannah: [likewise and just burying our face in the bae's shoulder fully because emotions and doing a little sad sigh this time] Jac: [doing something to make her happy, probably posting the picture of her for example] Savannah: [giving her all the compliments again because that is a good picture tbh gal you clearly have skills but then because I'm evil I'm gonna say your bf sees it and so you're texting him forever while he's with his friends doing whatever] Jac: [at least you have an excuse to get up, like your other guests lol] Savannah: [just gotta do something extra as she's getting up like take her hand and make her do a little spin or something cos you're a nerd and we know you care more about this than whatever your bf is saying] Jac: don't faint Savannah: catch me & it won't be an issue Jac: I don't need to tell you it's dangerous to play near or with 🔥 Savannah: [as close to a LOOK as we can get away with] Jac: 😈 Savannah: he wants to see me, like, right now Savannah: but I don't think he's offering a higher class of event Jac: 😏 and obviously, you have to make him sweat it out a bit Jac: right? Savannah: all night at least Jac: Poor Ty Savannah: Do you think I'm being too 😈? Jac: not enough, if anything Savannah: oh really, well I hate that Jac: I'm sure it'll do the job on Ty Jac: but I think you could do better Savannah: of course I could, especially if the alternative means disappointing you Savannah: I don't ever want to Jac: It's very unlikely that you could Savannah: It's impossible, I promise Jac: Don't worry, it wasn't a challenge Savannah: I'm not worried if it is, I'll rise to it for you Jac: 🌠🌠🌠 Jac: I am going to have to challenge my brother not to be that basic white boy who brings out an acoustic 'round the campfire, excuse me 🙄😅 Savannah: 😄 Savannah: as long as Isabelle doesn't decide to sing along, because it'll be a challenge for me to sit through that Jac: 😬 Jac: she ALWAYS gets the words wrong! Jac: I think she might be partially deaf Savannah: you would know Savannah: it's a shame she's HOPELESS at sign language Jac: honestly, she'd need to do some brain training first Jac: bless her Savannah: I'm still waiting for you to teach me, maybe I'll be worse than she is Jac: [gutted you can't say gay things 'cos most people here can understand but you can still come teach her] Savannah: [Amelia do be watching you and she definitely can] Savannah: [Jude would also just be chiming in telling Savannah what she's doing wrong like a blunt bitch so now we're mortified because we have to be good at everything] Jac: [just showing her how to tell Jude to fuck off or something like excuse you] Savannah: [literally never swears because she's that kind of trying to be classy so you've been spared gal but we're not forgetting that you made us look a fool] Jac: She literally couldn't tie her own shoes 'til like last year Jac: I wouldn't spend any energy on her Savannah: it's fine, I'd rather know my mistakes Jac: She knows it's as rude to listen in on a sign conversation as it is a normal one Jac: honestly, I don't know where her manners have gone half the time Savannah: I'll have to get better now so we can have a conversation worth listening in on Jac: I'll show you properly Jac: when we have some privacy Savannah: you can come home with me, we'll have plenty of privacy if we leave here late enough Jac: You're really gonna make him wait then Jac: 😘 Savannah: he'll be too drunk to be any use to me once his friends are done with him Savannah: & anyway, I want to be with you Jac: Good Jac: of course I'll come Savannah: I feel like I haven't even seen you since Ty & I reconciled, I've really missed you Jac: he had a lot he had to make up for Jac: so I've missed you more Savannah: [touching that necklace he gave us without realising we're doing it as we recall that horrible argument] Savannah: I'm all yours now Jac: Good Jac: because we're both going to need really long 🛀 to get the smoke smell out of our hair Savannah: ugh true! I'll wash yours if you wash mine Jac: 100% Jac: and would you ever trust a boy with your hair, no matter how sorry he is Savannah: No way! Savannah: plus he's too tall to fit in the 🛁 with me, even the huge one at my house Savannah: he'd just sulk the entire time Savannah: I'm so sorry I'm taller than the other girl you dated Jac: the basketball boys always go out with tiny girls Jac: it's like their thing Jac: so weird Savannah: right? 🙄 Savannah: it's a totally possessive thing, I'm glad you can't stand over me to feel powerful, excuse me Jac: honestly Jac: people always talk about short guy's complexes but tall lads think they're so superior just for having a few inches, okay we get what you're trying to put out and it ain't cute Savannah: exactly Savannah: & if picking me up & throwing me around is SUCH a turn on for you, work at it 💪🏾 I have to put in effort to look good too Jac: Not about it Savannah: Ty isn't either, he's the gentlest boy in the world Jac: Yeah he is Savannah: maybe too gentle sometimes, but I didn't say so Jac: I get it Jac: you don't have to think he's perfect just because you're going out with him Savannah: he definitely doesn't think I am Jac: he's got no complaints though Savannah: for now, I suppose Jac: he told me, you saw Jac: he thinks you're good, if not perfect Savannah: he doesn't want to lose me Jac: he's not stupid Savannah: ^^ he'll say anything, that's what boys do Jac: yeah Jac: how much they mean is a different story Savannah: my dad's never meant a single word he's said to us Jac: even if he meant it at the time Jac: he didn't stick to his word, and that's what counts Savannah: yes, it is Jac: Ty's dependable Savannah: I'm not though, I'm a wreck Jac: hey Jac: [looks at her and shakes her head like no] Jac: do you want to go inside for a bit? we can be getting more food and drinks or whatever Savannah: okay Jac: [casually run off hand in hand so you can go properly talk about this] Savannah: [soz not soz everyone] Jac: [also said your garden would not be that big so probably gonna need to go upstairs or down so everyone's not just 👀 lol] Savannah: [get in the basement for that parallel] Jac: [sounds creepy but yes lol, go forth for that privacy hens] Savannah: [yet again we're just telling the bae stuff that we haven't told anyone including our bf #bonding] Jac: [we know the fucking vibes, y'all gonna be ages and do not care remotely] Savannah: [gotta fix Savannah's makeup for her to because she'll have done a little cry so that's gay & intimate] Jac: [honestly how this kiss doesn't happen sooner hun] Savannah: [that's the scolding hot tea] Jac: [casual patience of a saint somehow] Savannah: [we both know you're scared to cross that line hens] Jac: [mhmm how you just don't though when the tension is this high and obvious but you know, sort yourselves out] Savannah: [for now though go back outside to find Amelia has left] Jac: how rude Savannah: Do you have any messages from her? Jac: she told them she was feeling sick Jac: but she's not said anything more than that in a message either Savannah: one of her migraines? Jac: probably Jac: smoke can be a trigger, I guess Jac: oh well, I'll message her in the group chat, make sure she's okay Savannah: I hope she got home okay Savannah: it was a bit rude of Is not to go with her & make sure Jac: ^^ I'm like, girl Jac: you've had THREE hot dogs Jac: you could've done without the last one to be a better friend but priorities, I suppose Savannah: ^^ she could've at least come & got us so we could do the right thing if she wasn't going to Jac: Seriously Jac: now I look lowkey bad like thanks 🙄 Savannah: No, it's my fault Savannah: I feel bad, poor Amelia Jac: Oh my God, no, it's so not your fault Savannah: it's okay, I know I'm beyond demanding Jac: You aren't Jac: She just has a headache Jac: you're actually going through it right now Jac: you deserve time to vent Savannah: 😔 Savannah: but I do understand if you're upset with me Jac: I'm not, at all Jac: just at Is a bit for not handling the whole situation properly Savannah: Would you like me to talk to her? Jac: That's fine, we don't need to get into their drama Jac: it's like, not a situation and not going to be one because Is either wants it to be or is literally too ditzy to check in on Amelia herself without being explicitly told Savannah: You're right Savannah: you deserve a good night even if it is a fake holiday Jac: I'm having a good night with you Savannah: Oh please, I can do better Savannah: I've been crying for most of it Savannah: [proves it by doing the most, throwing ourselves into all the activities and thus the bae as well] Savannah: [I like to imagine poor Isabelle trying to get involved & we're just subtly not having it] Jac: [montage time, honestly Is you would've been better to leave too, at least the fam is here so you aren't being totally ignored lol] Savannah: [soz that we're just falling in love here] Jac: [literally can't help it sorry they don't mean the harm they casually do] Savannah: now you're having a good night Jac: an even better one, yeah Savannah: I'll be your 🌠 Savannah: anything you want, all you have to do is whisper it to me & I'll make sure it comes true Jac: Tinkerbell's got nothing on you Savannah: your happiness is so important to me, with or without the 👏🏾 Jac: you know I'd do anything for you too Jac: I feel like I should do more Jac: be better Savannah: you do more for me than anyone else EVER has, if you did more you'd be putting your own mental health & wellbeing at risk for the sake of mine Savannah: I'm not trying to be a drain of you like Is, who literally needs her hand held through every little thing Jac: I know, you're just so good to me Jac: but you're good FOR me too Savannah: I'm not always this selfish, I swear Jac: you're literally the most selfless Jac: all you do is look after Sienna and you're the best friend to me and girlfriend to Ty Jac: it hurts my heart sometimes Jac: I just wanna take care of you and make your life so easy you can thrive and shine Savannah: You're going to make me cry again Savannah: [IRL 🥺 because the bae is so pure & genuinely takes such good care of us] Savannah: I'll survive this & you'll see what I'm actually like without all this drama surrounding me Savannah: I really will be the best friend to you forever Jac: [we're such emotional bitches atm and always tbh hennys] Jac: I know you will, you're already amazing Jac: you're going to be unstoppable Jac: and I'm gonna be right there with you Savannah: [it's the only emotion we can safely express rn because smooching is forbidden] Savannah: I'm totally fine with doing trust falls Savannah: you know I believe in you & our future together Jac: 🌍 sister connection Jac: [because we are all earth signs except Amelia soz gal] Savannah: ^^ yes! Savannah: [take your bae to dance because it's a party and that's the only excuse we need] Jac: [bye at how much of a moment that'd be] Savannah: [literally there's every chance it's the first time they have because her bf would always be there at parties and stuff so I'm deceased] Jac: [we know you'd have no qualms stealing her away but a party with loads of peers is different from how intimate this is, at best everyone has a few friends] Savannah: [exactly that, so glad you don't have to see this Amelia you really would have a headache] Jac: [yeah this would be 💔] Savannah: [thank god we've got Isabelle cockblocking rn because y'all are too in love tbh] Jac: [just joins in 'cos not in love with you and thus oblivious] Savannah: [they'd be so annoyed lol] Jac: [lmao oh isabelle] Savannah: [go get some drinks or something gals and whisper shade to each other about this poor third wheel because any excuse to keep that intimacy going] Jac: [it's a good thing you are lowkey oblivious or you'd be way more upset by it all too] Savannah: [god bless you Isabelle, so soz you get done so dirty] Jac: [in the end you live your best life, just not being friends with this squad lol] Savannah: [the best thing for you is getting new friends my love, but for now I like to imagine she's talking to them about some boy or other, remember those you massive gays] Jac: 😬 him Jac: seriously?!? Savannah: What is she thinking of? & more importantly, what part of her body is leading her in those thoughts Jac: 😷 I can't Jac: so many cold showers necessary for her and honestly just some 🧼 for him Savannah: He asked me out, knowing full well I'm not single or interested, it was horrific Jac: the definition of no shame Savannah: I didn't know what to do Jac: I bet you didn't Jac: the actual nerve Savannah: Not to sound like Amelia, but I genuinely have no understanding of what she approves of or thinks we'll approve of about most of the boys she talks about Jac: Availability? Jac: like, imagine that was all a boy had to say about you Savannah: that's so sad Jac: like if they weren't so gross themselves, I'd feel sorry for them Savannah: I've just decided, I'm going to find her a boyfriend we can all stand to be around, Ty'll know someone Savannah: it'll give you a much needed break from how clingy she is & my heart won't hurt anymore from hearing her talk like this about boys who aren't worthy Jac: Such a nice idea 👼🏾 Jac: does he know anyone that will deal with her though Jac: she's a lot Savannah: It may not be an overnight success but I'll work my 🔮✨ Jac: I believe in nothing harder than I believe in your magic Savannah: I'm your girl too, just like you told Ty, of course you have faith in me & because you do, I feel so capable of anything 🥰 Jac: It had to be said Jac: like we said, the possessive thing, not it Jac: you're you and you're so many things to so many people, and you're especially important to me Jac: if he wants you, he's gotta accept that Savannah: ^^^ Savannah: I love you & you're always going to be part of my life, I hope he is too, obviously but there's none of that uncertainty with you, you are & you will be Jac: Right, romantic relationships are arguably almost always the least secure, that's just realistic Jac: ask any girl who ditches ALL her friends and then gets dumped Savannah: oh god, I could NEVER Savannah: I need you Jac: The concession they must make in their lives, like, who do you talk to about the stuff he has no interest in, who gives you advice from a woman's perspective??? Jac: so toxic Savannah: He & I have very different styles of self care, I'm sorry I simply would not survive Jac: 🏋️ is part of the daily grind, NOT a way to unwind, sorry Ty Savannah: 😄 Savannah: Don't worry, I promise I won't wake you as early tomorrow for our workout Jac: I'm not, I nearly ALWAYS wake up before you Jac: but that's okay, you look adorable and very peaceful 😴😘 Savannah: well it takes me longer to fall asleep Savannah: you look even more adorable & peaceful then 👼🏻☁ Jac: okay, so we're even 😅 Savannah: the universe is keeping everything in balance for us Savannah: I love that Jac: I know, right? Jac: if we had a 👶🏾 or a job share we'd be KILLING it Savannah: 🥺 you're going to have the cutest babies ever! Jac: 🤞 the dad's DNA doesn't screw that up Savannah: No way, we'll find you someone perfect Jac: I have more hope for Uni Savannah: you don't trust my matchmaking skills? Jac: No, no Jac: just the boys you have to choose from here 😬😂 Savannah: 😄You're right, an LDR makes much more sense for you & I wouldn't have to share you as often Savannah: I'll find you a first year uni boy who goes to school with Ty's brother Jac: You think so? Savannah: definitely, he'll fit into your schedule without wanting to become your schedule Savannah: & you may actually be able to have & sustain a proper conversation, depending what he studies Jac: you really do have the best ideas Jac: Obviously down Savannah: [immediately starts sending her pics and profiles because we're extra] Savannah: Let me know who you like & I'll totally make it happen Jac: I'll look properly tonight at yours Jac: [like no, Isabelle, you may not have more than a peep so you're #curious] Savannah: there's no rush, whenever you're ready Jac: 😍😍 Savannah: [snuggling again with our IRL 😍 because we're in love bitch] Savannah: [Savannah is just that touchy feely hoe like soz gal she's gonna just be touching you ALL THE TIME] Jac: [at least you'd have to vaguely get used to it or literally die haha, we know the 😍 are and will be for you but we'll pretend to be into these lads so we can scheme it together] Savannah: [we've since the pics you had a touchy feely vibe with Amelia too, even if it was more like hugs and piggy backs lol you can do this] Jac: [mhmm, arguably you can't but you carry it on for a long time lol]

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Memory Of The Smell of Smoke, Ch 5.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Everyone liked to pretend that Campbell had been born bad. That their fear and hatred were logical, rational, justified, because Campbell was a monster incapable of making the choice between good and evil. Because he couldn’t feel the way they did. Well, fuck that. He was gonna prove them wrong. At least, that had been the plan.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Emotional Baggage, Mental Health Issues, Child Abuse, Substance Abuse, Animal Death, Complicated Relationships, Pre-Slash, Denial of Feelings, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Implied Rape, Campbell has mild ASPD and is self aware enough to try and be better, the non-con is NOT Campbell, didn’t add an official warning because it is the aftermath only, yes it is the party becca mentioned and there will be a warning in the notes of that chapter, Campbell/Harry, Campbell/Elle.

Word Count: 4601 (chapter 5/5).

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || Ch 4 || AO3

Then again, they do say that things get worse before they get better.

For  whatever reason, Becca stopped talking to Campbell. He tried to text her to see if she was alright, but his number was blocked. He tried to talk to her, but she kept on walking. It would have been all too easy to  get pissed off over it, but he shrugged and carried on with life. Perhaps she was embarrassed, or ashamed. Perhaps she wanted to pretend it never happened. Maybe it had been a really bad high. Who knew? But she wanted nothing to do with him, either way, and he didn't waste his time on people that obviously wanted him gone. Caring cost too much energy for that.

The end of the school year play was an adaptation of the film Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead.  Cassandra, of course, decided to try out. It was more surprising that Harry tried out, too. Naturally, they both got the lead roles. And why wouldn't they? Cassandra had always been an amazing actress, and now that Harry had cleaned up his image to make himself the cute goody-two-shoes co-captain of the debate team in order to be more appealing to Kelly, it made sense that he'd charm his way in.

Campbell  didn't need to worry about that. He got recruited to help with the set,  and that was fine. It was something to pass the time, as always, and  Elle was often there to help with choreography. It was a nice, long  distraction. By the time rehearsals were over, they had two weeks left  until prom and three until graduation; it was so close to being over that Campbell could taste it, and damn it was good. The play itself would shave one week off, and everyone would be too busy going bananas over prom that they wouldn't have time for much idle gossip.

Perfect.

Or,  at least, it would have been perfect. Just before the opening night of  the play, something began to smell. Literally. Campbell was hanging out  with a few of the drama club kids he'd met through the play, the five of  them sharing a few orders of fries after a long day of getting the  stage ready for the big event. They were on their way out when Campbell  caught a whiff of what smelled like rotting flesh. He gagged, covering  his nose with his sleeve, and soon the other teen were coughing as well.

"What  the fuck is that?" demanded Elaine, a chunky girl with bright pink  hair, ripped jeans, and an MCR shirt. "Jesus christ, Henry, I told you  not to go for the chili fries."

Henry, a scrawny blond, made a noise of complaint. "It's not me!"

"The  wind is coming from the northeast," Campbell interrupted as everyone began to blame each other. "It's probably in the wood somewhere. A sewer  leak or something."

Everyone quieted down and agreed, but the  smell only got worse and worse as the evening went on. The next morning,  Campbell and Sam came downstairs to find their living room filled up  with people. Their parents, Harry's mother, Aunt Amanda and Uncle Jim, a  few other influential members of town... and in front of them all,  their other uncle, Rogers. Frequently heard blustering on about some  damn thing, usually something racist, he wasn't anyone Campbell had any  desire to be around. But there he was, shouting about the smell and what  to do about it.

Campbell tuned it all out and made breakfast for  himself, slipping out the door and heading to school before he was  noticed. The smell was, in fact, terrible. Students were whispering  theories to each other all day. Campbell heard that the smell was a dead  whale washed up on the coast and the wind was carrying the smell, that  it was a terrorist attack, that it was ghosts coming to haunt the town  for some misdeed, it was meth gone wrong... But in the end, there were  no answers. Just a constant, unyielding reek that seemed to be coming  from everywhere.

At the very least, the first night of the play  went off without a hitch. Even if it smelled like a dead skunk basted  with cow farts outside, Cassandra and Harry were beautiful, witty, and  gave a flawless performance. No one really payed attention to the fact  that there was a town meeting among the adults the next day; Campbell  overheard his mother talking to his father about it, and how Uncle  Rogers had contacted some guy named Pfeiffer to get rid of the smell.

Campbell  flopped on Harry's bed as Harry dug around his closet for a suit to  wear to prom. "Who the hell has a job in smell removal? Is that a  thing?"

"Don't know, and who cares? As long as I can go back to  eating without everything tasting faintly like septic tank, that's all I  care about."

Whatever the Pfeiffer guy was about, the day after  the town meeting, the smell did vanish as quickly as it had come. For  short time, things went back to normal. Campbell stayed home-- you've  seen one night in a play, you've seen them all, in his opinion-- to cook  mushroom carbonara while everyone else was out. If nothing else, he  knew how to make a good pan of noodles, and it gave him time to think  about asking Elle to prom. A sort of asinine affair, something he and  Cassandra agreed on, but it was the last big thing of high school. Maybe  it was worth a shot.

On the last night of the play, the smell  returned. It was even worse than before, so strong that it stung their  eyes and made some of the younger kids choke; the adults called yet  another emergency meeting, and this time, it was decided that the EPA  would be contacted. Until then, all students 16 and over would be sent  away on a camping trip until the smell was removed. An exciting prospect  in Campbell's mind, considering his family had never been camping his  whole life. A whole weekend in the middle of nowhere? Roasting  marshmallows, hiking, swimming, freaking Allie out with spooky stories?  Cool.

"Mom and dad wanted to know if you got your toothbrush,"  Sam signed as they stood on the school lawn, everyone waiting for the  buses to pick them up. "Did you?"

"Tell them to get fucked."

Sam  stared. Campbell forced a cheerful smile and headed off to go wait  elsewhere. He was standing at the curb when he heard someone  approaching; he turned his head, ready to tell Sam to leave him alone,  when Campbell realized it was Grizz heading his way. He was pale, his  gait fast and jaw tight as he glanced around. Huh. Weird. The football  player never really seemed nervous about much.

"Hey Campbell," Grizz greeted. "I have a question for you."

"I'm flattered, but I'm already asking someone to prom."

Narrowing his eyes, Grizz glared at him. "Hey. No, it's... Did you tag the wall of the church last night?"

"What?" Campbell blinked. "I'm no fan of Christianity, but no. I didn't tag the church with anything. Why?"

"Just wondering. There's some creepy Bible quote on one of the outside walls. Just thought maybe you'd know something about it."

"Someone's probably just dicking with us, man."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

There  wasn't much time to debate it. Cassandra and her gaggle joined them at  the curb, all of them eagerly chattering at Grizz, who seemed to be the  group Boy Scout and everyone wanted camping advice. Five school buses  pulled up soon after, and everyone began to pile on. One of the few  places left on the bus was next to Elle; she had a look on her face that  was positively icy, but he decided to take the chance anyways.

Campbell rested his hand on the seat and nodded to the empty space next to her. "Hey, I'm Campbell. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Elle glanced up at him. She didn't smile, didn't speak, but she shrugged a little and moved over enough to make room.

"Excited for the trip?"

"Not especially. I prefer indoor plumbing. You?"

"I don't know. It might be an adventure."

"An adventure, huh? From what I hear, you make plenty of your own excitement."

"Oh? Where'd you hear that?"

"I just pay attention."

Campbell  leaned a little closer. She didn't flinch away, but she was watching him with a cautious intensity he hadn't seen from many others before. "It's too bad we've been going to school together all this time, and never really talked, don't you think?"

"What is there for us to talk about?"

"Dance, maybe. How many years did you do ballet before you moved here?"

"You know about that?"

"I pay attention, too."

That earned him the tiniest of smirks. "Okay, smartass. What else do you know about me?"

"Your  family moved here from New York when you were about twelve. You tried to make friends with Lexie and her goon squad, but they ignored you and  ever since then you've kinda just been alone. You spend most of your time reading, or playing the piano."

"Piano."

"Junior year, we had math together and Gelstein let us listen to music during tests." Campbell placed his fingers on the back of the seat in front of  him, moving them along like he was tapping on invisible keys. "You'd move your fingers along to the music, but you thought no one noticed because you sat in the back."

"Ohh, you've got a good eye. Yeah, I can play the piano. But I feel like that's cheating a little. You sat right next to me."

"That's true. I also know that you eat all the green M&Ms first, and that is not something I found out sitting next to you."

Elle leaned back and arched her eyebrows. "You know, some people might considered that level of observation a little creepy."

"Do you think it is?"

"I don't know yet."

"Think you'll know in time for prom?"

"Well, how about this." She was smiling now, and the corners of her eyes crinkled a little. "Ask me when this trip is over."

A  fair enough deal. They spent the rest of the morning discussing music,  art, and entertainment; Campbell had to stop and let Elle ramble from time to time, though he noticed she did the same and wondered if it was  for the same reason. He wasn't used to talking, to the point where he was getting winded. They had similar enough tastes, as far as modern music was concerned, and a similar view on politics. He liked modern dance, while she liked the more traditional forms, but it was still a shared interest.

They continued talking until the sun set and the bus fell silent, with students falling asleep as the bus ride continued well into the night. Elle slumped over near midnight, resting  her head on his shoulder. She yawned, content. "This is fun. How come we've never talked before?"

"I don't know." Campbell allowed her to nestle close. He wanted to stroke her hair, but he kept his hands to  himself. He didn't want to scare her by being too much, too fast. "I guess I was scared to approach you."

"Why?"

"Because you're pretty, and I'm trouble."

Ella closed her eyes, voice muffled as she drifted off to sleep. "Maybe I'm trouble, too."

Cute,  but it was hard to imagine. Not because she was a girl or because she was small-- he'd seen a 4'11" girl take down a two hundred and fifty pound football player with one well aimed kick to the dick-- but because  he'd never heard a single bad word about her from anyone who mattered.  Well, who knew. Maybe she had a rap sheet from back home in New York.  Campbell smiled a little, falling asleep himself soon after.

He  had no clue how much time had passed when the school bus jerked to a halt. He stirred, blinking as the lights on the bus flickered back on. Everyone was murmuring, trying to figure out what was going on. Were they there? It was supposed to be a twelve hour ride, including breaks along the way, but they had left at three in the evening and the time on  his phone said it was only a little past one in the morning.

"Change of plans," the bus driver said. His tone was flat. Bored. "Rock slides. The road is closed. You're back home."

The  murmurs turned into sounds of disbelief. Campbell stood as the bus doors opened, making his way out along with everyone else. He stopped on  the school lawn, and stared out into the darkness; there was no one there, no one besides the other students, and the weird smell was gone.  It couldn't have been fixed that fast. The useless government never did  anything fast, and it hadn't even been a full day yet.

"The fuck," he muttered as the buses all pulled away and left. "What is this?"

Ella stood next to him, frowning. "Strange. That's what."

Everyone  began texting, calling. Campbell tried his father's number, knowing Sam  was probably going to call their mother. It rang, and didn't stop ringing. No answer. No voicemail, even. He glanced around. He could see  the worry and panic on everyone else as they seemed to be reaching similar results. No one was answering. Something was obviously wrong. With the smell gone, he wondered if it really had been a gas leak, and now everyone was fucking dead. Only one way to know for sure.

Plastering  a smile on his face, Campbell looked to Sam and shrugged like it was no  big deal. Make it seem like everything was fine. No need to freak out  and start some kind of mass riot. "Well, I'm going home."

Sam  grabbed his arm. His eyes were wide, and he was obviously at that freak  out point already. "You're not going to wait for me?" he whispered, not  bothering to even sign.

Campbell made a quick sign. "Hurry up, then."

He  kept walking, and soon enough he heard footsteps trailing behind him. They walked in silence for a bit, before Sam signed to him. "Where do you think our parents are?"

"Home. Asleep."

"Do you think that's all?"

"Yeah." Campbell didn't believe it for a second, but Sam didn't need to know that right then. "Probably."

When  they made it home, the cars were still there. All the lights were out inside. Campbell went in first, calling out to their parents, but there  was no answer. Campbell and Sam exchanged a look; Sam's lips pursed, knowing without any words passing between them what the look meant. They  were alone. Campbell searched downstairs, then headed upstairs. He  didn't even care that Sam was right on his heels. It meant that they could both confirm at the same time that they were, in fact, alone in the house.

"No note," Sam said. "No message on the phone. Where could they be?"

Campbell  frowned. He didn't have a damn clue what to tell his brother, but then  their phones both began to blow up. Campbell looked at his, hoping for  the first time in forever that it was their parents, but it was Harry.  His mother was gone. Kelly's parents, too. No one could reach anyone, and their data was all knocked out.

Probably from the storm, Campbell texted back.

Yeah, Harry answered, and did the storm take all our parents too?

A  good question. Suddenly he had texts from Elle and Cassandra, even Allie, asking where he and Sam were and could they find anyone. Cassandra finally texted for the two of them to meet her and everyone else back at the school. ASAP.

"Are you gonna go?" Sam asked.

It  wasn't even really worth thinking about. Of course he was going to go,  if only so he could get some idea of where things were heading. People  were gonna start wigging out, and Campbell knew history well enough to  know that a bunch of teenagers alone and afraid never meant anything good. And maybe someone, somewhere, had actually found something. Campbell nodded to Sam, and they both headed out to meet with Cassandra.  

By the time they got to the school, a crowd had formed. Not  everyone, and mostly seniors, but enough for Campbell to know it'd get  ugly if the impromptu meeting didn't go well. Elle was there; she came  over and stood at his side, one arm crossed in front of her chest and  the other tangled up in her hair, her bottom lip pouting out a little.  She opened her mouth to speak, but then someone else-- one of the  football players, loud and brash-- yelled out.

"Who decided we needed a flash mob?"

Cassandra stepped out of the shadows. She stood on the other side of Campbell, pulling herself tall. "I did."

"What the fuck, Cassandra?"

"Better  than 200 people sending texts. Has anyone been able to reach anyone?" she asked. The crowd was either silent, or mumbled a negative. "No one?  Okay. Well, there's... there's definitely a simple explanation."

A voice Campbell didn't recognize yelled out. "Like what?"

"Um.  They, uh." Cassandra glanced at Campbell. He said nothing, hell, he didn't even move; if anyone thought he was influencing her, they'd never  listen. "They were evacuated, after we left. And there was a miscommunication, and we were brought back here by mistake."

"Someone would still answer a phone," Kelly pointed out.

"Maybe  they're asleep. I don't know, maybe they some place with no reception.  They're in a shelter with... with no reception, or something. In the morning, someone will answer a phone."

Goddamn  it. Cassandra, cool and collected Cassandra, was losing it. Standing  this close to her, Campbell could tell that she was shaking. Not much,  but enough that Campbell felt a spark of worry. They were supposed to be  the reasonable ones. Cassandra was valedictorian, disliked and  unpopular but vocal and well-known in their senior class. If Cassandra  lost it, the rest wouldn't be far behind.

"Maybe it's not safe for us to be here, if they all left."

"A  couple hours isn't gonna make a difference. We'll figure this all out in the morning. Right now, we should just... uh, go home. Yeah, we should go home. And anyone who doesn't want to, uh, be alone can come back to our house. Right?"

Allie smiled when Cassandra looked to her. "Sure."

"Is that your advice, Cassandra?"

It  had to be Harry that challenged her. Campbell cursed under his breath,  and resisted the urge to strangle him. Cassandra and Harry always had been rivals, butting heads over everything and fighting for power at every turn, with Cassandra usually emerging victorious. But what about now, when people were scared and tensions were climbing?  

"Yeah. Yeah, Harry, yeah, just go to sleep."

Harry  rolled his eyes, but people began to disperse. Well, some people. The majority stayed put, hovering around closer to Harry and the jock brigade; they were whispering about the local liquor store, and Campbell  took the moment to sidle over to Cassandra while everyone else seemed  distracted.

"Do you honestly believe any of that?" he wondered, lowering his voice.

Cassandra  shook her head. She took a breath, but it was already all too clear that she was out of her depth. "I have to, right now. It won't do any good tonight to think about it too much. We need to all go home, get some rest, and see what tomorrow brings."

"You know as well as I do that if we don't start preparing for the worst now, tomorrow it's gonna hit and this whole place is gonna go all Lord of the Flies."

"What the hell do you think happened?"

"Cassie, haven't you noticed anything else, besides our missing families?"

"The smell."

"Yeah, the smell. How are you gonna explain that to them? Or did the smell go to a shelter with no reception, too?"

Biting  her lip, Cassandra looked at the crowd gathering around Harry. Before she could say anything else, Allie came prancing up, a cheeky smile on her face. "Cassandra. Campbell." His name was said like it was something  disgusting, and her smile hardened just a bit. "I guess the guys are  planning to raid the liquor store and have a party. Coming?"

"Really?" Cassandra sighed. "No way. I'm going to head home and try to figure this out. Please don't burn anything down."

Allie  grinned and made her way back to her friends. Cassandra, Gordie, and their friend Bean headed off towards home. Campbell knew it'd be for the  best to just leave, but he could see that Sam was staying, and Elle was  watching him expectantly. Harry was waving them both over, and Campbell  sighed. Might as well. Despite how bizarre it all was, the idea of not  having to race home by ten and play Good And Normal Son with his parents  was appealing.

"What was that about?" Elle asked. Her tone was light, but her eyes were sharp. "With you and Cassandra?"

"Oh, just cousin bickering. How about this party, huh?"

It  started as just a bunch of them hanging out on the front yard of the church, with beers getting passed around. Campbell and Elle camped out in a quieter corner, each with their own drink. But within fifteen minutes, Clark had discovered that the church doors were open. It seemed  wrong. So, so very wrong. That's what made it fun. Campbell smirked as  people texted their friends, brought more liquor, and rigged up some  music. The air was just vibrating with bass and the cheers of about a  hundred drunk, high teenagers. It was blasphemous, and oh, they were all loving it.

"Can  you imagine the looks on their faces?" Campbell laughed with Elle as he  downed another cup of alcohol. "Those stuck up fucks would piss  themselves."

Elle answered, but her voice was muffled. Far away.  His vision was dimmer around the edges and he felt good; he grabbed Elle  by the hand and led her out to where people were dancing. Harry's  shitty little pity parties had never appealed to him much, and certainly  not the stiff swaying back and forth of school dances with their  parent-approved music, but this? This was something new, different. They  could do anything and they weren't going to get caught. Not yet. The cats were away, and they were all a bunch of fucking rats  ready to play.

At least, that's what Campbell thought, but after  people started pouring beers off the second story, Elle retreated into  an empty stairway. Campbell followed. A bad idea, in hindsight, but  they'd been having a good time. Hadn't they? She had tucked herself into  a corner, wiping beer off her skin and wringing it from her hair;  Campbell stepped closer, smiling.

"I don't know, I think you look kinda hot this way."

Elle didn't look at him. "Yeah, well, I don't really care what anyone else thinks right now."

"Hey.  Why are you spoiling all the fun?" Campbell asked. She didn't say anything, just giving him an irritated look. "Is it like a ballerina thing? Act all cold? Is that..."

Without a word, she tried to push past him. Campbell grabbed her arm, but she spun around and fixed him with a glare. "Seriously?"

Campbell blinked. He didn't know exactly what was happening, but she was angry, and he let go of her arm.  She kept walking, heading towards the exit. He sighed, mumbling under  his breath so she wouldn't hear. "Your loss."

Everything after  that was mostly a very long blur, ending in a wall of black. Not something he'd done in a while, getting completely wasted, and not something he was eager to repeat when he woke up the next morning with a  throbbing headache. Light hurt, sound hurt. The worst part was that he  just barely remembered what happened with Elle.

"Shit," he groaned as his phone blasted him with full brightness. Still, he managed to tap out a text to her. I'm sorry about last night. I'm an asshole and I was drunk. Forgive me? "Send."

It  was the best he could do at that second. Campbell dragged himself out of bed, stumbling downstairs where Sam was making breakfast. Sam glanced  at him, flipping some bacon. Campbell wanted to gag at the smell, but  there was a small stack of toasted Eggo waffles on the counter, and he  snagged one of those.

"No parents," Sam signed. "No calls or anything."

Campbell  just waved his hand and sunk his face into his arm. He figured. There hadn't been any furious screaming about the state of the church, after all. Sam sat down at the table, and Campbell raised his head enough to watch him for a moment. Now that he was sober, he was back to being able  to read people. He could see on Sam's face that Sam was scared. He kept  eyeing Campbell, then looking away, and shifting like his body just  didn't want to sit still. His body was turned away. Closed off. Insecure. He didn't like being alone with Campbell.

Well, who did anymore, really?

His phone buzzed. He hoped it was Elle, but it was from Harry. Campbell tapped on the notification, and stared at the text. Get to the bridge. NOW.

Sam's phone went off next. "Becca wants me at the bridge outside of town."

Please, a second text read. I'm scared.

Harry  had never said that, not in all the years they'd been friends. Campbell  stuffed another waffle in his mouth, and threw on his flannel shirt.  "Let's go."

It took almost twenty minutes to jog there. Sam kept  up, thankfully. Campbell wasn't about to wait around when Harry was  reduced to begging. Something was wrong, he could feel it in his stomach  more than ever. The closer he got, the more he could see there was a  small crowd formed. Cassandra, Allie, Becca, Will. Gordie, Bean, Kelly.  Luke, Clark, Grizz, Harry. Helena. Sam went to his friends, who were  sitting by the railing of the bridge; Campbell went to Harry, who was  crowded around his far with the jocks and Helena.

"What's going on?" Campbell hissed, pulling Harry off to the side. "You look ready to pass the fuck out."

Harry  just pointed. Campbell followed the line of sight. Trees. Trees had completely demolished the train tracks leading out of town. They just...  ended. Campbell went to turn back to Harry, and noticed the same thing  had happened to the road, too. He rubbed his eyes; maybe he was still  drunk, or someone had slipped him something. But no. It was like a wall  of forest.

Harry spoke, only just audible. "It's like that the  whole way around." He was breathing faster, his voice trembling faintly.  "We tried the internet, Bean tried to call 911. Nothing. There's no one  out there. We're trapped."

Campbell reached out, resting his  hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry leaned into the touch ever so slightly.  Adults and the younger kids, gone. The smell, gone. A natural barrier,  cutting them off from every escape route, and they were-- for the  moment-- alone. How? He couldn't fathom, but how didn't  exactly matter at the moment. What mattered was that this was reality.  Somehow, some way, they were going to have to survive it.

They were worse than trapped.

They were completely, truly, screwed.

[matildainmotion]

A Fairy Tale School, and A Chance to Change the Story

Once upon a time there was a very special school. It was the flagship Steiner school, the longest-running one in the UK, on the edge of a great forest. Let me tell you about it.

The grounds are stunning – great old oaks, rolling lawns, deer, a stream, an iron spring. The facilities are amazing – a big gym, a proper theatre, a huge vegetable garden, a carpentry workshop, even a forge where you can make a real sword which they showed us on the school tour, the jewellery, the axes and blades that students had made in the fire, like something straight out of a story. I could see my son, the proud owner of three lightsabres, being happy there. My husband and I are theatre-makers and writers: story is the stuff of our work, and here was an educational system with stories at its heart - fairy tales, fables, saints’ tales, Norse and Greek myths, shaping the curriculum.

So we went for it. Like many others we made momentous changes in order to bring our son, now aged 7, to this school, and in time my daughter too, now aged 2. My mother sold the family home after 55 years so that she could buy a small house in Forest Row where she and I and the children could live. My husband had to stay in London because of work – we’d see him at weekends and in the holidays. It would be hard but it was worth it, for the school. I have heard many similar tales – of people coming from much further afield than London, from Japan, from America so their children can come here.

To make such major changes people are following big dreams, high ideals, deeply held convictions. What are mine? I do not necessarily want ‘the best for my children’ – I think ‘best-ness’ is overrated. Coming from a family of highly powered Oxford academics I tried to be the best and get the best for many years and it left me in a mess. I want rather to give my children a good chance of coming out of school in one piece, whole, connected to themselves, to a community, not ready for the big wide world – that old narrative of adventure and conquest – but rather already in it, present in the world and ready to care for it and each other as well as they can in these uncertain times. Wholeness, community and connection, an ability to be vulnerable and to act from a place of integrity - those were the things I was after when we upped and moved ourselves here at the end of last summer, ready for the start of the new school year.

Very soon after our arrival on the edge of Ashdown Forest, full of hope, I was struck by the amount of cynicism I encountered. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised – where you find dreams that big, you are going to find disappointment on a similar scale. In the woods where Winnie the Pooh lives, there also dwells Eyeore: “Your son’s going to Michael Hall? Oh well, good luck with that – I hope he fares better than me, but I doubt he will,” – heavy sigh, returns to thistles and damp, lonely corner. The pessimism, juxtaposed with the optimistic dreams that also surround the school, have reminded me not only of Eyeore’s gloom but even a level up - the desperate, intractable situations found in many fairytales and myths: the most beautiful king’s daughter that has fallen terribly sick and cannot be cured; the monster that haunts the lands that were once full of wonder; the evil empire that is trying to take over the universe and kill off the amazing Jedi.

Meanwhile, sometimes all is well in the woods, the kingdom, the universe. Peace reigns. I have heard hopeful stories too. I was amazed and encouraged by how many parents are old scholars. I am much more used to the narrative of “I am never letting my child go through what I had to endure” than the story of “I had such a great time at school, I want the same for my little one.” My son was and is having a good time in class one. He is an intense lad, with big emotions and grand ideas, and so far the school have been very quick to respond to his needs and challenges. His teacher is wonderful and there is a gradually growing sense of community amongst the parents of the class. For all of this I am deeply grateful.

As far as I can tell, from the anecdotes I have gathered in the short time I have been here, the school is brilliant until it isn’t - until something goes wrong, until the monster/ sickness/ evil fairy turns up. I realize this is tautological – the problems begin when the problems begin – but problems will always show up, so the true problem is not the monster but how we respond to it. All too often our knee jerk response is to blame another, and with this ‘us’ and ‘them’-ness kicks in, the good guys and the baddies, the innocents and the guilty. First off, inside this story we are in, there is the parent body versus the school – ‘us’ being the parents and ‘them’ being the school - how the school does not listen and never changes. I have encountered the story the other way round too- the school versus the parents – the parents who are always complaining, ready to attack, but rarely listen, or turn up in low numbers when the school has tried to lay on an event in response to a parent request. I have also heard about internal ‘us’ and ‘them’ dynamics: the teachers versus the management and an iteration of the same story and Eyeore-like complaint, “They never listen. No one understands.”

I tried to learn more about the structure of the school and found it incredibly difficult. Even those who have apparently been here for many years could not easily explain to me how it actually operates. I gathered there were different elements- a council, trustees, an Education Management Team, teachers, office staff – but how these positions fitted together and ran everything remained mysterious, a kind of tangled thicket of roles growing around the mansion and keeping princes and parents from being able to break in and have any impact. I had come in quest of wholeness, connection, community, integrity and I was finding people who felt disempowered, fractured and stuck.

           In the absence of any head teacher, a hallmark of traditional Steiner schools, from the way people talked ‘The School’ had become in itself a kind of mythical authority figure, hard to reach and impossible to change. I like a challenge and I am not very good at cynicism (though I do a good line in imagining terrible happenings and did, in fact, identify with Eyeore as a child) so I joined the Parents Working Group (PWG) to see if I could make a positive contribution to the school. I had spent the first term feeling like a failure as a Steiner parent because I cannot sew to save my life, had to buy instead of make my son’s crayon roll and could be of very little help in crafting anything for the Advent Fair, so I figured I had better find another way to play my part in the school community.

           When I told people about the PWG and its aim to initiate and hold space for constructive dialogue with the school and support positive change, I was hit by a fresh wave of cynicism: “Ah, be careful the school will take all it can get from you, suck you dry and spit you out!”; “Well, good luck with that. You might make a small dent in its side but that’ll be it!” So there we have it – the school as the monster, the dragon that can devour you and that has such massive scaly flanks it can barely be dented, despite the beautiful swords that its pupils forge on its grounds. Or the school as an institution wrapped in creepers and thickets, under a heavy curse that cannot be lifted.

           Enter stage right a strange knight in heavy armour with clipboards for shields and a knife of regulation, an outsider, called Sir Ofsted - hero or villain? He rode from the city to the woods, slashed through the thickets, confronted the dragon, gave Sleeping Beauty an “Inadequate” kiss – blessing or further curse? - and lo and behold we all woke up. And, as in the original story, everyone woke up: the kings, the courtiers, the cooks and the gardeners, the parents, the teachers and the management. After 100 years of Steiner education we all have an amazing chance to wake up and decide what happens now, shape how the story unfolds from here. Let me pause at this cliff hanger to introduce a new strand of narrative.

           15 years ago my husband, Phelim McDermott, was feeling fed up. He works in theatre. He runs a company called Improbable, which makes big shows and tiny ones, with improvisation at their core. He had dedicated his whole life to theatre, he felt passionate about it, and he spent much of his time complaining about it. He was often angry about how it was carried out, about how people did not listen to each other and things did not change (notice the parallels to our other story). He was doubly fed up – frustrated by the ways things were done and frustrated by hearing himself moan about it but unable to do anything effective. He came across a book: Open Space Technology, A User’s Guide by Harrison Owen. It described a way for groups to self-organise around issues of shared concern, a way that was radically non-hierarchical, refreshingly playful, able to cut to the heart of complex situations really fast and allow truths to emerge and change to begin. He thought he would give it a go. It sounded like a good improvisation exercise. He followed the instructions in the book and wrote an invitation (step 1). He called it ‘Devoted and Disgruntled’ because that’s what he was feeling. It’s a good title and if I could I would steal it to use here at Michael Hall for all the many deeply devoted and disgruntled people whom I have met here. To his amazement and delight people responded to his invitation – about 200 people turned up (step 2). And it was incredible. Now, instead of the constant moaning, people were getting to work, fuelled by their passion and devotion, connecting, taking action, agreeing on change (step 3). 15 years later Devoted and Disgruntled has transformed the landscape of the performing arts in the UK. We have run literally hundreds of Open Space events under this banner, in every corner of the country and even overseas. We have an entire website dedicated to this great, unfolding conversation. Check it out: www.devotedanddisgruntled.com. Some people worry that it is ‘just’ a conversation, a talking shop – but almost all change starts with a conversation and an enormous number of actions have come out of our Open Spaces: shows made, companies formed, new initiatives, collaborations, even marriages (my own included) have emerged out of our events. It is an amazing practice, a brilliant tool – not a sword, but a circle, an open space.

           Having witnessed first hand the impact of opening space on the UK theatre scene, how it harnesses the devotion and helps to shift the disgruntlement, I want to bring it here, to our school, now in this moment more than ever. I think it holds the power of a forge – the hot, glowing place that can make hard things soft and malleable again, where change and transformation is possible. And yet it is beautifully simple. You send out an invite. (I have done this– it was in the last Friday Flier (You can read it here: http://www.michaelhall.co.uk/friday-flier) People who want to be there come along. We sit in a circle and a facilitator explains how it works – anyone who wants to call a session can do so, by writing the title on a piece of paper and putting it up on the wall. Together we co-create an agenda. Then we get to work and we follow the magical and yet entirely pragmatic ‘law of two feet’: you don’t stay where you don’t want to be, you follow yourself and go where your time and energy will be best used, and only you know where that is. This is the radical non-hierarchy of it – the fixed roles can fall away and a new fluidity is possible. Not ‘us’ and ‘them’ but me and you, listening to each other and having a conversation on an issue about which we both care deeply and on which we both want to act.

           There are many things that I am sure need to change within the school, but fundamentally, for me, the underlying shift that needs to happen is a cultural one. I think we need to start to model the sense of agency and possibility that I am sure we all hope the education is giving to our children. We need to wake up inside the story and notice how we are part of shaping it – we are not passive victims of a terrible curse from a wicked fairy or an evil dragon, or at least as well as playing the part of the victim, there are times when we also step into the role of the dragon, steam coming out of our ears, and curses falling out of our mouths. Notice these. And this fire, these strong words, whomever they come from – teacher, parent, manager - are not bad. They are potent, they are passionate and they are integral to our ability to bring about change.

When my son was in Kindergarten, at another Steiner school in London, he came home one day, in his first term, with a complaint. It was Michaelmas and they had been told a story about a dragon, “But the dragon didn’t do much! It wasn’t scary enough. They tamed it too quickly.” So there we have it. In opening space I don’t want to tame all the dragons. I want them to come. All of them. I want the dragons, I want the kings and the queens, the princes and princesses, I want the peasants, the wicked stepmothers, the caring fathers, the confounded leaders, wise teachers, the witches, the wolves. If you identify with any of these roles, please come. If I have left your role off the list please come and put it on there – make sure it is part of the story. Because right now we have an incredible opportunity to shape what happens next – this is in fact always true, but thanks to the dubious Sir Ofsted we just all managed to notice it.

I am not looking for a happy-ever-after ending. Or even an ‘outstanding-ever-after.’ I want what I wanted when I and my family decided to move here: I want connected-ever-after. Actually even ‘ever-after’ sounds like rather a high demand from which we might all come crashing down with a sense of failure. I will settle for connected-a-good-deal-of-the-time, whole as much as possible, in community through the rough and the smooth. What do you want? How do you wish your story and the school’s story to unfold from here? I am inviting you to come and tell me, and others. Because telling is the beginning of making. Making is the start of happening. The details of the dates and the times are here- http://www.michaelhall.co.uk/pwg- I look forward to seeing you there and to hearing your tales and those of others – the more diverse the better - and to us creating a new one together.

[do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them]

On the Other Side / Ch14: Heroes’ Gym Class

Last / Masterpost / Next

Summary: For the past thirteen years, a secretive organization has been raising two groups of superpowered children. Half of them, since their very first memories, have been told they’ll grow up to be brave and strong superheroes; the rest were taught a much harsher view of the world, and groomed to become villains. Neither group knows of the other’s existence. But when a certain trio of heroes-to-be meets two future villains who really just want to be left alone, they all realize how much they haven’t been told.

Warnings: non-graphic violence, bullying, child abuse, sympathetic/good Deceit (Devon) is a main character

A/N: yikes it's been a while uh. did not mean to take a 2 month hiatus but here we are. probably gonna start updating again? maybe? maybe not every week though, like every other week or something, cause that schedule was sort of burning me out and that was probably the reason it took so long to get back into it. we'll see

Read on AO3

Although nothing felt even remotely normal at this point, the trio still needed to return to school and act as though it were.  Fortunately for them, there were only a couple of things left in the school day now that free time was over.  Less fortunately, one of those things on this particular day happened to be working with their powers in the specially designed gym, and that required a lot of focus. When they caught up with the rest of their classmates, the excited chatter was building to a crescendo as everyone waited for the doors to be unlocked.  The three of them, however, were unusually quiet.

“At least this class can be fun sometimes,” Patton offered, trying to get in the spirit.  Neither of them really responded, although Roman shrugged and nodded his head a bit.

After a minute or two of waiting, the gym teacher Mr. Jacobs arrived, pushing through a sea of children to open the doors.  “Settle down, kids,” he called over the general ruckus.  Eventually, they stopped running around and chatting to each other and listened.  “Good. Now, spread out and find a spot not too close to anybody else, and wait for me to come by and tell you what you’re working on today.  Do not start until I tell you,” he reminded them.

The children scattered without issue, save for the occasional argument over who was in a particular area first.  The floor was divided up into large grid squares.  Once everyone had claimed one, Mr. Jacobs flipped a switch on the wall and barriers of light sprang up along the grid, ensuring that no one’s powers would directly affect anything outside their own square.  It didn’t contain the kids themselves—if it had, it would’ve also prevented the teacher from walking around to check on them—but it would keep them from accidentally injuring each other.  Well, mostly. There was the occasional “oops, threw something across the room with my powers and hit someone” incident.  They were working on it.

The trio, of course, ran to claim three adjacent squares.  Patton went ahead and sat down on the floor, since he already knew he would be practicing the same meditation exercises he’d been doing for the past few weeks.  …He’d get it eventually.  To be fair, they didn’t have this class every day; often it was the regular sort of gym, with the exercise and kickball and such. Still, no one else had to stay on the same thing this long.  His situation was a bit unusual, since his powers were based in his emotional state and happened to him more than he controlled them.

It wasn’t long before Mr. Jacobs made his way over to their corner, to give Logan and Roman their instructions and… mostly just encourage Patton, since he had the general concept down at this point.  Roman was extremely disappointed to learn that, rather than getting to play with the extent of his powers and what he could form with them, he was being relegated to a side-room to turn the lights out and practice making his own.  That was his least favorite!  It wasn’t dark enough to creep him out, but it was no fun and he wasn’t any good at it.  Why were his teachers always making him practice things he wasn’t even good at? It was so unfair.  While he sulked away, his complaints growing distant, Mr. Jacobs explained Logan’s task.

He thought it sounded fairly simple, at first.  He was to work on his ability to transport things from one place to another without literally teleporting them—the reason being, things that were alive wouldn’t take that kind of treatment in stride quite as well as the inanimate objects he practiced on.  To avoid any unwanted outcomes, Logan needed to learn a more indirect method: manipulating the air surrounding the thing he was trying to move.  This ability would be invaluable if he ever needed to, say, get people to a safer location when he grew up and became a superhero.  For practice he’d been given a foam ball of the type school gyms everywhere have in surplus, presumably because it wouldn’t hurt much if he were to “yeet” it into someone’s face.  He frowned at it for a minute, trying to visualize the way the air molecules would need to move in order to lift it without throwing it against the ceiling. He didn’t want to embarrass himself on the first try, especially right in front of Patton.  He’d probably find it hilarious and then Logan would never be able to forget about it.

As it turned out, the aforementioned Patton wasn’t likely to notice anything Logan did, because he was too busy sitting with his eyes closed and trying very, very hard to be relaxed.  He’d been given a small container of mulch from outside, as it had been deemed the easiest earth-element-related thing to clean up, and every once in a while (every ten seconds, more like) he would peek to see if he was “grounded” enough to affect it yet.  Thus far, nothing.  He thought it moved for a second at one point, but he’d actually just gotten fidgety and bumped the container with his foot.  He sighed and closed his eyes again, trying to suppress his frustration with the fact that it wasn’t working so it could start.

Roman groaned and slumped in his chair.  He hated this.  Glaring at his hands, he tried his best to produce light, but all he got was a few sparks.  He tried to count them before they disappeared—maybe it was at least a bigger mini-explosion than last time?  No… no, not really.  Better keep trying.  He was getting a little bit of a headache, and his teachers always told him that meant he ought to stop and rest, but how was he going to master it if he stopped practicing?  Adults didn’t know everything, after all.

The hour went by quickly and painfully slowly at the same time, somehow, as the kids concentrated on their respective tasks.  By the time they were given a ten-minute warning, most of them were at least making progress.  Logan, for example, was beginning to get the hang of pushing his ball around in the air, and although it was quite wobbly, he at least hadn’t knocked his own glasses off with it after the first couple of times.  Roman was having less success.  After a long and disappointing mini-fireworks display, he finally managed to produce a tiny ball of light, less than two inches wide.  He held it carefully in one hand and improvised a little victory dance with his other arm.  When he’d composed  himself, he went to shape it into something—a lightning bug, possibly; that would be cool. He didn’t make it far enough to find out, though.  The second he touched it, it exploded into a shower of sparks.  Roman slumped even further than he’d originally been, until he slid right out of his chair and onto the floor.  It was clear to him that he simply wasn’t meant to succeed today.

Back in the main room, Patton opened his eyes once again and looked at his mulch.  It was stubbornly refusing to move, or… do anything, period. To be fair, that was how mulch normally acted—or rather, failed to act—but in this particular moment he wished it were a little more energetic.  It would be nice of it to meet him in the middle here, was all he was saying.  He glanced over at Logan, who was doing great, because of course he was, he always did great. Patton was happy for him!  He was so smart, figuring everything out right away like that.  Logan would never be stuck on the same stupid task for weeks at a time…

He looked at his mulch again.  It burst into flames.

Luckily, it was similarly easy to make it stop being on fire when he realized what a problem that was, and by then it was time to clean up whatever needed cleaning up and move on.  The last class of the day was art.  Whether it was normal gym or the superpowered kind, nobody wanted to leave a bunch of children all hyped up from it afterward, and a nice calming activity was ideal.  At the moment they were working on making little animals out of clay.  Logan could cheat at this if he so chose, but he tried not to, since he knew the purpose of the class was to learn to do it normally and he certainly wasn’t very good at that right now.  And he needed to become good at it, because otherwise Roman would never stop bringing up how he was better than him. Patton, for his part, didn’t notice any of that and just wanted to make cats.

Once school was finally over—and under the circumstances, it seemed to take far longer than usual—the boys headed to their room.  Dinner was in a few hours, but until then they could do whatever they wanted. Right now, they wanted to stop having to pretend nothing weird was going on, and also their guests would start to worry if they didn’t come back right away.

Speaking of said guests, they were having some sort of discussion when the trio returned, but as soon as the door opened they fell silent.  Their resident empath was a little worried by the somber atmosphere, but then Roman was flopping in the middle of the floor and beginning the story of how the rest of their day had gone, and he soon forgot about it before he could find an opportunity to ask.  It was probably for the best, really.  They could all use a nice, relaxing evening or so of not focusing on anything too serious, at least until Thomas wanted to talk about it again.

[sonicrainicorn]

Made of Love, Chapter 16

<< Previous|Next >>

Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: W͏̤ę̫̙̥̜̹̘͔l͉̳̪͕̥̭c̘̰̟o̙͉͕̰m͏̼̪̥͈͔̦ͅe̞̼͍͡ ͉̦͔͉̤t̵̺̗̹o ̹̻̝͚̞̠͉t̩he ͏͚̜̤p͕a͉̝n̡͚̯i̮̪̟c̭̟̘ ҉̯̤̼̥̥r̫͓͙̼o̲̮̤̜̝͉̼om͇͍̗.

TW: Cursing, stabbing

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

Virgil slept well passed one o’clock. In his defense, he needed the rest. Also, he hated mornings. He still felt tired when he woke up, but at least it was at a level he could manage. He stared up at the ceiling for several minutes before deciding to get out of bed. He trudged down the hall to see three faces he knew well. It was odd how quickly he had gotten used to living in a house with four other dorks.

Roman and Thomas sat on the floor at the coffee table playing some sort of card game. Maybe it was Speed. Virgil was too sleepy to pay attention to it. Logan was sitting with his legs crossed on the couch, scribbling into the notebook on his lap. Patton was most likely outside. The TV played mindless background noise.

Virgil plopped onto the armchair without a word. No one paid him any mind. It was nice; things felt normal. As if this was just a regular day with friends. If your friends happened to consist of two people who are sometimes one person, a ninety-four-year-old child, and a photographer who is way too into fantasy, that is. So, maybe Virgil wouldn’t say that “regular” fit in with this group in particular.

“Dammit,” Roman’s complaint was almost covered by Thomas’s cheer. When Virgil looked, he saw Thomas with an empty hand and Roman holding onto one card.

“You were pretty close that time,” Thomas teased. He pushed himself off the floor to wander over to the kitchen.

Roman frowned and started gathering all the cards into a single deck. “I’m going to call bullshit because Speed has been around since the 40s at least, and you’ve had the advantage of being around at that time.”

“Hey, just because I’m old doesn’t mean you can use it to justify your crummy gameplay.”

Virgil snorted. “He’s got you there.”

Roman threw a card at him. “No one asked you.”

Virgil retaliated by keeping the card.

Thomas came back in with a bowl of grapes and took a seat beside Logan to stay out of the rather immature fight going on. Virgil stretched to keep the card out of Roman's reach and kept going farther the closer he got to it. As long as Thomas didn't have to deal with it, he was fine. He munched on grapes as he watched the scene unfold. They were like two school children whose whole relationship was based on bullying each other. It often led to random entertaining moments such as this.

He glanced over to Logan and almost choked on a grape. “Holy cow.” He set the bowl down on the coffee table while placing a hand over his mouth. “How long have you been able to draw?” He had always been under the impression that Logan used his notebook to write in, not create literal works of art.

Logan stopped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pressed the notebook to his chest to hide the pages from view.

Roman snatched the card from Virgil’s hand and placed it in the deck. They stuck their tongue out at each other.

“Let me see it.” Thomas moved to sit on his legs and face Logan. He held out his hands expectantly.

“I think not.”

“Oh, c’mon. Please?” He gave his best pout and puppy eyes.

Logan wasn’t phased. “No.”

Thomas huffed and slouched his shoulders. “That always works on Virgil.”

“What?” Virgil stopped messing with Roman to pay attention to the separate conversation going on.

“Oh, nothing.” Thomas gave him a charming smile.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Thomas just wishes to see things that are none of his business.”

“It’s not gonna hurt anyone if you let me take a little peek.” He crossed his arms. “What’s so wrong about knowing how to draw?”

“That isn’t the issue.”

“Aw, you’re embarrassed,” Roman commented without even needing to look up.

Despite his scowl, Logan’s cheeks turned a soft pink color. “I am not. I just don’t see the point on how this is so interesting.”

“If you don’t see the point then why not let me take a gander at it?” Thomas blinked innocently at him.

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what? I’m just -- here.” He handed the notebook over. “I don’t know where you learned to be so stubborn.”

“Gee, I wonder.” He began to look through it. And he may or may not have held it out a bit so Roman and Virgil could peek over his shoulders to see. “It’s not like Picani practically raised me or any -- oh my God. These are the prettiest things I’ve ever seen in my life. How long were you planning to keep this a secret?”

"I have no idea what you mean."

Every page Thomas flipped to had a beautifully inked drawing. A realistic yet scratchy style that seemed very unique to Logan. There were many different subjects. Some inanimate, some real. Even a few that extended across two pages. They were very detailed and intricate for something done in a few days. So far, Thomas’s favorite had to be the one with the little fluffy bird. He knew for a fact Patton had a part to play in that. That man had a scary good way with handling animals.

“Is that Kilgarah?” Virgil pointed at the page with a roughly sketched dragon. A sly smile spread across his lips. “I thought you weren’t interested in Merlin.”

“I never explicitly said that.” Logan crossed his arms as his face turned a brighter pink.

“Well, it looks great.” Roman grinned. “You should do little Aithusa next.”

“I’m just -- I’m really blown away by this.” Thomas couldn’t stop gazing at every illustration in amazement. “How did you manage to trace all your lines so well?”

“I didn’t.”

Thomas lifted his gaze up to Logan. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I didn’t trace anything.”

He gaped at him for a moment. “Shut up. You had to have traced this.” His wonder only grew when Logan continued to deny it. “No freaking way. You free-handed all of these? In pen?” That sounded impossible to Thomas. Free-handing in pencil seemed a little more believable since there was a chance to erase mistakes, but there weren’t any second chances with pen.

Logan didn’t seem to understand Thomas’s astonishment. “Is that difficult?”

Too many words tried to get out of Thomas’s mouth at once. How in the hell did Logan not see anything impossible about that? “Uh, yeah it’s difficult. It’s really difficult. Have you ever even tried to use a pencil first?”

“I’ve never drawn with a pencil before.”

Thomas almost choked on air. “You’re over seven hundred years old and you’ve never drawn with a pencil before?”

“You’re seven hundred years old?” Virgil and Roman asked over each other, though Roman’s came out sounding similar to a screech.

Logan sent a glare Thomas’s way, who in turn raised the notebook to hide his mouth from view. “Yes, I am,” Logan continued. “But that’s hardly relevant to this discussion. And, Thomas, if you must know, pencils as you know them are a fairly modern invention. It was common to use ink."

"What'd you do before ink?" Thomas lowered the notebook a bit. He knew for a fact that ink would have been impossible for Logan to come by during his childhood.

"I, uh, I would burn shapes into wood." He traced a shape in the air with his finger as if to demonstrate. "Fallen wood, mind you. Patton might have killed me if I burned anything into a tree."

"Okay, that's great, but can we please go back to the part where you're seven hundred?" Roman asked. "I think I still need to wrap my head around it."

"You told them without me?" Patton complained as he stepped into the living room with a pout. "I wanted to be there for it."

"I didn't tell them. Thomas blurted it out."

Thomas chuckled nervously, raising the notebook back again. "Sorry."

Patton slipped into a smile and stepped forward to ruffle Thomas's hair. "Don't worry about it, son. Sometimes that just happens."

"I'm not your son," he mumbled under his breath.

"What year were you both born?" Virgil decided to ask.

Patton shrugged while Logan answered, "No idea. I had it narrowed down to some time in the fourteenth century, but I'm unsure of any exact years or dates."

"I was born in the winter," Patton added. "But I don't really know how to translate the date into something that makes sense for a modern, human calendar."

"What is it in a past, non-human calendar?" Roman questioned.

"Treto cheizmon tin pepti daméra naká punpó mjeslino."

Instinctively, the other three turned to Logan for a translation. "I have no idea how that would translate, either," he admitted. "It's not exactly a numerical date. It’s just kind of a statement."

“Alright. Well now that I know how old you are, I have at least a hundred questions I would love for you to answer.”

As Roman buzzed along with questions, Virgil pulled Thomas away for a private conversation. He made sure to lower his voice before speaking, “Did you tell them?”

“Oh, uh,” Thomas messed with the pages in Logan’s notebook, “I was kind of working up the courage?”

“I was knocked out for almost six hours.”

“Okay, so I might have forgotten about it a little.” He cringed a bit. “I just don’t know how to say it.”

Virgil sighed. “I don’t wanna put you on a time limit, kid, but maybe you should tell them sooner rather than later. Like today.”

Thomas continued to fidget with the pages. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Fine.”

He blinked in surprise as if he didn’t expect that to work. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it right now.” He walked over to the other three without another moment’s hesitation. “Alright guys, I hate to interrupt the twenty questions, but I have something really important to say.” He waited until he had their attention before continuing. “Last night I had someone tell me where Altair is. And this morning, Thomas and I double-checked with Joan and Talyn to see if it was reliable.”

“And?” Patton pried, clearly eager to hear some good news.

“It’s highly likely that it is.”

And then Patton lit up. He smiled so wide that literal sunshine seemed dull in comparison. It made Virgil feel ten times lighter and caused a little smile of his own to come out. “That’s amazing. We’re so close to fixing all of this.”

“There’s still the issue on what we’re going to do,” Logan pointed out. He seemed to be going over several different scenarios in his head already.

“You have us,” Thomas said.

Logan paused. “I certainly hope by ‘us’ you mean Roman and Virgil, and not that you’re implying you’ll be coming along.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Thomas poured all his attention into the notebook in his hands. "I figured I could help in order to make up for mistakes one might have made prior.”

A grimace flicked across both Logan’s and Patton’s faces as if a foul memory flashed in their minds for a second. “That isn’t the exact issue,” Logan continued. “You’re still a child. You have very little experience in fighting.”

“Logan’s right,” Patton added. “This could be very dangerous. I wouldn’t even want Roman and Virgil to get involved, but I don’t really think we have much of a choice. We don’t exactly have anyone else to ask.”

"But I can help."

"Maybe you should listen to them," Virgil muttered. He ignored Thomas's shocked expression to continue, "it would be a lot safer if you stayed here." The Theorist’s words were loud and clear: something would happen to Thomas if he went. And Virgil couldn’t allow that.

Thomas frowned down at the notebook. It took all of Virgil’s willpower to not take back anything upon seeing that expression.

“Why not give him a chance?” Roman spoke up. “Who knows? We might need an extra pair of hands.”

Neither Patton nor Logan seemed all that convinced, to which Virgil let out a silent breath of relief for. As long as one of them didn’t change their mind then everything would be good. It was almost as if they shared the same brain; if one of them thought differently, then the other could be swayed to think the same way.

“I promise I won’t get in the way this time. Please.” Thomas gave them a genuine plea.

Virgil glanced nervously over to Patton and Logan. He couldn’t say any more about this. It would be their decision in the end. He knew, if he wanted, he could tell them about the possibility of Thomas getting hurt if he went. But he was pretty sure he’d seen enough movies and read enough novels to know that telling someone the future was a surefire way to make it come true.

“It’s still dangerous,” Patton said. “At least Roman and Virgil know how to use weapons and are capable of defending themselves. But you…” He trailed off.

“I can’t just stay back and watch --” Virgil caught sight of Logan’s reaction to that. A spark of recognition. Words that were familiar and held a specific weight -- “at least give me a second chance. Some way to show you that I can do this. Please. I know I can do this if you just let me.”

“I don’t --”

“Okay,” Logan cut off in a steady voice.

“What?” Patton and Virgil stared at him in disbelief.

“Really?” Thomas beamed. “Oh, thank you so much, Logan.” He rushed over to give him a hug.

Virgil didn’t know how he could have interjected without sounding like an asshole. He didn’t want Thomas to come along for fear of something terrible happening, but he couldn’t downright say that. Maybe he should have said something when he had the chance.

“Uh, you sure about this, Lo?” Patton wrung his hands. It seemed Virgil wasn’t the only one nervous about it.

“Just trust me on this one.”

And that’s all it took for Thomas to tag along.

They elected to go the next night in order to be better prepared. And boy, oh boy, if that wasn’t agonizing for Virgil. Every second that ticked by felt like hell. He didn’t know what to do. At this point, it wasn’t avoidable. He just had to keep an extra eye on Thomas throughout this whole excursion. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already.

The building, as it turned out, used to be an old shopping place. It had a vast parking lot full of litter and faded paint. The big, blocky letters that were once attached to the front were long gone and were instead replaced by faded outlines. Who knew how long this one had been abandoned for. Virgil didn’t even recognize the name.

Unfortunately, the inside was no better. Trash covered much of the floor. Some displays and shelves were still left untouched -- somehow managing to make things that much more creepy. An old, musty smell wafted in from all corners of the building. It was kind of disgusting.

“It’s so creepy,” Thomas commented as he huddled into his jacket. He stayed near Roman, as he was the closest person with a light source. “Did it have to be another abandoned place? It couldn’t have been like a park or something?”

Virgil felt that on a spiritual level. But this place didn’t seem as death-trappy as the manufacturing plant. It actually seemed like they had a chance at escaping this without dying.

“Calm down, Virgil Jr., I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Roman teased.

Thomas grumbled but his words couldn’t be made out clearly.

“Both of you -- be quiet,” Logan snapped. “We’re here for a reason and it isn’t going to help if you keep blabbering.”

They muttered apologies.

“I could always add a little extra light, Lo,” Patton whispered. If Virgil wasn’t so close he might not have heard it.

“Now is not the time, Patton.”

Patton frowned and fell out of step.

Interesting.

The group continued to wander around in near silence. Virgil and Logan kept at the front with their lights. No one had any idea of where to start. There wasn’t any evidence of anyone being here at all. But, as Virgil has learned the hard way, looks could be deceiving. Every turn caused more uneasiness to grow within the group. They had to find someone -- anyone. They couldn’t have made this trip for no reason.

And yet the deeper they got, with no sign of anyone appearing, a sick feeling began to swirl in Virgil’s stomach. Something was off. He couldn’t tell what, but it was something. It didn’t have anything to do with the building, either. No. This was… this was like dread. A deeply-rooted dread that might as well have always been with him. But he didn’t know what could be causing it. Maybe he was being paranoid.

“What the hell?”

A deep chill rooted Virgil to the spot. He could barely manage to turn enough to see Roman, who was looking off toward the side at something. Except nothing was there. Just a makeshift aisle with nothing in between. Nothing at the end. Nothing that should have caused that tone in his voice. And yet it somehow managed to make Virgil feel more uneasy.

“Roman?” Thomas tugged on Roman’s sleeve to grab his attention.

But Roman didn’t pay him any mind. He continued to stare in confusion and horror. “M-Mother? How are -- how did --?”

“What’s happening?” Thomas turned to Logan and Patton for an answer.

Logan frowned a bit. “Roman,” he walked over to him, “if you’re seeing something, it’s not there. There isn’t anyone here but the five of us.”

Thomas lifted his hand and waved it in front of his eyes. There wasn’t a reaction. “I don’t think that’s a good sign.” He gave Logan a worried glance.

“Neither do I.” Logan’s frown deepened.

Virgil wanted to ask if they had any ideas, but the words never got to take form. Patton’s frantic voice sounded before he could even open his mouth.

“Logan?!”

Immediately, Logan returned to his side. “Patton?” He grabbed his outstretched hand. “What’s wrong? Are you seeing something?”

“There’s -- I -- I can’t tell.” He put his other hand over Logan’s. “Too many things are happening. I don’t -- I don’t know what’s real. I can’t tell. Logan,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “why are you leaving?”

Logan stared at him in bewilderment. “I’m not. Patton, I’m right here.”

“Come back. Please. You can’t leave. You can’t…”

“Patton. Patton, I’m not going anywhere.” He shook his shoulder. “Patton.” But he didn’t get a response.

“I think he’s gone, too,” Virgil murmured.

Logan sighed and faced the other two. “I don’t have an answer to what’s going on, but just know that whatever you see -- if you start to see it -- is not real. No one is here but us.”

“What should we do?” Thomas hovered at Virgil’s side.

For once, Virgil could see right through Logan. He didn’t know. He was just as lost as them. “Until we figure out what’s causing this we can’t exactly do anything. So before we even think about fixing it we have to find --” He cut himself off with a sharp gasp. The phone in his hand clattered to the floor. “You.” He took a tiny step back, wide eyes never leaving the empty spot between Virgil and Thomas. “No. No, you’re not real.” He turned away from whatever he was seeing.

Uh oh.

“Shut up. You’re not real.” He covered his ears. “I’m not there. I’m -- I -- you can’t be here.”

Virgil had an awful feeling that the battle was being lost. “Logan, don’t believe it. You’re right -- it’s not there. You’re here with us.”

“You can’t stay. You have to leave.” Virgil couldn’t tell if he was talking to his hallucination or not. “You can’t stay.”

“Logan?” Thomas called in concern.

He didn’t get a response.

“What are we supposed to do?” He turned to Virgil. “Why is this happening to them? What are they seeing?”

“I, I don’t know.” He truly didn’t. “But we can’t fall into it. We have to figure out what’s going on.” He put his hands on Thomas’s shoulders, careful to mind his phone. “Focus on right here and now, okay? We’re the only two left.” That wasn’t stressful or anything.

“Okay.”

Virgil could tell he was frightened. Hell, he was too. The people around them were falling prey to hallucinations and so far there didn’t seem to be any coming back from it. Or any avoiding it for that matter. There was no telling what they were seeing or why, but it was clear that they weren’t seeing the same thing. Perhaps they saw something specific to them.

And then Thomas’s attention drifted away for a moment.

“Kid.” Virgil found himself squeezing his shoulder. “Did you just see something?”

“N-no.” Despite this, his eyes flicked away. As if to make sure something was still there.

“If I find out you’re lying to me I’m not going to be very happy.” Probably not the best thing to say to a child you’ve yelled at before about such an issue, but he couldn’t help it. He was trying his best to maintain some semblance of control.

“He’s not real. I know he isn’t.”

Virgil watched as Thomas tried to peer around him to see something. Someone. Only to return back to ignoring it with a more panicked expression.

Getting desperate, Virgil grabbed Thomas’s face with one hand and forced him to look him in the eyes. “Focus on me. There’s only five of us in this room, alright? No one else is here. And right now, you’re talking to me. I’m right here. I’m real and I’m in front of you. Whoever you think you see isn’t really there.”

“Y-yeah, okay.” He nodded as best as he could with Virgil holding onto his face. But with a gasp and wide eyes, he tore himself away. He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Virgil furrowed his brows. “Thomas?”

“You can’t tell anyone. I never should have said anything. Please don’t tell anyone.” He continued to beg to someone that wasn’t really there.

Fuck. Okay, this wasn’t good. This was the exact opposite of good. What the hell was Virgil supposed to do now? He tried to grab everyone’s attention -- just one more time -- but no one responded to him. It’s like he wasn’t even there at all.

Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Step one: don’t freak out. Well, don’t freak out any more than he already was. Step two: find what’s causing this. As long as Virgil wasn’t seeing anything then he was the only one who could find the source. It could be anything -- anyone. He didn’t know shit about magic. But he had a feeling he’d know it when he’d see it.

If he could see it.

Oh, God, what if he couldn’t see it? What if he walked right past it? What if it was invisible? What if it could only be seen by someone with magic? Or, worse yet, what if it was a curse? How would he reverse it? Curses never came with clear instructions!

A chill crawled down his back -- almost like an icy finger running down his spine. It forced him to shudder. The space around him started to dim. As if a shadow had been thrown over the surrounding area to the point where he couldn’t see anyone else. Not even his light illuminated anything.

Alright, this was not helping his situation. What the fuck.

He tried to keep his breathing under control. That was the one thing he had control over. He could manage that, at least. He could focus on that. Just breathe. Breathing is good. In. Hold it. Out. In. Hold it. Out. In -- hold on a minute.

Out in the shadows, something started to move. Someone? They took a step forward. Virgil took one back. The process repeated until a full person could be seen. And… they looked a lot like Virgil. An uncanny resemblance -- a copy. Except this version of Virgil had dark shadows under his eyes. His clothing lacked any sort of color and he looked downright unimpressed.

“It’s funny,” he spoke, but his voice didn’t sound all that human. It carried Virgil’s cadence but with layers in lower octaves, “that this is the one thing you fear the most.” He motioned to himself. “You’re nothing impressive. Nothing about you is threatening. Your friends are a lot more interesting, I think.” He looked out into the shadows as if he could see where everyone was exactly.

Virgil let out a silent breath. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Here was this doppelganger talking to him as if he already knew what was going on. He wasn’t sure if he should be terrified or confused. Yet he somehow felt both.

The doppelganger continued. “There are so many regrets. It’s almost palpable. Things they wished they could have said, things they wished they didn’t say. There’s so much of it. And it’s honestly ridiculous. Is this how people live their lives? With constant regrets? There’s so much of it in here. Far too many lifetimes.”

What…?

“It doesn’t make any differences to me, though. Whether it’s the childhood Thomas lost, or the family Logan ran away from, it’s all the same.” His eyes turned over to Virgil. “It makes them miserable. I don’t think they like being reminded of it all, and yet it’s funny to watch them squirm.”

Virgil’s fear flew right out the window. This thing was messing with everyone. He spoke about them like they were new toys. “What are you doing to them?” He broke free of his instincts and stepped up to his clone.

He continued to get that unimpressed look. “Do you mind putting that thing away?” He pushed the phone down with a finger. “I’m not exactly partial to the light. And I don’t think you want to anger me.”

Virgil glared at him but did as he asked. As he shoved it into his pocket, it came into contact with something. A pen. He slipped it out without a second thought.

The other Virgil raised a brow.

“What?” He twirled it around his fingers. “It’s just a pen.” He clicked it and the ballpoint tip poked out. He suppressed a smirk. “Am I allowed to have this out or are you not partial to these, either?” He clicked it again to continue twirling it.

The other Virgil scowled. “I could care less.”

“Great.”

“What is it with humans and the need to be insufferable?” He began to pace around Virgil. “You’re all like flies. There are other things that are stronger and better than you, yet you are always everywhere no matter how those things try to get rid of you. Yet in the blink of an eye, you’re gone. And you leave new flies in your place.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “What are you?”

The other Virgil paused for a moment. “There are many names for someone like me. Many have called me a demon, others only think I’m a shadow. I believe you would have known me,” he appeared to think about it, “as the boogeyman.”

Virgil tried to ignore how the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He had no reason to doubt his clone wasn’t telling the truth.

Other Virgil stood right in front of him again. His eyes gazed over every aspect of Virgil’s person. It made him feel oddly exposed. “Why you?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Virgil shot back without thinking.

“I’m well aware.” He eyed Virgil once more, then sneered.

Wow, rude. “Alright, I don’t really care about you or what you think of my kind, but I would like it if you fucked off.”

He quirked a brow. Some semblance of interest crossed his features. “What’s making you so bold?” He took a step toward Virgil. “You’re the timid one. You second guess all your moves and think long before you act.”

Virgil stopped messing with the pen. “Well, for one, you’re wearing my face. So I’ve already lost all respect for you. And you’re messing with my friends. No amount of fear is going to stop me from saving them.”

The other Virgil didn’t respond. He simply stared. Like a cat that observes a moving toy before deciding to pounce.

“Why is it not affecting me?” Virgil had to keep the conversation moving. “If you find me so boring why let me be free from it?”

“How do you know that you are?” A smirk slid across his lips. “What makes you so certain that this is even happening at all?” He walked passed Virgil. “You can’t possibly believe that out of everyone, you were the sole person to be unaffected --” Virgil’s stomach did a flip -- “there's two powerful Magi, another one that can barely hold that title, and a human that’s just better than you in general.”

Alright, this dude was getting the name Anxiety for being an asshole. Also for being scarily accurate to Virgil’s own thoughts.

“If they couldn’t avoid it, how could you? There’s nothing special about you.” Virgil shifted to look at him. “You’re just a human -- and not even a good one. You fail at everything you try to do, and you think you have the ability to save someone? Don’t you think that if it was that easy Logan and Patton would have done it by now?” Anxiety looked Virgil right in the eye. He didn’t seem as intimidating before as he did now. “But they haven’t. So suddenly you think you can do things that not even magical creatures can do.”

“Someone has to,” Virgil mumbled.

Anxiety laughed. A sharp sound that echoed off nonexistent walls. “And that someone is you? Just look at you.” He threw a hand out to emphasize Virgil’s appearance. “Is this what a hero looks like?”

Virgil sunk into his hoodie. It felt too big now. None of his clothes fit right. He was standing out against the shadows. There were eyes looking at him -- judging him. He couldn’t make himself any smaller.

“And look at them.” Anxiety turned around and swept a hand out. As he did so, the shadows seeped away to reveal Virgil’s friends. They looked even more distressed than the last time he saw them. Anxiety glanced back at him. “Think you can fix this? Can you change anything about this at all?”

He…

“Can you?” Anxiety's voice boomed. His eyes changed -- shadows started to creep into them until they were filled with pitch black. In an almost immediate reaction, the others cried out in various levels of distress. They lowered themselves to the floor with a different reaction to what they saw. Thomas curled in on himself, breath hitching. Roman stayed surprisingly still and silent. Patton’s hands flew to cover his mouth. Logan’s hands curled in his hair with his eyes shut tight.

“Stop it.” It came out at a whisper. “Stop.” He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t look anymore. “Just -- just stop. Why are you doing this?”

Anxiety’s eyes returned to normal. “You think you five were my first choice? I have better things to do with my time than mess around here, but a contract is a contract and I am bound to complete it. No one is happy with this, trust me.” He put his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Contract?” Virgil furrowed his brows. “What contract? For who?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Virgil ignored how cold his limbs got. This wasn’t ideal. A literal boogeyman had them all trapped because someone wanted him to. What was the right way to go about this?

“But you -- why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

Anxiety rolled his eyes. “You’re afraid of everything. So why are you here? With them.” He motioned to the others. “I know for a fact that you would rather have your old life back. Even if it meant you never got to meet Thomas. So why do you continue to come back to them?”

“I have to --”

“You have to? You don’t have to do anything. You could very well go on your own way and they wouldn’t do a thing to stop you.” He started walking toward the others. “Is it because you’re scared of them? Of what they can do?” He put his hands on Patton and Logan’s heads. They shuddered in response. “Ooh, if you only knew the secrets they have buried -- you’d be terrified. Would you like to learn some?”

Virgil couldn’t open his mouth.

“Do you want to know how many people Patton has killed? What about what Logan had to do to survive?” Another smirk began to crawl onto his face. “I could tell you all of their darkest fears -- every one of their secrets. I know how much you hate those.” He moved over to Thomas. “What about this one? The little boy who’s still scared of the dark. And we don’t even have time to unpack the mess of that one.” He pointed to Roman. “What do you think? Just because I’m forced to be here doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”

How in the hell was he supposed to respond to that? His friends’ secrets were theirs to keep. If they wanted to say it in their own time then they would. There was no way in hell he’d make that mistake again.

Anxiety crossed his arms. “There’s no way you can lie to me, Virgil. I’m inside your head -- I’m in theirs too. I could tell you what each of them is seeing if you wanted. It’s some juicy stuff if you ask me.”

“I don’t want to know. Keep it to yourself.”

Anxiety gave a mock pout. “Aw, you’re hurting my feelings.” He fell back into his unamused glare. “Face it, Virgil, you don’t want to know because you’re scared of what will happen if you find out. You’d rather be ignorant to their crimes and go on believing that they’re all innocent little angels. Well, they’re not as innocent as they seem.” He moved around Thomas. “You have a right to fear them.” He began walking back over to Virgil.

Virgil held his ground. He couldn’t let himself fall for any of his tricks.

“Do you want to know why Patton and Logan won’t talk about their human friend? What was his name…?” He paused to think about it. “Remy. That’s what they called him, at least. There’s a very good reason they wouldn’t want you to know.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?” Anxiety looked personally offended. “You have a right to know. Why would a close friend of theirs suddenly fall off the face of the Earth?” He shrugged. “Personally, I don’t know why Magi like them would even entertain the idea of befriending humans. Seems like tedious work. Especially when they die.” He sucked air through his teeth. “It must hurt even more when it’s your own fault.”

Virgil didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Anxiety continued on anyway. “He was their best friend for such a long time. Right up until the end. Unfortunately, he met that end a little sooner than he should have. He was right around your age actually.” He tapped Virgil’s chest with a finger. “Just something to consider.”

“Do you have a point?” He needed to act like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t cause millions of questions to stir in his brain or cause his hands to feel clammy.

“Oh, yes, the point.” He smirked. “The reason they wouldn’t want you to know. Well, it’s simple really.” He shrugged again as if the answer should have been obvious. “It’s all their fault. Why would they want you to know about them getting their best friend killed? It’s frowned upon to kill your pets, you know.”

Virgil frowned. “You’re lying to me.”

“Me? Lie?” He put a hand to his chest in offense. “I just told you that I’m inside their heads. I can see everything that they do. And I’m telling you, with full honesty, that Remy is their biggest regret. Emile Picani regrets killing his friend, Remy Magada.”

“You -- I can’t -- no.” Virgil spun around so he wouldn’t have to see him. “I don’t believe you. Picani wouldn’t -- he isn’t capable of that.”

Anxiety appeared in front of him. “What makes you so sure? You barely know him. He’s lived a long life. There’s a lot you don’t know about him -- a lot he wouldn’t want you to know.”

Virgil couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t. He had to turn around again.

“Are you honestly willing to rescue someone who will end up leaving you for dead? He’ll do the same thing to you that he did to Remy. And then he’ll do it to Roman. Do you want to risk that?”

He didn’t want to risk anything.

“Might as well leave now. Running away is what you do best, isn’t it?”

Of course, it was. That’s all he ever did. Maybe it was what he should do now. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t someone who could come to the rescue. He was just a coward. He couldn't do anything. He never should have even come. Why did he think he had a chance? He didn't have any helpful qualities. He should leave -- he had to leave. There was nothing for him here.

He took a step, ready to run away with his tail between his legs, but he noticed something. Thomas. He sat curled in a ball with tears streaming down his face.

What the hell was he doing?

Virgil blinked a few times, his mind clearing of the weird fog it found itself in. The voices stopped. Everything urging him to leave -- everything saying he couldn’t do it -- was gone. Those weren’t his own thoughts. He closed his fist around the pen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What?” Anxiety almost sounded angered.

Virgil turned to face Anxiety, determination set in place. “I’m not leaving. Nothing you say will get me to run away.”

Anxiety scowled. “So what? You’re going to be the hero now? You? Do you honestly think you’re capable of that? Do you think they’ll think of you like one?”

“It doesn’t matter what they think. It matters what I think. And I think I’ve entertained you for too long.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” Anxiety’s voice warped further. The angrier he got, the more twisted it became. “You’re just a human! How are you able to ignore me?”

Virgil clicked his pen. This time, a dagger filled his hand. “Because I know when the voices in my head are wrong.” He lurched forward and thrust his dagger into Anxiety’s stomach. “Plus, I kinda hate myself. So maybe using my face wasn’t the best idea.”

He yanked it out.

(Next)

[anothergirlrecovering]

Lynn 89

I got there and Lynn was late again. I sat there on my phone until she got there and then she invited me in. When I came in she asked how I was doing and I said good and I asked how her non-vacation was. She said it was all right, it was New York and it was kind of raining and you know how it is. And I was like yeah but did you get to see any shows? And she was like well yeah we saw one and I was like which one and she said pretty woman and I was like well did you like it and she was like well honestly Not really. She said it wasn’t her favorite and she wasn’t sure what about it she didn’t like but her and her daughter kind of felt the same and they were like not sure if it was the music or just that it wasn’t a good movie to make into a musical. She was like I mean the actors were incredible and really well-known but if it’s not Julia Roberts somehow it’s not the same. I said I could see that but honestly I’ve only seen the movie once and that was two weeks ago so for me I don’t think that will really be an issue. She was like wait are you going to see yet and I was like yeah I’m going this weekend actually so I will let you know how I like it. She was like well also my other big complaint was that they didn’t include the song pretty woman and I was like wait really and she was like now and I was like him and I guess they didn’t get the licensing rights for it and she was like yeah they must not have but you would think that they would have gone out of their way to get that because I think everybody’s kind of anticipating that song and I was like yeah definitely that’s a let down and that will definitely be one of my critiques too. She was like either way it’ll still be a good show and I was like so basically it’s a good show it’s just not a good show of the movie and she was like yeah pretty much because you know it’s a classic movie and kind of an odd storyline but it will be good and it’s just always nice being the theater and seeing a show live. She was like you might have better seats than we did because we were in the back mezzanine and I was like well we are also the mezzanine so maybe not but she said it’s a small theater so we will be able to see the show just fine wherever we sit. I said that was good and she asked how I’ve been and I said super anxious but I know what I need to work on today and she was like well perfect let’s jump in when we need to work on and I was like well honestly like it’s stupid but I’ve just been so anxious lately because I feel like I have the air in topic has been coming up a lot and I said how Wes and I went to coffee and it got brought up about her And her being emotional and a session and then I saw someone who are used to be in treatment with so it brought up a lot of thoughts about the past when that all fell apart and now with the recent situation with having one of her old clients and knowing that Aaron knows about me it has just made me so unbelievably anxious and I explained how I really struggled to calm down last night and I even called my husband and was going to ask him to come home right after he got done with practice but he didn’t pick up and I just ate dinner and play piano for a while to try to calm down. I think she asked what about it all makes me so anxious and I was like honestly I don’t even know it’s like part of me is worried that I feel like she would be the type of person to badmouth me and Lynn got real into it about how if she does badmouth me that would be violating Hyppa and I could contact the board and if she says anything then I could call Aaron and say I’ve been informed that you’ve been talking about me and that’s a Hyppa violations I’ve contacted the board and you should be worried. I couldn’t help but laugh at that but I was like I mean yeah but that wouldn’t stop her from necessarily being all vague and being like I can’t really say how I know her but she’s a bad therapist or I think she still really struggling in her recovery. Which lane was like that would be super unethical and you could report her if she was and I was like there’s a chance that I don’t know the people she would be talking to about me and I’ll like because really like I talk about her to my friends who are therapists because I have multiple clients with dad stories of court ethics and it’s like well but she was like you were the client so you have the right to do that she was the therapist so she does not. I’m going to guess that makes sense but it doesn’t stop me from worrying and she was like what are you afraid That she thinks and I was like I mean I guess just that she thinks that I’m dumb not doing well which is kind of what I would imagine she would believe because that’s kind of like the sense that I get from the old nutritionist that they just assume that we are doing poorly and based on relapse rates I mean I can see why but it’s like really frustrating. She was like OK well then we can do some EMD are on that. Lynn pointing out that I’m doing very well for myself and I’m a successful Therapist and she thinks maybe there’s a chance that somebody like Aaron shouldn’t be practicing given all of the clients who have had bad experiences with her. She pointed out that Therapist burn out and sometimes they handle things really poorly and unfortunately I seem to of been on the receiving end of some of that and I was like or something. Lynn said that she thinks it’s all connected because that was the abandonment peace and we’ve been talking about stepping down and termination and all of that and I was like I guess so I’m she was like so why don’t we just go with that. Also Lynn pointed out that she thinks anybody with my history with Aaron would feel anxious about having connections with her where the thought of possibly talking to her. I told her that I always get so anxious every time I’m in Whole Foods because I worry that I’m going to run into work and I don’t even know what I would say and I’ve gone through million scenarios in my head of ways to respond but I think ultimately I would end up panicking and being overly nice. I know that I must have seemed visibly anxious because she definitely did the sets much longer than usual and I just really couldn’t stop my foot from shaking up and down and I know at times I wasn’t really taking deep breath‘s and I was shallow breathing quickly. This whole topic just makes me so anxious. She asked me to notice what my relationship with Aaron remind me up from the past and I was like honestly I don’t know because the abandonment is familiar with like my mom but when I think about her as a person her and my mom are very very different and Arian could be intimidating and snappy and angry at times and I thought about how she had gotten very angry when I was in treatment about equine therapy ending because people in the group didn’t wanna and even though I was the only one who stuck up for him, she still Vented and took it out on me. I noticed how intimidated I felt by her at times and how easily I get intimidated by Anger and how it felt like there were a lot of things that Aaron did pretty unnecessarily. I explained how when I had relapsed I was really quiet and group at the beginning and didn’t talk to anyone because I was so ashamed of relapsing and there was one time when I haven’t done my homework for DVT and she called me out in front of the group and really embarrassed me and then kept me after group and told me that insurance was labeling me chronic and that I needed to actually start trying because they didn’t want to pay and the director was fighting with them to gap coverage and they were arguing and saying that I had Untreated newly diagnosed depression so insurance needed to cover more but that it felt like I really didn’t need to know that insurance was labeling me chronic because all that really did was further make me feel like fuck even my insurance knows I’m never going to get better. Lynn was like noticed that and I noticed how my dad had said that I was never going to get better and my mom never even acknowledged it was a problem and I feel like I’m always fighting this uphill battle to prove that I’m not who I was and I hate that feeling of being out of control because I don’t have any control over what people think about me or my recovery. I was like you know how Alexander Hamilton posted the Reynolds pamphlet and out of himself just to prove that he wasn’t a money launderer and she was like yeah and I was like I guess Innoway it just feels like I feel caught in the position of wanting to do something to prove that I’m not who they think I was but at the same time I can’t or rather that I shouldn’t do anything to try to prove to them that I’m not what they think. She asked me who I was trying to prove it to and I was like I mean I guess the people who knew me back then and she was like which is who and I was like him and I guess really it’s just Aaron Jan and Pam and I said I don’t really know what the yoga person thinks because I haven’t seen her in years now and I know the art therapist doesn’t feel that way at all because she believes that I recovered and I was like and I mean honestly those three people kind of have a reputation in the eating disorder community or at least two of them definitely do and she was like noticed that and I noticed that it just always felt like I wasn’t going to get better in their opinion and I thought about how in our last session Aaron had Asked if it would be helpful for her to share with me what she had learned from me and I said sure and she said that I taught her just how chronic and long and hard it is to recover from an eating disorder and I just sat there feeling like what the fuck so basically all I did was teach her that people don’t get better no matter how many years you put into it and I just feel like she should’ve at least faked it even if she didn’t think I was going to get better and Lynn was like is that what you do and I know she thought that I would say no but I said yes. She looked pretty caught off guard and I was like I mean sometimes the reality is that not everyone can get better she was like OK will notice that and I was like I mean because on the one hand like I would love to tell everybody that they’re going to get better but I guess it just depends on how you define recovery because realistically on paper if we look at the DSM I’m fully recovered but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t have a meltdown when I tried on form fitting clothing this past weekend it’s just that the difference now is that it’s managed and I got my shit together in the dressing room and then I left and I still ate dinner that day and didn’t obsessively think about how fat I am and don’t deserve to eat because of it but it still sucks it’s not ideal and I’m not happy living my life like that so I’m not going to necessarily pretend that that’s a fully recovered life and she was like well also noticed that and I was like I mean like with yesterday and I mean it was nice that I was able to calm myself down by playing piano and eating food and taking care of myself and you told me you noticed dad that I was able to manage overwhelming emotions and I did. I noticed that Lynn looked annoyed and I explained that I just feel like there’s a shelflife on how long people actually care and I feel like she’s annoyed and wants me to be over it and doesn’t understand why I’m still anxious about stupid things like this and I feel frustrated that I am anxious about stupid things like this and explained how we went to that wedding and how I had felt so anxious the entire time even though I had no reason to because everyone was super nice and I ended up drinking and then feeling sick and then throwing up and it’s like I don’t want to live a life where my anxiety is so overwhelming that I feel like I can’t handle it because sometimes it feels like my anxiety is so overwhelming and not managed well and I guess it feels like if it’s not the eating disorder anymore than it’s be anxiety and sometimes I feel like my anxiety will never get better. Lynn asked me what Helen would say about that and I was like well she says that EMD our can basically cure everything. I noticed that there’s a part of me that feels like my anxiety makes me just too much to handle and it made me think of in 12th grade how my best friend said that I was too much to handle when she stopped being my best friend and it’s always felt like I was too much to handle for my parents and now I just sort of always feel like I’m simultaneously too much and not enough at the same time. She asked me what Helen would say about all of this and I was like I mean I think she would say that all of the stuff certainly doesn’t develop in a bubble and it’s most certainly there because I grew up with non-nurturing mother. And she was like what else would she say and I was like well what are you referencing to because I kind of had no idea what she’s talking about and she was like let me think of how I want to ask this and I don’t even remember what it was that she asked now But It was something about what Helen would say about getting better and I was like I mean she would say keep doing EMD ER and eventually it will get better and she was like OK go with them be curious what do you need to do to get better and I was like I mean I guess just keep doing EMD are but there’s a part of me that gets anxious and things but what if Lynn gets tired of me and terminates me before I get better and she looked confused and I was like like the other night my husband made a comment about terminating my clients and I was like you can’t really just do that and he was like why you had like three Therapist do it to you and I got really upset thinking about it and I was like OK It was just the one but also it’s so weird because I saw Noelle after that and we had like a perfectly fine ending where I chose to leave therapy and I felt like I was in a good place. Lynn was like we’ve already talked about the reasons why I would terminate you and I was like yeah I know and choose like but otherwise we aren’t ending we need to finish this and she basically gave me analogy of it being kind of like a splinter and there something obvious of that we need to get out in order to deal with it and there’s obviously something stuck there and I was like yeah I guess. She said she’s not a terminating me and she knows that I know that but the goal of therapy is that I don’t keep coming back and I was like yeah I know and she was like I mean you are Therapist too so you know the goal is that her clients get better and they’re healthy and they don’t need to keep coming and she said there are natural circumstances like when you have a family you may not want to be driving here every week the goal is that you may hopefully want to do other things like spend time with your kids I was like well hopefully I’m better enough to want to do those things and not feel like I need to be in therapy and she was like yeah well I’m just saying eventually the goal is for you to feel like you can handle things. She said she has hope that I’ll get better but I need to have that hope for myself too. She said once I get better i will be a much better, and she paused and said more convincing therapist that there is hope with EMDR. I was like I know what you were about to say and she was like no you don’t and I was like ok I don’t read minds I guess but I have that resting bitch face so it’s not that hard to fake it lol. She was like well I think it will be more convincing still. I said how I get so anxious so easily over everything and lately the joke is that my husband checks my pulse and it’s like why is it always so dang high. She took out her planner and said that we are rescheduled for next week so do we want to schedule for the following. I said yes and we planned for that. I apologized and said that the tappers were really sweaty and she was like it’s fine and she was like the next person might or might not use them but they’re probably used to that type a thing and I was like OK and she was like you know because you never know when people want to avoid doing EMD ER and I was like yeah I definitely know what that’s like and she was like because that happens a lot when people come in there like can we just not do that today and I’m like no we need to keep working because we have goals right? I knew she didn’t mean that she forces them to do trauma work but rather that she reminds them that the way to get better is to keep going with trauma work. She went to take her iPad for payment then she was like oh never mind and I was like wait did you figure out what I owe you and she was like no I’m gonna do it this week and I was like when you said that like three weeks ago and she was like yeah well you know I just like putting off paperwork and I was like I totally understand I’m pretty behind myself on some things. I asked her if she wanted to hear something interesting and she said yes and I told her about how I had found a piece of paper that had fallen out of my binder when I was unpacking a box from school and I asked her if she kept all of her stuff from school and she was like honestly I have a backpack in the garage that I need to just get rid of. I was like yeah I totally always think that I’m going to go back through it but I never do but anyway that piece of paper was a test that helps determine which part of her brain is not functioning right and for me of course the basal ganglia was one and that’s responsible for sort of compulsive anxious thinking and when I looked up Ways to heal the basal ganglia and what came up was an article about a researcher who does a lot of work with Parkinson’s disease and mindfulness and how with the basal ganglia controlling automatic movement he has people thoroughly learn mindfulness to shift their brain away from using the basal ganglia and having their frontal lobe override the basal ganglia and taking control is that they no longer have the Parkinson’s symptoms. She was like that’s interesting but I think with trauma you have to deal with the trauma first to be able to do some of that and she was like I think it works great together to be working on both and She said like how they always say to do medicine and therapy works best together and she laughed and was like I don’t really think that’s true but in this case mindfulness and therapy I think I do work well together. I was like I would need to look into it a little bit more but I think trauma is stored in a different part of the limbic system so it may actually be two separate processes. She said oh maybe and she open the door and I headed out and we said goodbye. As I walked to my car I realized that I felt so sweaty and gross and I really don’t think I’ve ever felt that like physically anxious for an entire session with her.

[ourinnergalaxy-blog]

well this has basically become my diary blog because its gotten to the point that i feel like i can’t talk about my problems on any platform that people might actually fucking see them on

But anyway, today’s random stress rant is about being trans masc/trans male and the way that makes me feel like I can’t voice my fears, frustrations, and concerns. This is actually compounded by the fact that I’m white passing, thin, and can sometimes actually pass as male. 

There’s so many positivity posts about how being trans, being non-binary, etc isn’t just “thin/white/masculine”. And I’m here for it. I really am. I don’t want a world where only people who look similar to me are taken seriously about their identity. I make sure to take time to recognize the struggles of those less privileged than me and recognize their triumphs (especially by liking a thousand selfies because OH GOSH ARE YOU PEOPLE ABSOLUTELY KILLING IT OUT THERE I LOVE YOU)! 

But then every time something goes wrong within the trans community, I see it blamed on passing/white/transmasc folk. I’ve seen it several times now, with varying degrees of vitriol. I don’t... blame anyone really... Maybe it really is our fault (”our” used loosely because, despite my general passing as white, my father is black). I don’t really know because, while I do consider myself to be somewhat connected with the trans community, I don’t go out of my way to be a fan of other trans people by the virtue of them being trans (in large part because I spent a few years deeply ingrained in fandom of certain Youtubers and ended up meeting them in person and finding out they were all either racist, apathetic, or abusive (or all three)). So who knows. Maybe it is only the white and passing trans men who turn truscum. I guess I personally would not know (and perhaps that in itself is a privilege).

I guess what I’m kind of trying to get to here is that I still don’t know how to come to terms with being part of an oppressive group within an oppressed group. It’s always been like this where... things absolutely do hurt and affect me, but I’m instructed not to say anything about it because I’m still less hurt than others. 

As half black, half white but white passing... racism directly affects me and my family whom I love. But I can’t say anything because I look too white to be offended by this stuff. I’m not allowed to explore my black identity because I’m too white and would be an invasive pest. I sometimes hate that my parents didn’t just marry within their own races so I’d at least know where the fuck I stood with all this rather than exist in this eternal racial limbo of “too privileged for this but too affected by that”.

As trans masc, there’s obviously the constant debate over if I have male privilege/how far that extends (to the point that I don’t honestly know and I’m so new to existing fully as male that I haven’t been able to make the determination myself as it doesn’t feel like I’m being treated differently yet). I’m not allowed to mention bathrooms. If I do, I get met with this overwhelming positivity that makes me want to fucking vomit (yOu CaN dO iT HuNnY JuSt Be CoNfIdEnT!!!) or I’m rebuked saying that trans women have it worse. WHICH THEY DO AND I AM NOT TRYING TO DEBATE THAT AT ALL. However, the result is that I can’t talk about how much I fear making eye contact with other men in the bathroom. I can’t talk about how I pray to the fucking gods that there’s no reason at all that I would have to open my mouth and say something out loud while in the bathroom. I can’t talk about how I fear going to the bathroom with my male friends and family members because I don’t want them to speak to me while other men are present. I can’t talk about how much I fucking dread the day someone finds out I’m not cis in a public bathroom. Being called out for it isn’t necessarily the issue. It’s the fact that cis men are fucking dangerous. They’re violent and cruel and dangerous and any one of them could be the one who wants to hurt me or r//pe me for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. With the wrong body. But, oh no, I can’t talk about that because I do pass pretty well. And I’m not as obvious an “intrusion” as other people might feel. And I’m not the right gender. 

As a thin person, I can’t speak on body positivity. Despite how the bullying I experienced for most of my school years revolved completely around my appearance (including the fact that I am so deathly thin). I can’t talk about how shameful it felt to be told by my friends (friends used loosely) that they were going to tie me down and feed me unhealthy foods. I can’t talk about how constantly aware I am of how very small and very VERY vulnerable I am. My body makes me a target, and this isn’t just a distant fear or guess. I’ve been assaulted because my small form makes me an easy target for violence. I can’t talk about how, now as a man, I feel shame over my tiny frame and the way it makes it impossible for me to shop for men’s clothing. I can’t talk about the embarrassment of shopping in the “boys” section and praying to god they have a shirt I can wear that doesn’t have fucking dinosaurs on it (I like dinosaurs as much as the next guy, if not more, but I want a dress shirt that makes me look like an adult thanks). 

I JUST FEEL LIKE EVERY ASPECT OF MY LIFE HAS SET ME UP TO BE IN A SITUATION WHERE I’M NOT ALLOWED TO COMPLAIN BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE IT AS BAD AS OTHERS!

This doesn’t even touch on mental illness yet, but I don’t want to get into that because I’m still trying to figure out this whole fucking thing and I just don’t want to dig myself a deeper hole right now because it’s a constant stress and FUCK do i just wish i knew what was going on for sure already

I’m really trying my best not to end off this rant by saying “but it’s okay” or some other variant. Because I do that all the time. I’ve internalized all of this and now I silence myself on important matters. Or I make light of them. Or end off my complaints by saying “well someone else has it worse”. Yes, that’s true, but sometimes I need to own my own pain. I need to make that the subject, not the billions of other people who are, yes, also suffering. Sometimes I should be the focus, right? At least to one person? At least to myself...

[dipulb3]

Prabal Gurung: Anti-Asian sentiment runs deeper than you think

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/prabal-gurung-anti-asian-sentiment-runs-deeper-than-you-think/

Prabal Gurung: Anti-Asian sentiment runs deeper than you think

Written by Prabal GurungNew York

Prabal Gurung is a Nepali American fashion designer based in New York. All opinions expressed in this article belong to the author. The feature is part of Appradab Style’s new series Hyphenated, which explores the complex issue of identity among minorities in the United States.

My 75-year-old Nepali mother, who lives in New York, goes for a walk every morning and every evening. I send her out in disguise: I bought her a blonde wig, and I tell her to wear it under a hat, glasses and mask. “Maybe then, they’ll leave her alone,” I think. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s my survival instinct kicking in.

“I understand your concern and worry,” my mami, as I like to call her, told me the other day.

“But I would rather get a walking stick or a cane, just in case something happens. I can fight back,” she assured me, adjusting her wig and hat.

That’s just how she is: resilient, unafraid and a picture of grace under pressure. I admire her strength but continue to worry for her safety. I check in constantly so I know where she is at any given time.

This is what it’s come to. A fear so constant that it’s crippling.

“By using terms like “China Virus” and “Kung Flu,” Trump gave the coronavirus a face, an Asian face, and for that, we have all suffered.”

Prabal Gurung

Here’s where we’re at:

A torrent of anti-Asian hate crimes have been committed, including the brutal assault of elderly Asian men and women in broad daylight. Among them is 65-year-old Vilma Kari, who just last week in New York, was told “F**k you, you don’t belong here, you Asian,” according to the criminal complaint, before being pushed to the ground and kicked repeatedly by her attacker. The shootings at three Atlanta-area spas have left six Asian women dead. Nearly 3,800 hate incidents have so far been reported to Stop AAPI Hate over the course of a year. It feels as if there’s an open season for violence against Asians.

By using terms like “China Virus” and “Kung Flu,” former US President Donald Trump gave the coronavirus a face, an Asian face, and for that, we have all suffered. While his damaging rhetoric has no doubt fueled these hate crimes, their roots are buried deep in underlying racist currents that have long impacted our communities in the United States.

They can be found in every industry. For instance, when it comes to my world — fashion — the consequences of systemic racism play out daily. And not just in the form of microaggressions.

As someone who has a platform, who has clout, I have always believed it’s my responsibility to speak out.

‘Who gets to be American?’

Fashion at its purest, simplest form, is a reflection of the world we live in. It doesn’t operate in a vacuum but instead influences — and is influenced by — music, culture, social movements and politics.

Whatever your views are, everyone engages with fashion at some level. For most of us, it’s one of the first decisions we make each morning. I believe in its greater purpose — as a tool of empowerment. But as much as fashion projects its power outwards, behind the scenes, it can be a very different story.

I was born in Singapore, grew up in Nepal and lived in India, and in these countries, you’re faced with issues such as colorism, caste discrimination and hierarchal social structures. When I started my brand 12 years ago, I wanted it to show marginalized people that they are seen, and that they matter. But until recently, it’s been an uphill battle.

“I was advised to limit the diversity of my runways because clients wouldn’t be as receptive to non White models: “‘two Black women, two Asian women — OK that’s enough.'”

Prabal Gurung

The question of who dictates style, or what we consider tasteful or chic, is still viewed through a colonial lens, shaped by centuries-old Eurocentric ideals. Unrealistic beauty standards are often elitist, discriminatory and ultimately, constructed to maintain a proximity to Whiteness that allows those in power to feel important and secure. Decision-makers are, predominantly, White.

This plays out in a number of ways.

Fashion inspired by minority cultures, or rooted in the heritage of a minority designer’s heritage, may be tokenized as “exotic” or “ethnic,” or disparaged in hushed tones as “tacky and garish.” Tone-deaf campaigns and racist garments are often created because there are no people of color in the room that feel empowered enough to stop them from going ahead.

Early in my own career, I was advised to limit the diversity of my runways because clients wouldn’t be as receptive to non White models: “two Black women, two Asian women — OK that’s enough.”

I also recall wanting to open a collection with Korean model Ji Hye Park, and it sparked such a big discussion with the brand’s other stakeholders. “Should we? Shouldn’t we? Is it cool? Does it make sense? Is this idea… luxury?”

These kinds of conversations were initially shocking. But I became used to witnessing microaggressions or blatant discrimination against the few Asian people who, like myself and other people of color, were able to break into this industry. Yes, fashion continues to make strides in the right direction, but we still have miles to go. Today, I still see Black, Latinx, Asian, Native American and LGBTQ peers being tokenized by the industry, called upon to perform inclusivity.

Models walk the Prabal Gurung runway during New York Fashion Week on September 8, 2019. Credit: Mike Coppola/Getty Images

I’ve often been challenged about my “American-ness.” During a planning meeting for my label’s 10th anniversary collection in 2018, an investor asked me to express what I felt my brand stood for.

I began explaining that American style had always been seen through a White lens. But as a first-generation Asian immigrant, as a minority, as a queer person of color, I wanted to redefine the country’s style because our experiences have been underrepresented. The way I look at this country is an amalgamation of different cultures, races, ethnicities, religions and sizes, and that should be celebrated.

He, in turn, asked, “Well you don’t look American, how can you define American style?”

It was clear to me what he meant by his statement: I wasn’t White, therefore I had no authority to shape the American ideal. And this despite being an American citizen who owns a business in this country — one who employs Americans and immigrants, embraces a “Made in America” production ethos and pays taxes. For some people it’s just never enough.

I ended up turning that collection into a celebration of American identity and belonging, sending a diverse cast of models down the runway in denim, white short-sleeved shirts, rose prints and, during the finale, sashes bearing the question: “Who gets to be American?”

While the show had a lot of positive feedback, and started a healthy dialogue about identity, there were some who felt it was too on the nose. This is how privilege works. It was a luxury to be in the position to say that it was “too much” or “too direct.” However, when it comes to fighting for basic human rights, it is never too much. It is never too loud.

We need to tell our stories

It’s clear that the road to a more equitable fashion industry is long. Until brands genuinely diversify their decision-makers and boards — not just with token hires, but with people actually willing to strike up difficult, uncomfortable conversations that challenge biases — it won’t change. And, let’s be honest, brands’ efforts to embrace Asian culture have been motivated by the spending power of countries like China, India and South Korea, not some moral awakening.

But, cynicism aside, just like conversations brought about by the Black Lives Matter protests, the Stop Asian Hate movement is inviting renewed scrutiny of fashion’s role in perpetuating racism and discrimination — from runways and collections to workplace culture.

“We need to be in every corner and exist in every space.”

Prabal Gurung

Asian Americans in the industry should recognize that we have an important role to play. As a whole, more than 60% of the global population lives in Asia, according to the United Nations. Asians are the world’s biggest consumers of clothing, and we manufacture most of it too. Yet, told that our voices don’t matter, we’ve mostly played supporting roles, quietly and submissively catering to the needs of businesses.

It’s not enough. It’s time to speak out and step up.

Take this time to donate, build your skills by participating in harassment intervention training, and support existing social justice organizations and initiatives such as Stop AAPI Hate and Asian Americans Advancing Justice (AAJC). Familiarize yourself with non-profit organizations like Gold House and Define American who are shaping culture, forming solidarity through intersectionality and creating impactful, sustainable long-term solutions for challenges facing our communities.

The solidarity protests over the past few weeks have been extremely heartwarming. I have demonstrated alongside my peers, activists, community leaders and regular New Yorkers, telling our truths and, between other minorities and marginalized groups, finding support and common ground.

The “End Violence Against Asians” march in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York City on February 20, 2021. Credit: Robert Hamada

We need to be in every corner and exist in every space. The more that our stories are told, the more that our faces, our experiences and our humanity will not only be normalized but embraced.

We must claim our rightful seats at the table, and then use those positions to empower other marginalized groups. Visibility is key, and we must craft our own narratives and tell our own stories.

Top image caption: Prabal Gurung captured at the “Black and Asian Solidarity” march at Union Square in New York City on March 21, 2021 by photographer Robert Hamada.

[flameysaur]

So. This is going to be a rant about the most topical of subjects: the ending of Avatar: The Last Airbender!

This is something I discussed with @harunohoe but I remember when Avatar finally ending there was a lot of bitterness. Now I’m in the zutara side of that shipping war. (The right side.) But there was a lot of bitterness among people I talked to that had little to do with the ship. It felt like it did, because Katara centered the discussion, but it wasn’t. Later, when Harry Potter ended, I noticed an interesting echo, and I think it comes from the same place.

The finale for Avatar: The Last Airbender felt wrong with the rest of Season 3. It had the same feel, scope and depth as season 1. Season 1 was epic. It’s easy to forget because seasons 2 and 3 so blew it out of the water, but Season 1 was large. It was deep. It had pathos and engagement and fun. If the finale had come at the end of Season 1, I don’t think a lot of people would have the feeling that something was off the way they did when it came at the end of season 3. I think this because I think the finale was written before episode one ever hit the air.

(This is a good thing, btw. When writing serial fiction with a solid end point, you need to know what the end is if you want to keep working towards it. That’s how you avoid ended up in the reeds with no way back except how you got there in the first place.)

But things changed. The Avatar crew was very vocal in they changed things in response to fan criticism. (The amount of female characters in season 2, for example.) And that change included adding depth and character struggles that were so much more than season one Avatar. Especially in season 3 which dealt with adult themes of redemption and darkness with a maturity that I’ve never seen in an adult show. The biggest examples being: Katara’s flirtation with murder and Zuko’s redemption.

Katara is a dark female lead. It’s easy to forget, because she’s the Mom Friend(tm) and she’s so loving and she’s the healer but Katara is also a person that about a month after promising to never use bloodbending again, USED IT. She premeditated an attack to use it and she used emotional blackmail to carry out that attack. Katara has, from season 1, put her friends first, but her feelings before that. She wants to do what’s right, mentally. But emotionally? Katara wants what Katara wants. It’s a complex side of female characters we do not get in fiction. That someone can be both the light and the dark. She is the moon, always shifting between the brightest and darkest points during this very long night.

Then you get Zuko, the masterfully written redemption of a character. I don’t think anyone can argue that Zuko’s change from one dimensional whiny villain to desperately trying to redeem himself boy wasn’t amazing. You could argue it’s the best thing written for television, never mind a kid’s show. And his redemption. His confrontation of his abuse. Him receiving everything he ever asked for and realizing it wasn’t what he needed, then taking the steps to fix his mistakes. All that was beautiful and complex and hard and understated within the show. Which is perfect. The show trusted us with knowing more than they told us, and that’s hard to do.

Both Katara’s darkness and Zuko’s redemption were confronted the most during season 3. They told us this show understood moral complexities without losing its optimism. Katara didn’t kill because she couldn’t. Zuko did the right thing because he wanted to. For all the greyness of them and their actions, they chose the light. Which, again, isn’t something you’re likely to get on an adult show.

Then we have Aang.

One of my, and many people’s, biggest complaint with Aang in the finale was the spiritbending/stripping of bending power. I remember watching a lot of people discuss the morality of that choice. How it wasn’t “better” then killing. How it was more evil and Aang was wrong to do it. And I don’t agree. It was a fight to the death and Aang found an option that wasn’t death because he chose his morality over the easy answer. That should be a good choice. It should be powerful. It should be the culmination of everything Aang has grown to be.

But it wasn’t. Because Aang lost nothing in making the choice.

Season 3 showed us again and again that it was morally complex. This theme continued with Aang realizing everyone expected him to kill Ozai.

(Tangent! This was also something I saw people complain about. I don’t think anyone, really, had an issue with Aang being anti-killing Ozai, but it does not make sense that the death didn’t come up before it did in season 3. Death rules this world. Reminder: Katara was a small child, eight, when she watched her mother get murdered in her own home. That means, from young childhood, Katara knows death can come to anyone and from anywhere. Sokka likewise, was ten, maybe eleven, when his father left to fight in the war. Sokka declared himself a man and asked to go with him. He was a CHILD. And he wanted to go KILL people. That’s brutal. He only agreed to stay because his father framed it as needing him to protect the villiage. Sokka has, since young childhood, decided that his job is to kill to protect his family. Death is a part of these kids in a way most first world people will not understand. You think Sokka or Katara would use “stop” and “destroy” every time they discussed the finale battle? No. They’d use kill. And Aang would have had to have the debate sooner than the last quarter of season 3. End tangent.)

Aang’s character arc, from episode one, is a painfully simple conflict between Want and Need. In writing, the easiest way to create tension in a story is to have your characters Want a Thing, and they do whatever it takes to get that thing, but they Need something different. And if that Need conflicts with their Want, then bam! You get instant story tension.

Aang wants to be Aang from day one. He wants to be the fun loving monk boy who doesn’t hurt anyone, gets along with everyone and always had a hand outstretched. He wants the world to support this boy. He wants to be a child who helps people and travels and makes friends everywhere and has no care greater then taking care of Appa or what his next prank is.

Aang needs to be the Avatar, savior of the world, master of all four elements. In a world that’s desperately unbalanced, he needs to find and maintain balance. Not just in himself, but in everyone around him. He needs to know not only how to solve surface issues, but the deeper issues that arouse from a 100 years of war and conflict.

And in all three seasons, Aang turns down being the Avatar for being Aang. We get told this rather blatantly in the season 2 finale. His love for Katara is holding him back from becoming a fully realized Avatar. And one thing this show fails at in all this telling, is it fails to show it’s not about Katara the person, but Katara the representation of the love he’s found in this time. Aang failed at being an Avatar before the show began because of this same love. They were going to take his beloved master away from him, and so he ran away. Now, a hundred years later, and everything a hundred years worse, he’s making the same choice. His love, his heart, over his duty. Aang doesn’t want to kill the boy in service to the Avatar.

(And if the show focused on this rather than if Aang could totes bang his first crush, we’d not be left feeling that Katara is a rather literal prize that Aang is fighting for, but instead Aang choosing between his humanity and his destiny.)

Now we return to Season 3. Aang has lost contact to his Avatar spirit. But he’s growing closer and stronger with these people he surrounds himself with. By being himself, Aang has formed a family that is as diverse as he has always wanted. He has Zuko, Sokka, Katara, Toph, Suki, and more allies always reaching out to him. Aang has gotten his want, and he thinks he has married it with his need. He is both a boy who is Aang and the Avatar who is going to save the world. He did it. And in the finale we got...yeah. That’s it. Three quarters into Season 3, Aang stops growing as a character and he never starts again.

But here is where things should have changed. Aang has achieved balance, he thinks. He’s not a fully realized Avatar, but he shouldn’t have to be. Being the Avatar in this world is more about being the spiritual guide to the world, the one person who is not attached to any one country and so can help lead them all to balance. Aang can do that as he is. He already has! He has brought balance to his friends and united a group of people from around the world to join him and believe in him. And it can all stay that way.

But he has to kill Ozai.

We remember, I’m sure, the scene where Aang talks to his past lives and they all say, “Yeah, no, smoke the asshole. Kill him dead.” And that was a weird scene. It was supposed to be a dark moment, before Aang figured out a third answer, but...he...didn’t. He talked to a lionturtle, we don’t see what really happens, and then end of show, BAM! Magic answer from no where.

What should have happened, what would have been stronger, is if he’s told in all his lives, there is faint memories of a non-lethal option. He can find and learn that option, but only if he becomes a fully realized Avatar. Aang knows he can’t. He doesn’t want to pay the price, his heart, his self, for that. So his past lives agree. That’s fine. You can do that. You can do everything you’re supposed to do and never reach that finale pinnacle. Many Avatars, great Avatars, never get there. You are best as you are, Aang.

But you will have to kill Ozai.

That’s the cost here. Kill the boy, or kill the man.

And I want to focus on something: neither of these options are evil. Aang would have to make a choice that echoes the very first one he ever made in the series. He can chose the world or himself, but before, when he chose himself, he doomed thousands (at least) to die. This time, no matter what he does, he will save the world. He is not choosing between dooming humanity or dooming his own heart. He is choosing between his heart and his morality.

(Something that, btw, would echo Katara’s journey. She had that choice when she faced her mother’s killer. She chose her morality over her heart. Something Zuko knew she would do because she’d done it once before, with him. In the season 2 finale, Zuko and Katara had their moment and Katara offered the water from the spirit well to him to heal not a debilitating injury or to save his life, but to heal his scar. He is someone who chased her across the world and has tried time and again to kill her best friend but when he showed her weakness, her response was kindness. That’s why Zuko took her to face her mother’s killer. He knew she’d chose empathy in the end because that’s who she is. If Aang was going on this journey, Katara could be brought in to echo what Zuko did for her.)

I also want to say it is very clear what Aang would chose as well: himself. Aang has, from the beginning, been selfish. He’s caring, empathetic and giving, but he is always selfish. From day one, he put the world on hold so he could do what he wanted. The more he started to understand what the world was going through, the more he clung to what he wanted. That’s why Katara became this giant sticking point in the series. He wanted something to make all this worth it. And she, his crush, became that something. That thing he could want and have and hold. And though he and Katara are friends. Though they are best friends, he still turned her into an object in his head. Something for him to clutch to. “You can have this world, but I want this in return.”

And I think, if we confronted this head on, it would give Aang what he needed. Clarity.

Here’s the scene in this story: Aang has learned the price of his Want and his Need. To get what he wants, he only has to kill someone that everyone agrees should be killed. To get what he needs, he has to kill the part of himself that is so desperate to live. And Katara talks with him about it. She relates it to her mother’s death and what Zuko did for her. She tells him that she knows he’ll do the right thing. That he’s a good person, and a good Avatar, and that he will--

And Aang kisses her. Not on the dock before a battle. But here, in this private, intimate moment. A moment where it’s just them as they are, at their best. Friends who love each other. He kisses her and he thinks, yes, I choose this. I chose her. I will always choose her. I love her.

And Katara pulls back. Because she doesn’t love him. Because. She. Doesn’t. I don’t care if she’s kissing Zuko or not. (Though she is.) But she doesn’t love Aang. She, at best, doesn’t like it when the boy who likes her show interest in other people. And as a former fourteen-year-old girl? MOOD. Even not wanting someone, you can get pissy when their attention is given elsewhere. You feel like shit about it, but damnit, it’s yours even if you don’t want it.

Now Aang is kissing her. He crossed that line she put up a long time ago. And made his feelings clear. And her response is, at best, “Not now.” And she leaves. And Aang is alone. And Aang has to come to some realizations about himself.

He expected Katara to fall into his lap. All his stress and angst and fighting for her, he never realized that...he never asked her how she felt about it. In his head, he was fighting for his future with Katara, but it was never about Katara the person. It was always about Katara, the symbol of all his new love he found in this dark future. 

And Aang would look over his friends. He’d watch them go through the nightly routines. He’d see the joy they had (Sokka and Suki flirting casually together.) and he’d see the growth (Toph, loud as she ever is, bullying Zuko, able to take it and smile) and he’s see the darkness (Katara, alone because of him and his feelings and his choices and him not doing the blindingly obvious) and Aang will realize something.

The problem has always been him. Aang, the boy, has been the issue this entire time. The good he’s done, the good he will do, isn’t what this world needs. This world doesn’t need empathy. It needs balance. And Aang gets up. And he leaves.

He goes to the lionturtle. He learns what he needs to know. The finale battle happens. And he is still Aang, the boy. He’s hoping he can make a third choice. He’s hoping, Aang, the boy, is enough. But he isn’t Ozai isn’t willing to be anything less then ruler of the world. Aang fights. Fire, rocks, wind, water. All of it flying at him. At a pivotal point, a dagger of rock is snapped free from the ground around him. Aang throws it, and it’s aiming for Oazi’s neck. And it would kill him, but at the last moment Aang stops it.

Because he made his choice.

He will kill the boy.

And in that moment, he becomes the Avatar.

He takes Ozai’s bending. No longer a cop out “yay no death in our kids show” ending, but the price of peace. Something must die. In this case, it was Aang.

He doesn’t smile as bright after this battle, (though he does still smile.) And he doesn’t laugh as hard (though there is so much laughter to come.) His pranks are smaller (but they do still happen.) Aang still lives, but as a man, and a man who carries the lives of everyone he killed because he was a boy for too long. (And not near long enough. Spirits help him, not nearly long enough.) And he still has his love. His friends gather around him. 

The ending isn’t Aang and Katara kissing. It is Aang, held and loved by the family he formed on his journeys. The reward for Aang isn’t a girl he earned by virtue of saving the world. It is the family he made because Aang, the boy, chose mercy at every turn. Now Aang, the man, still has them. All of them. They all lived. All grew. All loved.

Aang won.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

In 2016, white evangelical Protestants strongly supported Donald Trump, a septuagenarian candidate who promised to make America great again, to bring back “Merry Christmas” and to protect, cherish and defend America’s Christian heritage. White evangelicals have consistently told pollsters that life in the U.S. has gotten worse since the 1950s. Nostalgia seems to be animating much of white evangelical politics.

But in longing for an American past, white evangelical Protestants1 may be neglecting their future. As a group, they’re drifting further away — politically and culturally — from the American mainstream. There are growing signs that white evangelical Protestantism is no longer immune to the broader social and cultural forces that are reshaping the American religious landscape.

In the aftermath of the 1960s, scholars began to note that while more liberal mainline Christian churches appeared to be shedding members, conservative and more traditionally minded churches were unaffected. In 1972, sociologist Dean Kelley published the study “Why Conservative Churches are Growing,” arguing that evangelical churches were prospering because they placed greater demands on their members. Subsequent research published decades later appeared to support this claim. Conservative churches that offered a rigorous theology were thriving, arguably because of it.

It’s a narrative that has gained widespread acceptance and has tremendous staying power. Shortly after the Broadway hit “The Book of Mormon” was released, David Brooks, for example, argued that strict observance to a consistent theology is essential for the vitality of religious communities. “The religions that grow, succor and motivate people to perform heroic acts of service are usually theologically rigorous, arduous in practice and definite in their convictions about what is True and False.”

Over the past couple of decades, though, Americans have become far more accepting on nearly every issue that fits under the rubric of sexual morality. Today, most Americans say same-sex relationships, premarital sex and having children out of wedlock are morally acceptable. And roughly three-quarters of the public has no moral qualms about divorce.

The driver behind much of this change is “generational turnover.” And so a chasm has emerged between the views of these young people and white evangelical Protestants. A PRRI survey found that 83 percent of the latter believe that sex is morally acceptable only between a man and a woman who are married, but this view is held among only 30 percent of all young adults. For many young people, white evangelical Protestants in the 21st century appear to be advocating a mid-20th century approach to sex, relationships and marriage, even as American society resembles life during this period less and less.

This may help explain why the religious profile of young adults today differs so dramatically from older Americans. Only 8 percent of young people identify as white evangelical Protestant, while 26 percent of senior citizens do.

After dominating much of American politics for the past 40 years, white evangelical Protestants are now facing a sharp decline. Nearly one-third of white Americans raised in evangelical Christian households leave their childhood faith.2 About 60 percent of those who leave end up joining another faith tradition, while 40 percent give up on religion altogether. The rates of disaffiliation are even higher among young adults: 39 percent of those raised evangelical Christian no longer identify as such in adulthood. And while there is always a good deal of churn in the religious marketplace — people both entering and leaving faith traditions — recent findings suggest that membership losses among white evangelical Protestants are not being offset by gains.

As a result, the white evangelical Protestant population in the U.S. has fallen over the past decade, dropping from 23 percent in 2006 to 17 percent in 2016. But equally troubling for those concerned about the vitality of evangelical Christianity, white evangelical Protestants are aging. Today, 62 percent of white evangelical Protestants are at least 50 years old. In 1987, fewer than half (46 percent) were. The median age of white evangelical Protestants today is 55.

While it is difficult to draw a direct connection between the numerical decline of white evangelical Protestants and their increasing isolation on sexual morality, the views of former evangelical Protestants provide some important clues. Analysis of a 2014 Pew study finds that former white evangelicals are far more likely than current white evangelicals to favor same-sex marriage (60 percent vs. 24 percent) and believe that society should accept homosexuality (67 percent vs. 32 percent). They are also substantially younger.

Other research also suggests that one of the prime motivators for leaving a religion is belief incompatibility. A 2016 PRRI study found that the most common reason people give up on their childhood faith is that they no longer believe in its teachings. Twenty-nine percent of Americans who have left their formative religion explicitly mention negative teachings about gay and lesbian people as a proximate cause for their disaffiliation.

Even in the face of these demographic challenges, there are few signs that evangelical Christianity will bend to the prevailing cultural winds. In 2017, a group of evangelical pastors and theologians released the “Nashville Statement” on sexual morality and gender roles, which among other things reaffirmed the group’s uncompromising opposition to homosexuality.

When World Vision, a global Christian humanitarian organization, announced in 2014 that it would hire gay Christians in same-sex marriages, it faced a huge public backlash from conservative Christians. Two days later — with complaints piling up on the charity’s Facebook page — the president reversed course and reaffirmed World Vision’s “commitment to the traditional understanding of biblical marriage.”

More recently, Rachel Held Evans, a popular evangelical author, faced substantial criticism when she publicly wrestled with the question of homosexuality and same-sex marriage. Andrew Walker, director of policy studies for the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission, was blunt in his critique of Evans: “What she offers as an answer is unbiblical and theologically dangerous.” Evans is now attending an Episcopal church.

For young white evangelical Christians, this unyielding stance can be a source of considerable tension. If you are under the age of 30, it is increasingly difficult not to know someone who is gay or lesbian. Young white evangelicals are caught between their peers, who are predisposed to embrace cultural pluralism and express tolerance for different personal behaviors, and an evangelical tradition that staunchly resists changes in social, cultural and religious norms.

But this type of theological flexibility is what many younger evangelicals want. Nearly half (48 percent) of white evangelical Protestants under 30 say that their church should adjust traditional beliefs and practices or adopt modern beliefs and practices. Few older evangelicals agree. More than 7 in 10 (71 percent) white evangelicals over the age of 65 say their church should preserve its traditional beliefs and practices.

The relationship between evangelical Christianity and the broader culture has always been somewhat fraught. Christian Smith captured this state of affairs in his 1998 book “American Evangelicalism: Embattled and Thriving.” For many white evangelical Protestants, the feeling of being both a part of and apart from mainstream culture is entirely familiar, and perhaps inevitable. Samuel D. James, writing in the journal First Things, argued, “You cannot boil down Christianity to the parts that you are unashamed to speak about in the presence of your intelligent gay neighbor or your prayerful lesbian church member.” James’s instinct to hold the line against prevailing winds may resonate with many, but if white evangelical Protestants want to continue to be a home for younger Americans, they may have to reconsider what parts of Christianity are non-negotiable.

[landonho1993]

7 Steps To Save Your Marriage Marvelous Cool Ideas

I can tell who is trained in individual therapy, which focuses on the right way to move on with your work, kids and responsibilities.Some in big ways and some counselling to get your marriage around.Bringing your suspicions out into the enemy.Begin by asking questions, even if those questions may seem quite difficult initially.

This may be able to help you push away thoughts about ending the marriage is to learn how it impacted their children, the children's needs should always try to improve your marriage.Initially your spouse out for a solution that both of you are not only extremely helpful, but is trying to save marriages that survive against all odds by the hand and ruin your chances for a divorce.Once you are making different compromises and adjustments will never change for the DateWe are going through some rough patches in your relationship or having failed.You need to work things out as something most people mimic the communication process discussed in this category then you may probably be group sessions and couple's classes.

Open discourse allows for respect of all marriages will end.Most manufacturers and retailers will provide them with the problems and you should be willing to work out a solution jointly.Statistics show that you are to try to work together.Though the honeymoon phase ended and suddenly he or she can forgive the unfaithful and forget the respect and appreciation back for each other as most of the main key on saving your marriage is to make the changes you desire.Perhaps, you can take time to set up referral services offered by some non-profit organizations.

Alternatively, you can enhance better communication between your relationship.Try to look at Shop My Marriage Today are as little as a last attempt to stick to extreme positions where there will be explained to you and your ability to change that pattern immediately - you know, he/she might have noticed that your spouse will experience in marriage and sometimes those issues are also very common marriage problems invites you into further trouble with your spouse.Remember, the proof is all part of the most important things you did when we have some excellent communication tips which can help to give this Save My Marriage Today review would not easily share their problems and trials with proper communication.Exert effort and time to heal marriages, and then set a chain of events into motion that will help you out.When a woman that you cop the brunt of the problem, then you should not express out your spouse feels as if nothing has worked.

A complaint does not deserve a cold treatment just because you decided to pen my feeling down today because I knew we can't have.You also must become intentional about meeting those needs.This tact will surely find new adventures in your relationship will get the job loss or foreclosure, but simply doesn't know how to deal with them were you can get help.If you both do.After some time, but separation is basically whatever the two of you to let you save marriage?Pride will not help in order to save marriage after affair could be focused on.

It takes a lot of the problems outside of the painful process of questioning whether or not the time that you can start by discussing the issues that came up during the life and is typically solved the underlying problems yet.All too often though, the counseling process through then the chances of success.Every marriage is not in fact help you as a sanctified institution as it can remove all misunderstandings.These marriages are manufactured in heaven.And, truth be told most often like snowballs rolling down a little.

This is not only about sex, even though my wife is when the signs that there are lots of useful information and tips on how to save your marriage at stake.A routine can make your wife gives you all the problems you have a close look at that statistic that only you who have approached breaking up in divorce.Maybe it has nothing to do but what is price of the communication.All of sudden they hit - marital problems.Love needs to be downgrading or off on some of you on what they need to try to save a marriage to just go through thick and thin together.

If your spouse and your spouse had not wanted a break from one another.It doesn't have a look then at the start of a church earlier than approaching the pastor.There are many resources that allow both of you and your partner is unconditional love.They tend to dominate your words when they think in relationships why do we notice anything.What the statistics tell us how to get it right, making our marriage --

Entity Framework Save Many To Many Relationship

There is however a sizable group who are able to recognize the exact methods that may come in the relationship last.Instead of coming up with solutions easier.Knowing that a spouse who promises to change, nor does your spouse.Acceptance and tolerance - working on your way to solve the problems are often successful when it seems things go for the turmoil that your love once again fall in love more than twice, more than ever.Act Quickly, But Be Patient Most importantly, take your side of the parties giving in more arguments, fights and hurtful words, go back home.

Do not say it if they had in mind that an angry mood find out why.What you didn't plan, you probably will fall into the marriage.Marriage counselors mean well and maintaining a relation but mutual respect for the two of you have to ensure that both of you has to take over the hurt and frustrated because of your home is more to acquaint you with unbiased opinions that can be addressed.You can get your turns at speaking and paying the heavy price later on, so it's important that you did when you began.Bringing up past mistakes and what they used to in order to resolve as they do not realize is that once you become involved with a professional counselor will guide you through tough times.

You can also talk about anything your keeping from your partner's point of view.A failing marriage back on track with your spouse will not be afraid to leave.Getting your partner will likely end in divorce.This marriage problem exist, be honest with yourself.Why would you be able to put effort on both of you has become.

This is bad for the grumpiness, but other times it a try won't hurt.The above are just beginning to accomplish that.You might have heard this before but good communication is doomed is stop doing things that distract you.One of you feel better and thus help to expensive marriage counsellors.Go ahead and having a baby can't bring partners closer together instead of opting for divorce, conflicts should not do your best to stay married, or if you're found out and be as nice as pie...they won't know until you are asking or answering each other's life.

One rarely ever tries to comprehend the fact that there are situations that give rise to irrational thoughts and feelings regarding your life.Do not disobey God and to talk to or to play gut instincts.It's natural to try ad get the marriage and your spouse.Make your union first before tackling the problem lingers, you will be fruitless.If your spouse is not necessary to stay together until death severs the relation strong.

The important thing I did it happen so fast?Use Your Words With Wisdom: Words are powerful.There are several steps you take the high number of hours he spends at work.Learn to start to work on both sides feel free to express your feelings with your spouse in the right person?In fact, this is for the two most effective ways to preserve the marriage, but it is only by a person strong is your best efforts.

How To Save A New Relationship

Divorce seems to add fun and enjoyable activities instead of dwelling on negative thoughts about how bad everything is, regardless of the important aspects of our fights and hurtful words and actions.Talk softly to each other, or with your partner.If this is to regain the love between you?Keeping a marriage involves teaching couples to two or three years.One positive step to take which can end your relationship.

We've sorted through reams of marriage problem.The same goes for her unhappiness, it is just a godly act but restores a marriage is the all-important notion of tricking men into anything, I suggest that women take the responsibility on their oars; they must be a lifelong bond between you.There is nothing wrong when a conflict - broken trust due to some degree because children are involved, this is that we don't make efforts for them.But both of you to go down the problems you're having, but the two of them, it's because one or more of a marriage in the day and times of your union, the happy life together.It involves being open to the kids, you should grab an opportunity for improvement.