#many. also jess should be there. that would be even more self indulgent and make me crazier

[themyscirah]

This is such a "nobody else has read this comic" moment but like. It kills me every day that we never see Simon's conversation with Amanda Waller in JLA (2013) #5. Like I NEED to know what she said to him in that room. He goes in fully intending to detach himself from all the drama of his origin arc and get the government off his back yet when he leaves he joins Waller's JLA (which is a different, rival entity of the JL at this time). And THEN in JLA comic he's not just on the team, he's one of the more pro-Waller/pro-authority members!!! Which doesn't sound like Simon!!! Like at all! But again this is the Wall we are talking about. And they had a private conversation together! For an unspecified amount of time! That we know nothing about! Like this is Amanda freaking Waller if anyone could say something to make this make sense it would be her. SO I NEED TO KNOW WHAT SHE SAID. but also also also we see ANOTHER change of heart from Simon towards Waller (and the government) in Green Lanterns #1! (I think.) Here he's shown being fed up as the government tries to manipulate him for information and to gain power and such and is like keeping tabs on him and his family etc. So obviously he's become disillusioned with this and is not happy about it, which is the kind of reaction you would expect from him! Like that actually makes sense!!!

So its like logically you figure that his characterization in JLA is bad (it is new 52) and doesn't make sense and stems from an ignorance of his character (who had been in literally 16 comics before this. Including cameos. Like bruh just read them) and that's why this doesn't make sense. BUT THERE'S STILL THAT CONVERSATION WITH WALLER. Like I want this to my sense so bad. And my brain knows what Amanda Waller is like like it KNOWS that something could have plausibly happened in that room to make this line up! Like it's Amanda freaking Waller anything could have happened there. I need to know what happened there. I will NEVER know what happened there.

[bombingqueen]

I might make a rec list of all my favorite wincest and j2 fics. I wouldn't mind receiving some recs if anyone is interested. I decided to just list my wincest recs because I read more sam/dean fics then J2. I have no idea how many parts I'm gonna have.

Updated:

Wincest Recs Part 1

Favorites (these are pretty much rated E):

the blood in your mouth (5306 words) by hathfrozen Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Dean wishes he could sink his hands right through Sam’s skin, his ribs, wishes he could touch straight down to Sam’s heart. He’d feel the strong muscle of it, the clench and release of every beat, the thick heat of blood. He could take a bite, all for himself. (In which Dean starts experiencing cannibalistic thoughts about Sam, and Sam just needs his brother. Season 11.)

take the things you love (4784 words) by hathfrozen Chapters: 1/1 Summary: The thing is, Sam’s reinforcing every bad behavior Dean’s ever had with this kind of shit. Fucking Sam stupid over the hood of the Impala? Dean’s wet dream—unfortunately also Sam’s—but more importantly the implicit validation of every claim Dean thinks he has on Sam—unfortunately every claim Sam’s lizard brain wants Dean to have. (Sam knows his brother wants to possess him. It's a point of internal conflict.)

brother only wants (64098 words) by hathfrozen Chapters: 11/11 Summary: Sam breathes like it takes effort, and then he says, "Wanting you was the very first thing I realized was wrong with me. It was how I knew there was something sick inside." (One of them had to fall first. A story about devotion.)

an act of faith against the night (5953 words) by hathfrozen Chapters: 1/1 Summary: When Dean kisses him again, he tastes like Sam's tears. "I hate you," Sam whispers into Dean's mouth, still trying to get Dean to fuck him faster. No one should ever love this much. "It's your fault, this is your fault." Dean gave him this, everything that Sam never wants to lose, and now Dean's just going to tear it all away. He's going to throw himself away, like he's nothing, if Sam can't save him. (Angsty porn set sometime in Season 3. In lieu of actually talking things out, Sam and Dean have a lot of sex. Sometimes, like now, Sam breaks down.)

Bullet for my Valentine (8840 words) by merle_p Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Summary: Stupid. He is so goddamn fucking stupid. Running his mouth like a fucking idiot, not knowing when to leave well enough alone. Bad enough that he just practically talked dirty to his little brother, which, Christ – he must be more stressed than he thought if his self-control mechanisms have started malfunctioning that badly. But no, no, he came up with a scenario straight out of a bad slasher film, as if that is something normal people talk dirty about, as if that is something Sam would seriously enjoy. As if – As if Dean hadn’t hunted his own brother through the maze of the bunker, eyes black and hammer raised to strike, not even a full year ago. As if Sam hadn’t, just a few weeks back, knelt at his feet, neck bared, waiting for Dean to deal a fatal blow with a fucking scythe

Sam has a serial killer kink and Dean indulges him. There is no explicit consent discussion prior to the kink exploration. But there is a safeword that Sam is fully able to use.

With Your Dreams Untold (10157 words) by waywardelle Chapters: 1/1 Summary: For the past ten years, Dean has been bookmarking porn on the laptop for Sam to watch. Sam figured it would never go further than that, until one night, not long after killing Hitler, Dean decides to be brave. One thing is for sure: Dean is never going to let Sam live down the fact that porn is what brought them together, in the end. Set between 12x06 & 12x07, but not necessarily a coda.

Walkin' the Tightrope (24702 words) by non_tiembo_mala Chapters: 1/1 Summary: It’s 2036, and twenty years since Sam and Dean called it quits on hunting to take up a secluded, quiet life. Maybe Jesse and Cesar gave them the idea, but after Amara, they realized they’d done enough. And they wanted a proper life together even more. Known as Sam Wesson and Dean Smith to the residents of the nearby town they call home, Sam and Dean keep mostly to themselves, their immaculately kept ‘67 Chevy Impala, and their cabin in the woods. That is, until someone from their past tracks them down, desperate for help. Sam and Dean can’t say no, not when it’s their dear friend Jody Mills in deep trouble – she’s missing – but the wedding bands they wear make going back to their old life just that little bit more complicated…

because you want to die for love (27299 words) by hathfrozen Chapters: 1/1 Series: Part 1 of Heaven verse Summary: He almost misses it. “Seventy-eight days.” A beat passes. “What?” That’s the face of twenty-four year old Sam staring at Dean with the eyes of the thirty-six year old Sam he left behind. Dean can’t get a read on him, on the expression there when Sam clarifies, “It was only seventy-eight days. I lived for seventy-eight days without you, and then I ended up here.”  (Sam and Dean settle into their Heaven—and into each other, too.)

Just about everything by hathfrozen is awesome. The author really knows Sam and Dean and hathfrozen explores their unhinged dynamics well.

Strange How the Night Moves (2282 words) by dollylux Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam and Dean talk about Sam's night with Piper.

Kings of Christmas (4987 words) by brokenlittleboy Chapters: 1/1 Summary: During the holidays at the bunker, Sam and Dean engage in a tense competition over who can decorate the bunker the best. Things get out of hand, but in a good way.

The Exodus (14189 words) by waywardelle Chapters: 1/1 Summary: So. Dean left with Cas over a week ago on some sort of recon mission, and yeah, Sam has been trying to bury himself in research, but he's just not coping all that well with the long-term separation. He wakes up early one morning, expecting the day to be like all the rest, except it's even worse than all the rest, because he's completely and totally alone on his (brother-less) thirty-fourth birthday. His bleak outlook quickly changes with an unexpected phone call, and he has to admit that maybe someone, somewhere answered his embarrassingly needy birthday wish, despite his lack of candles to blow out.

Promise Me (9281 words) by brokenlittleboy Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel Additional Tags: Soulmates, Fluff, Romance, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Men of Letters Bunker, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Winchesters, Canon Compliant, Top Dean, Bottom Sam, Frottage, Anal Sex, Sleepy Kisses, Minor Character(s) Series: Part 4 of Commissions Summary: Dean makes a promise to Sam. He'd already made a commitment to his brother in a church, but this time is more significant and meaningful. Their lives are already weird enough that one incestuous marriage proposal won't flip things upside down.

Sweet Sin, So Naked and Bare (16105 words) by HandsAcrossTheSea Chapters: 1/1 Summary: “Have you ever thought about us doing it bare?” Sam pauses with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth and brings his gaze up. “What do you mean?” “You know. Fucking bareback.” Dean’s not looking at him and Sam really, really wishes he would. Sam sets the cup down and exhales slowly. “Maybe.”

the need to choose (4542 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Castiel tells Dean something he never expected to hear.

This is an amazing fic. It does involve Mpreg and Non-traditional A/B/O dynamics. Dean is told he is pregnant. It also discusses the possibility of abortion due to the possibility of Sam and Dean being vessels and their war with Heaven and Hell. I think the concept is utterly brilliant. Sam and Dean having a child would really make it so that Heaven and Hell hunt them down or they give up their child.

reclamation (4152 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Once they're finally on the same page again, once things are okay, Sam realizes there's just one thing missing.

femme (4460 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Rummaging around the internet, Dean finds a kink he hadn't seen before; Sam explains, and demonstrates.

the beams of our house are cedar (7864 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: While they're still cementing the bunker as theirs, Dean remembers something he used to play with, when he was younger. He decides to give Sam a surprise, whenever he gets home.

there will be better days (9430 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam and Dean settle into their heaven.

ambiguity (4155 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam has a fantasy that he's long wanted to see realized. Dean misunderstands, at first, but Sam sets him straight.

a gift; win-win (967 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam wants to watch; Dean obliges.

oh so good, oh so fine (7580 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Series: Part 1 of it started with the kinks Summary: Zachariah gave them their memories back, but he didn't erase what had happened in the time they were other people. Dean Smith made a mistake, and Dean Winchester--well. He's still living with it.

kansas city (4231 words) by deadlybride Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam dies in a barn, and Dean tries to live, after.

deadlybride is one of my favorite wincest authors. everything they write is certified gold. Also, I'm a simple woman, I enjoy reading about Dean in panties.

Good Clean Fun (6050 words) by nigeltde Summary: Loose lips sink ships.

Fair warning, if Sam and Dean having sex when Sam may not be fully with reality squicks you then proceed with caution. It is not stated out right and it is left ambiguous.

Lips That Unlock Doors (2668 words) by AlulaSpeaks Chapters: 1/1 Dean may have the lips that unlock doors, but it’s Sam’s mouth that drives Dean crazy.

Dean just wanted a taste.

You Have Always Been a Fire, Burning Under My Skin (6037 words) by faequeentitania Chapters: 1/1 Series: Part 1 of Sharing is Caring Summary: The first time Sam woke up to the sound of Dean jerking off, he was twelve. Hearing your brother stroking himself in the middle of the night shouldn't be a turn on at twelve. And it definitely shouldn't be a turn on at twenty-two, either. But here he was.

The entire series is awesome. There is hetero sex but Sam/Dean has a pretty established thing going on throughout. Sam and Dean enjoy sharing their sexual experiences with women and they enjoy having threesomes.

Giving Thanks (23271 words) by chiquititasnewsong Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam forgets it’s Thanksgiving until he finds Dean in the kitchen at the bunker getting ready for a huge holiday spread. Whether it’s the day or the atmosphere or some kind of odd cosmic synchronicity, Sam takes a chance that turns out to change his life in ways he never dreamed possible.

I love this fic so fuckin much. The mutual pining and the increasing sexual tension is everything to me.

To Have and To Hold (3668 words) by fallingintodivinity Chapters: 1/1 Summary: It’s while standing in the middle of the vegetable aisle at a Wal-Mart, a slightly wilted head of lettuce in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other, that Dean Winchester realizes he’s married.

A Warm Respite from a Chilly Night (1854 words) by doilycoffin Chapters: 1/1 After spending a good chunk of their evening freezing their asses off, Dean decides to warm him and Sam up with some good old fashioned spiked hot cocoa. And if it results in him getting to have a little fun with a very tipsy and horny Sam, then who is he to complain?

It's all consensual.

In the Chair Next to Mine (14407 words) by chiquititasnewsong Chapters: 1/1 Summary: This was written for this prompt from the SPN Masquerade Round 10: WINCEST - CAMPBELL BROTHERS, MARRIAGE KINK from: (anonymous) they really do love their little life in lebanon; the cozy quaint togetherness, the domestic bliss of coupledom, and they definitely get off on fooling the townspeople—letting everyone think they're mr. and mr. for real. (matching rings, the occasional pet name slipped, no one around them realizing they're getting an eyeful of incest every time a kiss is shared in public.)

Sam has a serious and intense incest kink. Dean gets into it.

Cri de Cœur [The Heart's Cry] (37817 words) by kelleigh Chapters: 7/7 Summary:

Sam and Dean could use a break after banishing God’s sister to the far reaches of oblivion. However, a new case drops into their laps when they receive a message sent to the Men of Letters using a strange old code. The name Campbell makes it impossible for them to refuse. The hunt takes the Winchesters back to Charleston, South Carolina, a city they haven’t been through in almost twenty years. It plunges them into the obscure and bloody history of an old plantation where ghost sightings and a consuming madness mean the clock is ticking.

Using every resource they have, including the help of the last Campbell ancestor in the South, the testimony of a powerless ghost, and the expertise of a handsome young historian, Sam and Dean need to uncover the truth behind the haunting before it claims another innocent victim. Based on the short story, The Yellow Wallpaper.

This is the second part of a series but it can be read as a stand alone. I love reading case fics and love reading ones that read like it could be on the show. This is awesome. Takes a divergence after Amara reunites with Chuck.

Sticking With You (10522 words) by smalltrolven Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam’s soul has been stretched to the limit after being attached to Chuck via the damn bullet in his shoulder. But now he has something to decide: whether or not to fill Dean in about what had really happened to Sam while Dean was off hunting on his own and killing his old buddy. It takes him the whole drive to Alaska, and nearly the whole way back to work up the courage to spill the whole story.

Dean helps Sam's soul heal and it is a beautiful thing.

nothing's gonna hurt you, baby (17652 words) by orphan_account Chapters: 1/1 Summary: “You get to have this, Dean.” The brush of Sam’s mouth against his own is the sweetest ache. Lips catch and drag and Sam whispers into his mouth, “You get to have this. If you want this, I’m giving it to you. Let me give this to you.” Dean wants to say yes. He wants to say please and I love you and thank you. For the trust, the devotion, the care. It’s not something that has ever needed to be verbalised but god, in this moment Dean wants nothing more than to tell this boy just how much he loves him. “Yeah. Yeah, Sam — I want this.” The words taste like the sweetest freedom and a thousand more years of damnation but Sam’s tongue soothes the burn of them. Long fingers cradle the back of his head tenderly, so tenderly, like he’s something precious to be taken care of, and Dean’s chest feels fit to bursting with how much he loves this kid.

I adore this fic. I really really do. and its sexy hot. This has Daddy kink. Sam calls Dean Daddy and it has undertones of subdropping.

Every New Beginning (1881 words) by remy Chapters: 1/1 Summary: one night you realize you love him, you love him in a way you shouldn’t, in a way you can never tell anyone, least of all him because he is not here. he is miles and miles and miles below your feet, so far out of your reach that you can’t even imagine it, and your chest hurts so sharp and vindictive you can’t breathe. and here’s the thing – without him, you don’t want to.

This is written in second person but it is an honestly beautiful depiction of Dean's feelings for Sam.

they were each other's toxic cure called codependency (2172 words) by nowhere_blake Series: Part 8 of codas for the damned and the brokenhearted Summary: Mary’s back, Dean is gone and Sam stops sleeping. She thought she understood how deep her boys' relationship goes, but when Michael takes over and Dean disappears, she needs to reevaluate just exactly how scarily codependent the two of them are. Coda to 14x01 Stranger in a Strange Land.

There's No Normal After That (6274 words) by Fenix21 Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Dean discovers the truth behind the words of what it really means to love his brother.

Dean's turmoil after Sam's non-death is good stuff. This fic is set after Red Meat.

O Heavenly Christmas (8124 words) by SmackTheDevil Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Reunited on a bridge in Heaven, Sam and Dean have much to catch up on and slide back into their close relationship as if they had never been apart. Sam is reflective about a life long lived, while Dean is his usual self; cracking jokes and teasing his brother. But without the weight of the world on their shoulders, for the first time, in a long time they are both able to relax and talk about their time together on Earth, relive a few memories and enjoy their first Christmas together in Heaven.

amazing work and the progress of their re-joining is beautiful

ain't it a gentle sound, the rolling in the graves? (ain't you my baby?) (3367 words) by pilotflyingj Summary: Five times Dean calls Sam "baby," and one time he doesn't.

Monsters Are Always Hungry (27458 words) by untraceablegirl23 Chapters: 1/1 Summary: He peers down at him for just a second, a second that skips on like hours, because looking at Sam is like giving something up, like air, like space, and being replaced entirely with devotion. (Nonlinear depiction of the time Sam and Dean are found out and how it all comes to in the months beforehand which are Heaven and Hell at once. Or an acknowledgement of just how far they’d go for each other, even when it’s beyond wrong, because how can you hide when you’re entirely made for someone else?)

Midnight Ride (2749 words) by ani_coolgirl Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Sam really just means to get some sleep. But if he wants Dean’s good mood to last, he may as well indulge and enjoy the ride.

Sam indulging Dean's cowboy while Castiel and Jack are in the next room.

[duchesschameleon]

light the candles

summary: a little Jewish education, some Hanukkah decorations, and warmth provided by candlelight (aka an extremely self-indulgent and slightly cathartic fic)

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN Jewish Reader words: 2.5k title from: candlelight by the maccabeats

You look at the little snow-covered tree JJ and Morgan insisted you decorate your desk with earlier and sigh. It’s late, you’re still at the office working on consults and a report from your latest case, and the tree is another thing that’s adding to your mounting headache. It’s such a little thing, you shouldn’t feel guilty over it and it shouldn’t bother you this much. But it does for some reason, and you can’t shake it. You let out a sigh and rub your eyes, trying to get yourself to refocus on the paperwork in front of you. It’s a tree, it’s not the end of the world. It’s a snow-covered tree, it won’t hurt you, you tell yourself. And it works for a bit. You feel yourself sink into the rhythm of paperwork, blocking out the world around you.

Its Aaron’s hand on your shoulder that pulls you from your trance and you startle as you look up at him.

“Sorry, I tried calling your name,” he starts, clearing his throat as his eyes dart around your desk, “why are you still here? Go home, paperwork will be here in the morning.”

“Seemed better to get it done now,” you shrug, “Anyway, there’s not much for me at home. I do live alone.”

Aaron huffs out a laugh in acknowledgement. “But it’s the holidays. Shouldn’t you be decorating or getting gifts or just, I don’t know reveling in the holiday spirit?” His hands are firmly placed in his pockets, making him appear almost awkward and nervous, but you ignore it. There’s no reason for Aaron Hotchner to be awkward and nervous around you.

Your face sours a bit, and you lean back in your chair, “you mean get into the Christmas spirit?” you scoff.

“No,” Aaron frowns, “I mean the holiday spirit. Hanukkah starts soon, doesn’t it?”

Your speechless for a moment, shocked that he remembered. You don’t talk about being Jewish a lot, just little things here and there about getting challah for shabbat, lighting your candles when you can, or wearing your Chai pendant. It’s small things and details that are easy to forget or slip out of people’s minds. “Uhm, yeah, it starts in a week or so,” you stammer out. “But there’s not much to prepare? My gifts to my family have already been sent and I don’t decorate much. Doesn’t make sense when we’re probably going to get a case and be traveling. Anyway, it’s importance always gets blown out of proportion because of its proximity to Christmas.

Aaron nods and lets out a little huff of air. “Got it.” He checks his watch and sighs, noting the time. He rubs his forehead, contemplating something. “Well, if you won’t go home to your place then come on over to mine. I, uh, may have bought some Hanukkah decorations for Jack and I to put up and we could use your help.” Aaron’s neck flushes and he looks down at his feet. Suddenly, his nervousness makes sense, and you feel your own cheeks heat up. “I understand if you don’t want to, or it’s overstepping but I still –”

“No, no I’d – I’d really like that,” you interrupt. A small smile spreads across your face and you look up at Aaron. “You know I’ll never turn down time with Jack and I guess I can help decorate.”

Aaron flashes you one of his blinding smiles, small enough to not look totally out of place on his face but still full of joy. “Good, because I probably won’t be able to answer most of his questions about Hanukkah. Figured I’d go straight to the expert for that.”

You laugh as you start to clean up your desk, organizing files so that you can pick right up when you get into the office tomorrow. Aaron runs back to his office to grab his keys and coat, a small smile gracing his face. When he comes back to your desk, you’re standing waiting for him.

“I took the metro in today, mind giving me a lift to your place?”

“Not at all.”

The ride is quiet, comfortable. The silences that fall over you two usually are comfortable, a by-product of working together for so many years and spending those years in close contact. It’s hard to be a part of the BAU for so long and not be comfortable around each other.

And while you might be comfortable, Aaron is trying to hide how tense he is in the driver’s seat. Getting you to his apartment, to spend time alone with him (and Jack) outside of a work setting is something he’s been trying to do for a long time. It took some courage, and a good excuse, but he did it and now he’s nervous all over again about what it’ll be like to have you in his space. At work, there’s a clearly defined line of professionalism he cannot cross. But in his apartment, his home, and with his son he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop the feelings he’s harbored for you for a while.

The drive to Aaron’s isn’t very long and soon he’s putting the car and park and jogging to try and open your door for you. When he realizes you’d already opened it, he offers you his hand instead and you roll your eyes as you take it.

“Always the gentleman, huh Hotchner?” He flashes you a smirk in return and you chuckle as he leads you to the elevator of the parking garage, still holding your hand. It’s nice, his large hand enveloping yours and providing warmth to your chilly fingers. You certainly aren’t complaining and wouldn’t want him to drop your hand.

Jack’s running to the door as you enter the apartment and immediately wraps his arms around Aaron for a hug. “Aunt Jess let me stay up late ‘cause you said we were gonna decorate tonight!” Jack exclaims, excited for an extended bedtime on a school night.

“Yeah buddy! I brought over a friend too, to help us with those new decorations I got, remember?” Aaron asked, leaning down to hug Jack and press a kiss to his hair.

Jack nods before looking around Aaron to wave at you and say hi. You wave back at him before unwinding your scarf and unbuttoning your coat. Aaron’s behind you to help take your coat off and hang it up and you’re startled by his closeness. He was close enough for you to get a whiff of his cologne, something subtle but spicy. It sends a shiver down your spine, being that close to him.

You shake it off though as he moves into the apartment to grab the decorations he’d purchased. You follow and sit on the couch as Aaron places the bags on the coffee table. Jack hops up next to you and reaches into the bag, pulling something out.

You see the item and gasp, looking at Aaron over Jack’s head. “Really?”

“I overhead JJ and Morgan talking about wanting to decorate the office and I know they tend to be well, one track minded. I wanted to make sure all bases were covered.” Aaron shrugs, and you see that his neck is turning red again.

“This is, incredible,” you breathe as you help Jack paw through the bag. There isn’t much, but it’s something and it means so much to you. Dreidels, strands of blue lights, a plush menorah for Jack to fill at home, an electric one for you to plug in at your desk, and gelt. Bags and bags of gelt. As you open the items, you explain what they are to Jack. That dreidels are both the spinning top itself and a game you play, that you play with gelt and then you can eat it because it’s a chocolate coin, and the menorah. You save it for last, telling him the abridged story of the Maccabees and how they fought and then discovered the oil left in the temple should only last one night but miraculously gave them light for 8 nights.

You keep it short, mindful of the time and Jack’s drooping eyes. He is excited about everything and demands you come over another time to play dreidel with him and to bring latkes, he said they sounded yummy and wanted to try some. You promise him that you will and give him a hug goodnight as Aaron makes sure he gets tucked into bed.

Most of the decorations are still spread on the coffee table in front of you, a few of the light strands hung up at Jack’s insistence. You’re still shocked that Aaron went through the trouble to find all of this and even more surprised he’d wanted some of it for his home, not just for the office. You flip through one of the children’s books Aaron had bought to help Jack understand the Hanukkah story and smile at the illustrations. You’re so engrossed in it that you don’t hear him return and get startled at him sinking into the couch next to you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Aaron says. He clears his throat and twists to look at you, “Thank you for doing this. For explaining Hanukkah to Jack and indulging him. And me too, I guess.”

You smile warmly at him, “Of course, it’s nice to know that people do want to learn. And you know I can never say no to Jack,” you laugh.

“Oh yes, there is a track record of that,” Aaron jokes. As you laugh you notice how close he’s sitting to you and your filled with warmth, though a little confused as to why he’s so close. It’s closer than he ever sits next to you, including on the jet. You settle into it, but his nerves from earlier seem to have transferred to you. You’re hyper-aware of Aaron’s presence and it puts you on edge. You know that you’ve been ignoring and pushing down the attraction you feel to him, the way you gravitate towards him. You know that you ignore it in the name of professionalism, of not crossing a line. But there’s also part of you that’s scared to put yourself and your heart on the line by giving in to your feelings. Aaron is your friend, your boss, someone who’s been a part of your life for years. To ruin that, to lose that would be devastating. So, you’ve continued on as if there are no romantic inclinations.

Besides, you’ve convinced yourself there’s no way Aaron reciprocates your feelings. He’d been so in love with Haley and hadn’t made any steps towards moving on or starting another relationship for so long. There’s no way that he’s taken a romantic interest in you, not now.

“You still here with me?” Aaron says, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just…thinking.”

“About what?”

You swallow, trying to figure out the best way to answer. Obviously, something is different about tonight. Aaron’s been hovering all evening, close to you and holding your hand and you’re sure he rested his hand on your arm or shoulder while you explained Hanukkah to Jack. He’s tactile, in a way he’s never been before. Now that Jack has gone to bed and you two are alone, you’re forced to really confront what it could mean.

“Did I lose you again?”

You shake your head and shoot him an apologetic smile, “I’m a little distracted, sorry.” You take a breath, determined and turn to face Aaron, “There’s something, different tonight isn’t there? You held my hand on the way here and you’ve been hovering close all night. It’s different than when we’re at work and it’s just…it’s distracting,” you blurt.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours and he takes your hand again, “It is different. You’re here at my apartment, and you’re so good with Jack and I just, I wanted it to be a little different, if that’s okay with you?”

“Are we going to keep dodging around it? Because this is, it’s a lot Aaron. It’s something I haven’t dared hope for, and I don’t want to mess anything up between us. You mean a lot to me. As a friend, a coworker, and as someone who’s been in my life for years at this point. I can’t lose that, not now.”

“Hey, hey,” Aaron’s hand comes up to rest on your jaw and he makes you meet his eyes, “none of that talk. Nothing is going to ruin what we have. You aren’t losing me.” The conviction in his voice helps calm your nerves, but there’s still so much left unsaid.

“Aaron, we have to be on the same page. This isn’t a one-time thing for me. I like you. As more than a friend. As someone I want to have in my life for a long time. For forever, really. I can’t say I love you right now because I’ve spent so long pushing all this down but it’s a real possibility. I can see a life with you, and I know that I could love you. If we do this, Aaron I’m pretty much all in.” You’ve laid your cards on the table, put it all out there. Aaron squeezes the hand he’s still holding and grips your jaw a little tighter, making sure you don’t turn away from him. He sees you, and you can’t hide.

“We’re on the same page. You just spent an evening with Jack and I teaching us about a holiday we don’t celebrate. I don’t think I can say it anymore plainly that this isn’t a one-time deal. I know I’m falling in love with you. Have been for a while,” he huffs out a laugh, “I see that life with you, and I want it. I know it won’t be easy with work, but we can figure that out and deal with the paperwork, I just know that I want you in my life, in Jack’s life, and I can’t lose you either. I want more time with you than we spend together in the office and I just, didn’t know how to tell you. But I want this. I want you.”

You’re verklempt, a mist clouding your vision. You smile and Aaron and he returns it. You both lean in and then he’s kissing you, his lips moving over yours and oh this is something you can get used to. Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you could easily do for the rest of your life. When you separate for a breath you tell him that and it draws a chuckle from both of you.

The details will come later, telling Jack and the team and Strauss but for now, you’ll sit on his couch and kiss him. There’s some lost time to make up for anyway.

And if you’re over for dinner a few days later, well that’s just fine. Aaron greets you at the door with a kiss and takes the bags out of your hands and into the kitchen. It’s the first night of Hanukkah and you’ve brought latke supplies to fulfill your promise to Jack. And when you light the first candle in your menorah, Aaron wraps his arms around your waist and you settle into him, content.

tag: @qvid-pro-qvo (if you want to be tagged in future fics - when I write them oops - let me know!)

[big1ron]

~ Ghosts: a Very Self Indulgent Clone Wars Story: Part 2/? ~

- ok so I’m letting you off easy here. Nothing bad happens this chapter. In fact, nothing at all happens. Just clones doing clone things. Very boring stuff. But next chapter I can do some fun things. This chapter is boring though. Rated e for everyone. Still. -

General Kenobi had approved Tup’s request to see Dogma, on the condition that Tup went to the medbay first. So once he had been bandaged by coric he was free to visit Dogma in the brig.

Tup stood looking in through the ray shielded door. It had only been two or so hours since it all happened. He almost felt bad checking Dogma over carefully to make sure he wouldn’t be hurt again before opening the door.

Dogma was huddled in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around his legs and head in his knees. Tup doubted it was possible but he crushed himself even further into the corner when Tup entered.

“Hey... Dogma, vod. It’s okay now.” Tup tried to reassure him, and slowly placed a hand on Dogma’s back. Dogma swatted the hand away and uncurled just to move away from Tup

“Everything is NOT okay, DON’T TOUCH ME! Go away... GO AWAY!”

“Dogma it’s me, Tup! Shh... you’re alright now” Tup tried to calm him down but it didn’t seem to be working.

“I KNOW who it is... please. Go away Tup... you cant be here. Get away from me!” He was completely terrified, almost too much so to function. Tup thought of coming back later, but decided to give it a few more attempts.

“I’m not going to hurt you vod, I promise. It’s okay.”

“Well I can’t make the same promise, can I. Go away. Please...”

Tup threw his arms around his brother and pulled him in close, even though Dogma tried to get away. Dogma accidentally hit where the lightsaber struck and Tup winced in pain. A look of complete horror and guilt appears on Dogma’s face and he tucks his arms into his chest. He stops fighting back.

“I’m sorry” Dogma says, barely more than a whisper.

Tup realizes he’s only causing him more distress so he lets Dogma be, and gives him his space. He doesn’t leave quite yet though, he doesn’t want Dogma feeling guilty about that.

“You didn’t hurt me vod. It’s okay.”

Tup sits by Dogma for a while, both of them silent. Really Tup just needs to know his brother’s still there. Even if Dogma really didn’t want him here. But he hoped his presence brought some kind of comfort. Maybe Tup would ask Kix If he had some kind of sedative he could calm him down with. Get some rest, as right now Dogma looked like he might never sleep again. Maybe that was okay though... if he never went to sleep he couldn’t wake up different. He would hide it and deny it, but Tup was still scared of Dogma. Of the monster he had been just hours before.

Suddenly, Tup’s comm beeped. It was from general kenobi. Tup left the cell to take the call.

“Clone trooper Tup, you left the medbay an hour ago, and haven’t reported in. Is everything alright in the brig?”

“An hour?? Oh, yes sir. Dogma is awake and he’s... somewhat himself.”

“Somewhat? What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s... going to need some time. He’s gone through something terrible, we all have, obviously. But... I think you probably understand, sir.”

“Yes... I do. Are you planning on staying the night there? Normally you wouldn’t be allowed to but this is a very special case. I can have someone bring you down some blankets if you want as well?”

“I’m not going to stay, no. I don’t think he wants the company. But if you could still send down a blanket for him that would probably be nice. Thank you sir.”

The call ended.

Tup was worried about the lasting effects of Dogmas mind being that thoroughly messed up. As even after umbara he never got like this. This was a completely new level of reaction. And it didn’t look good. But such a pessimistic outlook surely wouldn’t help either of them now.

Kix opened the ray shielded door to deliver the blanket. The holding cell was bare, not designed for comfort. It just had a slab of duracrete that was a sorry excuse for a bed, or bench and that was about it. So the blankets were welcome comfort. Dogma didn’t react to the visitor at all this time. He has been completely frozen in place for at least ten minutes now. Tup looked up at Kix when he entered though. “Is there anything else either of you need?” Asked Kix. Despite everything, he was still sweet and kind towards the two of them.

“Well... yeah. He’s not gonna calm down, or go to sleep without sedatives. As it is right now I’m preeettyyy sure he’s just shutting down. So if you could administer that or something that would probably help.”

“I thought something like that might be necessary.” Kix crouched down near the two. “The only cure for something like this is time. The only reason I’m doing this is because the generals are going to question him in the morning, and I want him to be somewhat rested.” Dogma initially pulls away from Kix, but once he realizes it’s a medic he lets him approach. Kix quickly sticks Dogma with the hypo and he began to calm down finally. “That goes for you too though, Tup. You know you’re only out of the medbay on the general’s permission. Not mine. I can easily order you back if I think you’re over exerting yourself. So come on, it’s back to the barracks with you.”

Tup walked back to the barracks, probably looking just as hollow as he felt. Fives was first to greet him as he made his way back to his bunk.

“Tup! You’re alive! They said you were but I hadn’t seen you around, and I was worried about you. Is... is it true what they said?”

Tup flops down onto his hard bunk face first “which part?”

“Apparently there was no separatist threat. Apparently Dogma just went off the rails and killed everyone. People are saying he should’a been taken away after umbara. Make him unstable or something. But I-“

Tup rolled over and leaned up. He wouldn’t let his brother be slandered like this. “You’re wrong! It wasn’t him. Dogma couldn’t do something like that to me, or to any of our vode. It was... someone else. Not Dogma but using his body. It was k-... the traitor.”

“Tup... that’s just not possible.” Fives tried to sound understanding but it really just came off as patronizing.

“You weren’t there Fives! You can’t know! Dogma didn’t turn traitor, he could never!”

“I’m sorry tup... ghosts aren’t real. But you were attacked by Dogma. He must have been unstable, we should have caught it sooner.”

Fives sounded sad, pitying Tup for being betrayed by his own best friend. But it was like he couldn’t hear the words coming out of his own mouth.

“You don’t believe me!” Tup socked him in the jaw.

Fives rubbed his jaw in shock, but then got ready to retaliate. But before he could, Rex walked in.

“Hey, Hey! Break it up you two.” Rex holds his arm out between the two

“Fives blames Dogma for what happened!” Tup accuses immediately, clearly distressed.

Rex places himself between them and looks to Fives “It wasn’t Dogma. The rumours aren’t true. Don’t be a shabuir.” Then turns to Tup. “I understand you’ve had a long day. But that’s no reason to hit fives. Everyone here needs to go back to sleep now, Alright?”

Rex calmed the barracks pretty quickly, and Tup laid back down. But he just couldn’t sleep. With the events of the day and the whispers that were still floating around. And it was still too cold. (Though he did have the general’s robe to help with that. He had forgotten to give it back, but he got the feeling he didn’t mind.) every little noise and every little thing seemed way to loud, and they annoyed him to no end. He just couldn’t sleep. He was overloaded. eventually he just commed Kix’s non emergency frequency, to ask if he could stay in the medbay for the night. It was usually quieter. He didn’t need to ask but he always felt strange entering un invited. Unsurprisingly Kix was still awake and answered quickly, confirming it was fine for Tup to stay there. He insisted Tup stay in his own office because it was soundproofed. And he pretended he didn’t play favourites.

When Tup got to the medbay Jesse greeted him and told him Kix was still getting his room ready. So he would have to wait around a little bit. Tup asked if there was anything he could do to help out but Jesse said

“Kix asked me to tell you if you asked me if you could help out, not to let you because he doesn’t want you overdoing it, also because he’s very specific about how he does everything and he doesn’t have the time to tell you how to do anything, no hard feelings.”

Tup was starting to think coming here was a bad idea. After such an attack, there were many machines running and plenty of injured clones. He felt like he could hear every machine. The beeping and buzzing was unbearable. It didn’t help when one did stop though. As that was usually a really bad sign. Such as the irregular spiking of a heart rate monitor connected to one of the 212th troopers. Waxer. And sitting next to him was one of his close brothers, boil. Tup wasn’t a medic, but he wouldn’t plan on waxer surviving the night with that pattern.

But before he could finish that thought, Kix appeared.

“Room’s ready Tup. Just had to clear a few things out.” Tup couldn’t recall ever seeing Kix sleep. He had been knocked out a few times, they all had, but never actual, regular sleep. But maybe he was just forgetting some. His brain wasn’t exactly operating at peak capacity right now. Kix beckoned him over to his personal office, that he had set up a cot in. It was small but it was tidy and as Kix had said, quiet. “Let me know if you need anything.” Kix said before killing the lights and hurrying back to his work.

In the complete silence, Tup was able to sleep.

A clone didn’t have time in his schedule for feeling sorry about himself and kenobi wanted to learn what he could before the trooper was sent off to the Jedi temple for observation and examination. Anakin and Rex had agreed to escort the trooper to the temple in the meeting they had with the council. But kenobi was to stay and continue to lead the forces on the planet. He was curious though, and they still had some time before he was to be taken. Rex was to wake up and prepare the trooper for the questioning. Make sure he was actually capable of answering.

As soon as Rex opened the cell door the trooper woke up, and looked at him. That was a good sign, actually addressing someone else in the room. He stood over the trooper and spoke.

“Sorry kid. Sleep cycle’s over. The general has some questions for you. Think you’ll be able to answer?”

Dogma looks away and the panic begins to return. Physically, maybe he could but what if he attacked the general again? There would be a lightsaber in the room a Jedi and- Rex crouched infront of him and grabbed his wrists.

“If you try to attack the Jedi, I will restrain you.” To anyone else it might sound like a threat, but to Dogma that was a strong reassurance. He trusted Rex far more than he could ever trust himself. Especially now.

“Now... can you do this or do I need to ask the general to hold off?” Rex Asks again, tone ever so slightly softer than usual.

Dogma nodded, but then realized rex would need verbal confirmation, so he gave a quick “yes sir.” And with that Rex dropped his hands and folded up the blanket.

The ‘questioning’ was little lighter than a typical Jedi interrogation. But still, Rex felt a little bad for promising it would be painless. Even if Kenobi was still much nicer than Skywalker ever was. Dogma admitted to being completely aware of what was happening, although unable to stop it. The longer the possession went on though, the less he had wanted it to stop. At the time, as Krell’s mind drew further into his own, Dogma began taking small amounts of sick pleasure in killing his own brothers. Satisfaction in the strikes. He revealed that he knew a small part of Krell’s true plan, and that there were certain clones on a hit list. Certain targets to kill. Of which a few were still alive. Including Rex, Jesse, Hardcase and Fives. Tup was assumed dead, but he was also on the list.

After about a half an hour, Obiwan has heard enough, and left the troopers alone to write a report to the council on his findings.

It was far from the first time Rex would be headed for the Jedi temple. The general brought him many places he probably shouldn’t really be. But not many other 501st members had been inside. Echo and Fives maybe. This was the first time Rex had (officially) been called on by the council though.

Rex was walking Dogma to the ship in stun cuffs (a precaution he didn’t necessarily agree with, but had been insisted upon anyways) when Kix and Tup came running up to him. He mentally sighed, he knew what was coming.

“Sir!” Tup called, panting as his wound was still fresh and running across the hangar probably counted as ‘over exertion’ “take us with you. Please! We can be helpful to the investigation! I’m one of the walking survivors or the attack, and Kix is a medic. It’s always helpful to have a medic on hand!”

“Tup, I’m sorry but you weren’t called on. I’m also a surviving witness, so are the general and the commander. And there will be doctors at the temple.” He shoots a glance to Kix “and it looks to me like you really shouldn’t even be out of the medbay right now.”

“He’ll be okay as long as he doesn’t over exert himself. And if I go aswell, there will be no problems. Please sir. We want to be there for Dogma.” Kix gives the trooper in question a soft glance. Dogma seems a bit confused and maybe a but nervous at the thought of the two doing something like this for him.

“Don’t get in trouble on my account. I’ll be fine. And it would probably be better if you weren’t there.” The self deprecating tone made the words completely hollow to the other troopers, as they stubbornly insisted they come along.

Anakin leaned out of the ship

“Hey Rex what’s taking you so long?”

“Nothing sir, Tup and Kix were just insisting they come along.”

“Well are you against it?”

“No sir, but they weren’t-“

“Grab Fives, Jesse And Hardcase. I’ll say they’re my personal squad, nobody will care.”

Rex looked at the other two surprised and they looked back, smugly and victoriously. Rex commed the other three as Tup and Kix lead Dogma into the ship after anakin.

With the Skywalker as their pilot and his droid as their co pilot they would arrive much ahead of schedule. Of course Ahsoka Tano was also on board, but in the choice between his droid and his padawan Skywalker would always chose R2D2 as his copilot. Skywalker had decided (Or been convinced by Rex) that the stun cuffs were overkill with two ARCs on board. But in exchange Jesse and Fives were placed on temporary guard duty. Anakin also forgot (or decided not) to tell tup he was still wearing Kenobis cloak as well. It looked good (adorable, in ahsoka’s mind.) on him. Case, Fives and Jesse had no shortage of teases to make about it though. And just being surrounded by the squad put Dogma slightly more at ease. The ship was at max capacity with all 7 clones, so Ahsoka sat in the copilot seat, grumpily fiddling with the inactive controls.

“How come you never let me fly? I’m perfectly fine at it!”

“Yes well R2 is perfectly great at it. And I let you fly all the time! Besides, obiwan says it’s a bad influence when I let you fly this fast.”

“Speaking of which, exactly how fast are you going?”

“None of your business. We won’t be late. This time.”

True to his word, they end up at the temple a few hours before anakin is to appear before the council.

With the two Jedi leading the group of clones the temple guards didn’t seem to mind the uninvited soldiers being led off the landing pad and into the temple.

“Alright R2, you have the schematics. There’s a row of rooms on level 13 that are unclaimed. I’m not sending them to the brig. Ahsoka, go with R2. If anyone asks, tell them I said it’s ok. If that doesn’t work, make something up. Rex, with me.” Anakin motions for Rex and breaks off from the group, heading a different direction.

“Wait that little droid has the temple schematics?” Jesse asks in disbelief.

“Yep. R2 has never had a memory wipe. And him knowing just makes it easier.” Ahsoka answers.

“But what if that fell into enemy hands?! That’s a disaster waiting to happen!”

“It’s happened before actually. But we got him back so no biggie” Said Ahsoka, nonchalantly.

Jesse gapes at her. This feels illegal. He should report this. This has to be against so so many rules. Fives and ahsoka smirk at him.

R2 lead the group to a hallway containing 3 unoccupied rooms. Each of them has a window out onto courosaunt with dim-able shades, a (very comfy compared to anything GAR issue) bed, a circular meditation chair, a wardrobe built into the wall, a fully stocked mini fridge also built into the wall, and an on suite ‘fresher.

“Alright boys, two to a room. There’s a mess hall on the fifth floor, it’s open all day. And night! A few of the communal room have snacks and kitchenettes though. Please don’t break anything, if you need something just ask! Most of the people here are pretty friendly. If they aren’t I’ll tell master plo koon. I’ll be 28th floor room 332. Dogma, you should be at the council chambers by 1500. But feel free to be around 20 or so minutes late! Fives, Jesse, you’re on guard duty but it’s pretty much optional at this point. A Jedi will stop you if you do anything dangerous. You can all’s roam around, just don’t touch stuff and try not to get lost. If you do I’ll probably find you eventually but it’s just a pain. There’s a bunch of cool stuff here so have fun!” Ahsoka waved and left them, walking down the hall. Although the speech was fast, the boys still got all the details of the briefing.

Hardcase immediately runs and flops onto the bed, and the mattress bounces.

“Ooh it feels like it’s going to swallow me! Jesse, Kix come check this out!” At the invitation Jesse, Kix, Fives and Tup all ran and jumped onto the bed alongside him, basically burying Hardcase. Fives and Kix landed on top of him “Hey! Get off!” He smacked and kicked at them. Fives just laughed and elbowed him, Kix was pushed off the bed. Dogma leaned against the doorframe, on a good day he might join them, but that just wasn’t today.

Fives was thrown into Tup who gasped at the sudden weight on his injury, and Kix immediately put an end to the game. “Alright that’s enough. Someone’s going to get hurt, we’re done with this.”

“Aww but that was fun” complained Hardcase. But Fives just apologized to Tup, who insisted it was fine.

“Alright, so I say Jesse bunks with me, Fives with Hardcase and Dogma with Tup?” Proposed Kix.

“Who put you in charge?” Asked Fives sarcastically. “Besides Jesse and I are meant to be guarding Dogma.”

“We were told that was optional. Besides, do either of you actually want to do that?”

Fives and Jesse share a glance and Jesse answers on Fives behalf “no, not really. That works I guess.”

Dogma wandered the wide halls of the Jedi temple alone, aquatinting himself with his new surroundings. It was strange... not many clones got to see this place. But he was in residency here now. He hoped not for long. Sure, it was beautiful, borderline luxurious for a clone like himself. And everyone was nice to him, or at least pretend to be. But this isn’t where a clone belongs. This is for Jedi. He’s a clone and he should be wandering the halls of some warship off in the border worlds of a galactic conflict, not the halls of a sacred and beautiful Jedi temple at the heart of it all. He doesn’t like this whole Jedi Ghost thing. It’s related to umbara, and this entire thing was just way to complicated for him. He was a clone, and clones were supposed to be simple. Fight and die for the republic. He stopped to look out one of the large windows out onto courosaunt. The capital of the known galaxy.

A group of two padawans walked up to Dogma in the hall. They were somewhere around 13 and acting casually, but straightening to attention was a reflex. “Hey, mister clone! Whats your name and which general are you with?” Asked the purple nautolin girl.

“I’m clone trooper Dogma, and I’m with General Skywalker’s battalion.”

“No, no. She meant which Jedi are you ‘with’. No clones stay at the temple without being ‘with’ a Jedi. And we all know Skywalker isn’t with a clone. So, who is it?” Asked the zabrakk boy.

“I’m... not sure I understand what you mean, sir.”

“Hey, I get it. ‘Play dumb when questioned’ right? Seriously we won’t tell anyone. Who are you here with!” The nautolin got a mischievous glint in her eye that Dogma knew all too well.

“I’m here with General Skywalker, clone captain Rex, clone medic Kix, clone troopers Tup and Hardcase, and ARC trooper Jesse and Fives. I can list their ct numbers if you want aswell.”

“He’s telling the whole truth” says the zabrakk.

“Oh come on giajov. We aren’t getting anything out of him. But the captain, maybe.” The nautolin said to the zabrakk before turning to go.

“Wait, you can’t do that right now, sir. He’s with the general right now. He’s working.”

“Oh really? Where are they?” The nautolin stopped and turned to him again.

“I don’t know sir. I wasn’t told.” He did have a good idea of where they went but, he couldn’t tell them.

“Wait, now he knows more than he’s letting on! What general is he with?” Asks the zabrakk

“General skywalker sir.”

“Ugh. This is getting nowhere come on giajov we have places to be” The nautolin grows impatient and leaves.

“Thanks for the chat, trooper Dogma!” Said the zabrakk before leaving after her.

Dogma watched the two go, wondering what all that was about. He checked his chrono. 1510. Kriff. Now where was the council chamber...

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

Warning! Personal Post because I’m feeling extremely nostalgic. 

Stories about romantic relationships seem to always be about “the one” or “the one you never should have dated because the dynamic was so toxic”. So seldom do we talk about romances that were short and sweet, but never meant to last. 

I just blazed through @cellsshapedlikestars wonderful story, “love's not a competition (but i'm winning)”, which was wonderful (everyone read it), and it drummed up so many memories about the boy I dated my sophomore year in college, let’s call him Jesse, that I wanted to write about him…

The rest of my self-indulgent memories are after the break. 

I’ve found myself thinking of Jesse more often years later, than I ever did in the immediate aftermath of our relationship. It’s not because ours was a burning love, or that he was the one who got away or anything like that, but because my relationship with him set the stage for what I came to expect out of even the most casual romantic relationships I had afterward.  

I’m thinking of him now, because that story I ready is about a girl who doesn’t realize she is dating a boy (though it's obvious to everyone else) until the last possible moment. It’s funny and sweet, and kind of how Jesse and I got together. 

I went to a really small liberal arts college, where the ratio of heterosexual or bisexual men to heterosexual women, does not favor women. That was pretty much fine with me. I was not what you would call relationship-seeking and I liked an uphill climb when it came to my romantic interests. I liked to pine after someone just out of reach, while randomly hooking up with other people on the side (that’s something to unpack on another day). 

Anyway, Jesse was my friend David’s best friend from back home, who took a gap year to bike the Pacific Crest Bicycle trail and then bum around the city where they were from. He came to visit a few times during the spring semester of our freshman year, but he didn’t start attending our college until the start of sophomore year. He entered the fall semester with a ready-made friend group and a flock of thirsty girls clamoring for a single, straight guy who was in great shape from his trip down the California coast. While Jesse seemed great, I immediately placed him in the friend category. He was sporty and tan and gregarious, while I tended to fixate on the brooding intellectual type. Plus, I had no interest in throwing my hat in an already overly full ring. 

Still, we were in the same circle of friends, so very quickly I got used to him being around, and Jesse was easy to love. He was affable and always up for new adventures. Soon, he was my go-to for many things. If my bike got a flat tire or we needed an extra player for a pick-up game of soccer or a racquetball tournament, I’d text Jesse. And he’d text me too, inviting me along to off-campus dinner parties, bike rides, and sometimes just to lie in the hammock he strung up outside his dorm room and smoke weed. He worked at the sailing club, and there were many afternoons I’d skip out on a necessary study session because he invited me out on the catamaran. 

I didn’t read anything into it. Everything was easy with Jesse. Everything was light. Was I attracted to him? Yes, but so was everyone. I knew he was into casual sex because he’d shared a few funny stories from his gap year, one involving breaking someone’s sink, and at least in the first weeks of school, he seemed to very much enjoy and embrace the attention he was getting from the opposite sex. 

While I felt a slight bitterness when I thought about how easy it was to get laid if you were a dude, I didn’t hold his good fortune against him. In fact, I went out of my way to be a good wing-woman. If we were at a party, and I realized we had ended up in a corner with only him, myself and whatever girl was clearly angling for him that night, I’d duck out and leave them alone. 

Early in the semester I had already picked my impossible romance; a senior year philosophy major who lived off campus and was rarely spotted at the parties we attended. The odds were very much against me, but that was fine by me. It kept me from being too distracted, and when we did cross paths, something about the slim possibility lit me up. 

Well, one night the stars aligned. Mr. Philosophy was at a friend’s party and somehow he and I ended up engaging in my favorite type of flirtation; a spirited debate about something theoretical and completely irrelevant where we could both be smug and disagreeable and walk away thinking we had won. We were drunkenly pontificating and probably about two drinks and one late night playlist change away from maybe getting somewhere when Jesse swooped in and completely cock-blocked me!

He just grabbed me by the arm, mid-sentence, and said, “Let’s take a walk.”

Well, of course, I was indignant, and I spent the entire stroll down to the bay explaining why. I could not understand why he was pulling me away from my conversation with the hot senior, when I had been crushing on him all semester. I don’t think Jesse had known that, but when I made it clear, a pained expression crossed his face, but he stayed silent as I continued my tirade. Why did he pull me away? It wasn’t like I was too drunk or anything, and I never pulled this kind of shit with him. When Megan or Rachel or whatever girl seemed into him, I didn’t interfere, even when Jesse was mucking it up by talking too much to me instead of them. Like a good friend, I’d make a graceful exit and leave them to it. So again...after all that, why was he fucking up my love life now? 

As a man of action and not words, at some point Jesse ended my stupid rant with a kiss. A very good kiss that led to more kissing, on the beach and then a stumbly, kissy, messy walk back to my dorm where we kissed and kissed and kissed some more in my bed until finally we fell asleep. I suppose at this point, I should explain that I was still a virgin. I’d fooled around enough to be pretty comfortable with other things, and I wasn’t waiting for any particular reason other than wanting to have sex with someone that I liked enough not to make it a one-time event.

The next morning, after Jesse left, I realized we had spent more time kissing than talking and I still had no idea what to make of the previous evening. Was it a one night dalliance, and we’d go back to being friends? Plausible, knowing his seeming aversion to relationships. Still, it seemed a strange thing for him to seek me out like that. What if it strained our friendship? I didn’t want things to get weird just because we spent a night making out. 

That didn’t happen with other people I had hooked up with that semester and I’d gone farther with most of them... but the others weren’t Jesse. 

And that’s how I realized that I actually liked him. I didn’t really care if things got weird with the others. I didn’t really like them. I liked Jesse. I liked him a lot. 

Cue an entire day of me freaking out while he seemed to disappear off the face of the planet. By the next morning, I had convinced myself that it meant nothing to him, and I should never bring it up ever again. Right when I was resolved to this course of action, I ran into him at the campus cafe, with his parents. They had come for a visit the previous afternoon, which was why he wasn’t on campus and why I’d heard nothing from him. But now, he hugged me and introduced me and even invited me to get lunch with them, and acted like everything was totally normal and still I had no idea what was going on. 

So I joined them and assumed Jesse’s play would be that the night of making out never happened, and that we would slide back into being good pals, and I was ready to swallow my tongue and slide back with him. I think we went to a concert after that and I was still with them when Jesse’s parents left and suddenly it was just he and I, and while I’m sure I stood there, totally awkward, Jesse just scooped me into another kiss. 

We didn’t have a conversation about what any of this meant. We just...started a relationship. A few nights later, we had sex...in a tent, down on the beach, after attending a ribald school tradition; a sex panel led by the most popular students and faculty, more funny than educational, with plenty of condoms and beer for everyone. 

Our first time was messy and a bit awkward but also lovely and fun and then we just kept doing it...all semester. I didn’t need to ask what we were. It was obvious we were a couple, but there was also a clear expiration date on our romance. 

Around the same time we hooked for the first time, I had decided I was transferring at the end of the semester, to another college in a much larger city, across the country. I told Jesse, a few weeks after we started sleeping together almost every night and it didn’t really change anything. Like I said at the beginning, Jesse was not the one who got away. Even as he became embedded in my life and opened me up to a very active (and I really mean active. To this day, Jesse is the most athletic and experimental person I’ve ever slept with) and very fun sex life, we didn’t connect at a level I knew that I wanted to connect with someone...someday. 

It wasn’t until my last week or two at school that he even really opened up about why he pursued me in the first place. Ironically enough, he liked that I never seemed that into him. He knew he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, and he kept getting signals from other girls that they were looking for something more. This is when he admitted that it drove him crazy when I’d walk away at parties. Apparently he had been trying to send the signal for weeks that he was into me, but like a loon, I missed it. Even so, he liked that I didn’t take him into consideration when I decided to transfer and that I didn’t expect too much from him. 

In hindsight, I find this an amusing sentiment, because whether I gave him the expectation or not, he was giving me what I’d guess any of those other girls were looking for in a college relationship. He was there when I needed him, spent almost every night with me, and we shared the same friends. I never said he couldn’t, but I knew that he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else when we were together. He was funny and the sex was good, and he made me feel beautiful and funny and free. 

He was the last person I saw when I left that semester. I stopped at his parent’s house on my way home for the holidays. We didn’t talk about what to do. We knew our relationship was over, but I let him press me up against a wall one last time and enjoyed every minute with him until I drove away for good. 

We didn’t really keep in touch after that, though a few years later, when I went back to see my other friends graduate, we had a cocktail together by the bay. He was in love then, to a dancer who was as vibrant and as adventurous as he was and I was so happy for them both. I had just ended a relationship with a guy who in many respects was Jesse’s polar opposite; a repressed, overly-analytical intellectual (another philosophy major) who talked everything to death. Our relationship was fraught and intense, and seeing Jesse again put a lot of things into perspective for me. 

I never fell in love with him like I had begun to with my more recent ex, but I had enjoyed my time with Jesse far more, and I felt better about myself when I thought about our time together, and that seemed important somehow. Seeing him reminded me that actions could mean just as much as words, if not more, and that any relationship, no matter the scope or intensity, for me, still necessitated a certain level of respect and regard and fun between both parties. 

I’m not sure I have the capacity to fully unpack all my thoughts on the topic, but I do know that I will always look back fondly on my first adult relationship. It was short and sweet, but I know there are a lot of women who have bad memories of their first time, and for that alone I will always be grateful. 

Cheers to Jesse! Always a laugh! Always a good time! And the only person I ever fucked in a tree.

[rustbeltjessie]

Diary of an Emotional Masochist, Chapter One: Dignity and Shame

I am an emotional masochist. I’m the kind of person, who, when I’m already going through a bout of nostalgic melancholy, will decide to read old journal entries or look through old photographs. The kind of person who, when it’s three a.m. and I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about what loves have come and gone (to borrow a phrase from Edna St. Vincent Millay), will get up and Google search those loves. I am the kind of woman who, when I’m already sad, will listen to an album that devastates me. I have a long list of albums that it’s almost too painful to listen to, albums that remind me of such specific times in my life that listening to them takes me right back to where I was then. A different person would purge their record collection and iTunes library of such albums, but, like I said – I am an emotional masochist. On lonesome evenings, after a couple glasses of whiskey, nothing sounds better to me than spinning one of those records (or queueing up one of those playlists). This is one of those lonesome-whiskey evenings, so won’t you join me in indulging? We’re listening to Crooked Fingers’ Dignity and Shame.

From the first sparse, haunting notes of “Islero,” I am transported back in time to the summer of 2005. God, that summer. That terrible, wonderful summer. I’d fucked up my life the year before, and I thought that would be the summer I’d fix it, except all I did was fuck it up even more. God, that summer. That March, I moved away from Chicago after living there for five years. I planned on moving to Milwaukee come autumn, to start fresh in a fresh town. In the meantime, I moved back in with my parents. I wasn’t home, much. Nights, after work, I went to one of the two bars in Kenosha where all my sad drunk hoodlum friends hung out. On days off, I walked in the woods – the heat was relentless, and the canopy of trees offered cool green comfort. Or I drove to Chicago to see shows and drink with my friends and try to remember why I’d left; drove to Milwaukee to scope out neighborhoods, sit for hours at the Hi-Fi Cafe, go record and dress shopping. On one of my record shopping expeditions, I bought Dignity and Shame. It was on the Staff Recommendations shelf, and I liked the cover art, so I took it home with me – and it was serendipity, it was exactly the album I needed at the time.

As soon as I got home, I set it spinning on my turntable, and the first track – “Islero” – gave me goosebumps. The second track – “Weary Arms” – made me cry. It had sad cellos and a lonesome cowboy guitar, and Eric Bachmann’s voice was a raspy baritone: Beware of strangers knocking at your door. Old lovers, too. Don’t think for one second they’ve forgotten you. Oh, oh, oh. By the time the final, hidden track played, I’d melted into a puddle of tears and goosebumps on my bedroom floor. The album destroyed me, and it spooked me because so many of the stories sounded like things right out of my life, both from that year and six or so years before it. It was like Eric Bachmann had read my diary and set it to music. I wanted to write him a letter and say: “Get out of my head, god damn it! Get out of my aching heart.” It’s impossible for me to write about Dignity and Shame, or about the summer of 2005, without descending into hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. My God, that summer was hyperbole, sentimental poetry, and melodrama. I was still young enough that it was acceptable to feel things that intensely, acceptable to talk about a sunrise over Lake Michigan by saying things like: “When the light shot through the horizon in streaks of peach and gold, it was the most god damn beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Dear diary, listen to me.

My “Weary Arms” wrapped tight around so many lovers, that summer – four of them, plus a handful of brief flings. Later that year, I lamented that I hadn’t had as many wild love affairs as I’d had in years past, which, yes, says something unflattering about me. And Eric Bachmann sang: You have many enemies, for reasons no one’s certain of.

One night, while I sat at one of the bars and waited for my friends to arrive, a girl approached me. I didn’t know her, but she knew me. She sat down across from me and lambasted me for sleeping with a guy she’d been dating at the time…two years before. She called me a slut, and some worse things. I wanted to buy her a drink, to appease her. I couldn’t understand why she hated me so much. When I slept with that guy, I had no idea he had a girlfriend. So many enemies, so many lovers, but could a jaded girl like me heed an uptempo “Call To Love?” In that song, Eric took the role of a particular one of my lovers, and said: Won’t you hear my heart? I’m transmitting a call to love. On a night when the moon was orange-red and luminous, that lover said: “The moon is the color of your hair.” Another night: “You were born in the wrong era, Jess.” And, though I was a sucker for sentimental poetry, my guard was up. Lara Meyerratken answered for me: Don’t need my heart kicked ‘round the block no more. You may be smooth-talking, daddy, but I’ve heard it all before. I traded gossip with the “Twilight Creeps.” In this sweet-sad song with the bright piano and the shimmering backup vocals, I was both the singer and the sung about. I could have sung it to one of my lovers, should have said to her: Flower, don’t dig so deep so you don’t go anywhere. But the words were also about me: You say someday you’re gonna float away. Take yourself some kind of holiday. I often told my sad drunk hoodlum friends, the twilight creeps, that I needed to get the hell out of town. “If I could just get gone for more than a few days, go somewhere more than a few hours away…there ain’t no use in trying to make me stay.”

My lovers all wanted to make me stay. The flower-girl, I’ll call her Valerie. The one who spoke poetic words to me, I’ll call him Jack. And there was Lon, and Carmine. In different ways, for different reasons, they each wanted me to choose them over all the rest. Even a few of the week-long flings and one-night stands, older punk guys or younger hippie girls, said things to me like: “How did I get so lucky as to meet a girl like you?” Or: “So, are you my girlfriend now?” And when I said no, they called me a heartbreaker. A “Destroyer.” It’s a woebegone cowboy of a tune. Doleful drums, piano that tinkles like ice cubes in a bar glass, and a lap steel guitar – which, as far as I’m concerned, is the aural equivalent of an anti-hero walking off into the sunset. The song is all about how the singer is going to make someone his, and then he’s going to leave them behind. When they called me heartbreaker, I wanted to sing it: Lay down, just let it come, and resign your heart, today, to get blown away. “Valerie,” well, that’s why I’m referring to that lover as Valerie. Much like me, she was a punk rock girl turned heroine of a Tom Waits song (heroine of a Crooked Fingers song). She had thriftstore dresses and jailhouse tattoos and self-inflicted scars. “Valerie,” the song, has a sanguine strut, is a besotted love song, and I thought of Valerie, the girl: Red roses, silk, you in your sleek summer dress. You were light, revelation, oh, I love you the best. But she and I kept our love unspoken. We both had other romantic complications, and only touched each other on long hot nights after too many bottles of wine and too many pills. “Sleep All Summer” was my song for Jack, the young ex-goth whose mouth was pink and pouty like he’d been sucking on a strawberry popsicle. Our love was either all the good songs and kissing ’til our lips were raw, or it was screaming matches and hangover headaches. What bliss is this, and then he’d get attention-starved and whiny, and I’d burn hot and cold and say nasty things, and we’d say: “This is it, we’re through.” But – There ain’t no way we’re gonna find another, the way we sleep all summer. Why won’t you fall back in love with me? And we’d run into each other at the bar, and faster than our friends could say I told you so we’d be tangled up in the backseat of his car or rolling around by the lake, and the whole thing would start all over again. He’d play the martyr, and I’d say: I would change for you, but babe, that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be a better man.

And “Coldways” kill cool lovers. Lon was a folk singer from the north woods. He’d been one of my best friends for years already, and when we started dating I was so tired of complicated, fiery relationships that I mistook comfort for True Love. My heart still hurts when I think of how I hurt him. He wanted me to marry him and I just wanted to be drunk and in love, to listen to “Coldways”’s thrumming, swelling sound. To sing along: Come out, come on, tonight the city’s alive. “Wrecking Ball” has a jaunty, punchdrunk piano, and the piano had been drinking, but so had I. God, I drank so much that summer. On the rare night I spent at home, I holed up in my room, wrote long, sad, tales of people in the legend of my life, and drank blackberry brandy mixed with Sprite. Something like that would taste over-sweet to me now, make me shudder, but maybe the same part of me that craved sentimental poetry also thirsted for sugary drinks. And most nights, I wasn’t at home. Most nights, I changed clothes in my car after work. I swapped my reeking-of-pizza button down shirt and black slacks for one of my vintage dresses. A mint green confection, or a pink and white sundress. Something from the ‘50s, blue with red and white polka dots, or a slinky black number that a ‘30s jazz singer would have worn. And I sat at one of two bars, drank whiskey and Coke, or brandy old-fashioneds, or gin and tonics all night long. I waited for my friends to arrive, and I drank and smoked and entertained myself with one of the items I always had in my bag – a book of poetry by Dorothy Parker or Edna St. Vincent Millay, a deck of Alice In Wonderland tarot cards. And sometimes, someone would find me intriguing. I swear, I wasn’t a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, but… I was a redhead in a retro dress (usually with a strand of fake pearls, too) sitting in a dive bar, smoking pastel-colored cigarettes, reading sonnets and tarot cards. Christ. Often, someone found me intriguing, chatted me up, and I wound up with yet another lover. I was a destroyer, destroying myself with booze and love. I was a wrecking ball. Eric Bachmann, accompanied by that barroom piano, sang: And you laughed and you danced, and it let you feel fine for a while. Hanging out with the kids who you knew soon would fall out of style.

I’ve left two songs out, dear diary. I did it on purpose, because they are the two that hurt the most. They are also the two that heal the most. The kind of songs that make me weep, then tell me to dry my tears. “You Must Build A Fire,” oh, it is one of the saddest songs. It begins with only two guitars (a finger-picked lead and that god damn lap steel again), and Eric’s voice is so plaintive, sounds like it’s about to crack, and he sings: Oh, gracious love, you were so kind to me. You only broke my heart, let my arms and legs stay strong. So I could swim upon the open sea, searching for another love. Floating along aimlessly. I haven’t told you about Carmine, yet. Carmine was a musician who looked like a magician from an old-time carnival. The year before, he’d ruined me in a worse way than any other lover ever had. (As a friend put it, he was one of the ones who fucked me up so bad I was pretty much ruined for anyone else.) He ruined me, but I let him back into my life. That summer, we got together. It was supposed to be closure, but of course it just opened everything up again. He said: “I want to be with you. I want to try again.” I said: “Okay, yes, let’s start over. I want to be with you.” He said: “Only if you break things off with all your other lovers. I want to be your only.” The nerve, giving me an ultimatum like that when he was even more of a notorious libertine than I was. And the song sang: I had someone, a love I thought was true. But sometimes you just get tired, and you must try not to die. And give your love, though no one may receive. You must build a giant fire, for the whole wide world to see. It sounded like that whole heartbroken, hot summer. Oh, where are you, love?

The title track, “Dignity and Shame,” is a piano ballad that told me: To be sure, there ain’t no cure. There could be no one to save you. It is the track I return to over and over, more than any other track on the album. Though my life has calmed down a lot in the decade since that summer, sometimes – that feeling comes, you’ve been here once before. That wicked feeling you don’t want to feel no more. And then, Eric Bachmann (get out my head, god damn it!) sings: You’re not the same as the day that you came. You can choose dignity, or shame.

I choose dignity. I carry my broken heart like a torch in the night. Little keeper of light, burning deep, burning bright in the dark.

[originally appeared in Witchsong in October 2015]

[storyunrelated]

George & The Dragon - Late

Yet more self-indulgent flumf.

I rather enjoy the idea of draconic values just being...different. Like, not incomprehensible, just different.

Meh, I don’t know. You don’t care.

-

“Hello hello hello, how’s my favourite dragon today?” Said George, closing the door behind him before turning, expecting to see Jessica doing what she normally did where she normally did it: sleeping on her pile of stuff.

And indeed she was on her pile, but she was not asleep. She was very much awake, sitting up, and her eyes were fixed on George with enough intensity that he actually jumped. A dragon could look pretty intense when they wanted to.

“You’re late,” she said.

A lot of people - when confronted by a terse, glaring dragon - might feel nervous. George did not, and once he’d got over the shock of seeing her awake in the first place, took this in his stride, chuckling to himself at being so startled and moving on into the room proper, away from the door.

“Yes, sorry. Not too late, I hope?” He asked. Jessica only moved enough to keep him fixed firmly in her gaze.

“Why are you late?” She asked.

“Oh, Marie from work missed her bus so had to hang around and she didn’t really want to just be sat around on her own so I hung around with her for a bit and we had a coffee and whatever, ate up some time. Then three busses came! I didn’t think that actually happened but it, uh, did. Heh,” George said, shrugging.

This was what had actually happened. George felt it was an acceptable enough reason - hardly the sort of thing that went on every day, after all - and was alarmed when Jessica slithered down from her hoard and padded on over to him.

Jealousy - especially of the possessive kind where it wasn’t enough to have something but also imperative that others did not have that something - was a close cousin of greed, and therefore something that dragons were naturally quite vulnerable to. Particularly if they weren’t expecting it, doubly particularly if it wasn’t something that they’d ever really encountered before.

“Who is Marie?” She asked, raising her head high enough so that she had the height advantage over George. Not a difficult thing to do, really. She was after all a fair few times his size.

As for her question, George felt that he’d explained that already. Perhaps he’d missed it, he thought.

“Lady from work. Nice lady. French extraction, I think. But yes, takes the bus to work and today missed the one she normally gets. Poor lady didn’t want to just sit on her Todd in the shelter so, uh, yeah. We just hung out a bit, shot the breeze. Why?”

Jessica blew out a breath, nostrils flaring. She wasn’t even sure why she was angry. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she was angry. She was feeling something, this much was clear, and it had to do with what George was saying, but it wasn’t like anything she’d encountered before. She didn’t quite know what to make of it.

At the least, Jessica knew she didn’t like it. 

Shifting about, she brought her tail around and it snaked around George’s waist, gently but firmly pulling him a few steps closer and then staying wrapped there. Jessica’s tail could do things like that.

“Do you get her presents?” She asked.

This question caught George off-guard, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The tail was kind of distracting, too. Not to mention snug.

“What? Uh, not really. Mean, don’t know when her birthday is. Should probably find out. It’d be polite if - “ George said, about to go down a tangent of how even once he found out when Marie’s birthday was he still wouldn’t really know her enough to know what a good present would actually be and how this was an issue, but Jessica cut him off:

“So you don’t get her presents?”

George frowned the frown of the deeply confused.

“No. Not really sure why you’re asking,” he said, but then the light broke. “Oh! You mean like how I get you things, right?”

Jessica said nothing, though the grip of her tail tightened minutely.

“No I don’t do that, that’s just for you, Jess,” George said.

A pause. Further tightening of grip.

“...good,” Jessica said.

It wasn’t clear where the conversation was meant to go from here. Jessica didn’t appear in any hurry to say anything else, and George had only the vaguest idea of what had just happened.

“Well,” George said, only to yelp in surprise when Jessica returned to the pile and took him with her. There wasn’t a lot he could do about this.

There just-so happened to be a spot on the hoard that was comfortably composed of a multitude of stuffed animals, exactly the sort of spot a human might be able to settle down on. This was obviously a random coincidence and general stroke of luck, and in no-way was it something that Jessica had done intentionally. But since it was there - coincidentally - she might as well put it to good use.

“Sit here,” she said, depositing George onto this spot as she curled up herself, making sure to keep her tail idly - but weightily - laid across him, in case he had any ideas about moving or going anywhere.

George blinked and looked down at the abundance of soft toys he was sitting on. He’d sat in worse places, he supposed.

“Right,” he said, not really seeing anything else he could do. So he just got comfy. Jessica watched him do this, checked he didn’t make any sudden moves, and then relaxed, laying her head down. Kept an eye on George though, something he noticed before too long.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Even for Jessica this was unusually quiet.

“I’m fine.”

Nothing further. George idly patted her tail because that’s just where his hands had ended up. He then noticed that he was doing this and stopped doing this.

“So…” he said. “What did you do today, then?”

“Slept,” said Jessica.

Not a huge surprise. Still George had felt it worth asking and he did have to smile at her answer. He probably could have guessed, really.

“Doesn’t sleeping all day get a little boring?” He asked. She huffed.

“I’m a dragon. I like sleeping.”

“Oh. Should I not bother you, then?”

He asked this while trying, jokingly, to rise. He didn’t get very far, her tail pressing down enough to keep him quite definitively in place.

“No. I mean, no you shouldn’t not bother me. I like it when you bother me,” Jessica said hurriedly. Then adding: “Keep doing that thing with your hands.”

“What thing?” George asked, holding up his hands. Jessica raised her head and nudged it toward her tail, assuming this would help him get the point. It did not.

“That thing you were doing before. The patting thing. Keep doing that.”

Cautiously, uncertain, George back to doing what he’d been doing without thinking before.

“This?” He asked.

Jessica let out a small, satisfied hum, nodded, then settled her head back down again and closed her eyes. George, at a loss, just kept on doing what he was doing, wondering what any of it might mean.

On the plus side, he was at least very comfortable. And cosy. And generally snug and content. Who knew sitting on a pile of gathered stuff could be so restive? Lucky she liked the stuffed animals so much, he supposed, and luckier still that so many of them just-so happened to be right on the surface just like that.

Very lucky indeed. He wondered about that, but reached no definite conclusions. George was happy enough to put it down to coincidence, something that Jessica would have been very glad - not relieved! Nothing to be relieved about! - to hear.

Hoards are fine things, though.

There isn’t a lot of design or thought that goes into the arrangement of a dragon’s hoard. If it looks like a heap of stuff, that’s because it is a heap of stuff. The order or setup of the layers is not especially significant, the important part is having the stuff and then getting more stuff. That’s kind of the point.

That said, there are always certain items in the hoard that are considered more important for whatever reason, and these are often found towards the top of the pile and within easy reach, to be brought out and admired at leisure. 

These are usually things like the first of a particular type of item that was acquired, the one that triggered the collection of other, similar items. Or sometimes it’s something hard-won, that took a lot of effort to get. Or even something with some level of sentimental value, something given by someone they have fond memories of or fuzzy feelings for, perhaps. 

Things like that. Not necessarily items with innate value, but rather items with assigned value. Though a dragon would be the first point out that value assigned by a dragon was innate value and that if a dragon says something is precious it then becomes precious by that fact alone. But that’s a given. They would say that.

The point remains. Just because dragons are greedy - and make no mistake, they are greedy - doesn’t mean they can’t also be softies, too.

For example! Near the surface at the very top of Jessica’s hoard - protected and kept out of sight by a thin layer of lesser items - was the very, very first thing that George had ever given her, that which he’d given her the first time they’d ever met.

It was hidden so that he didn’t see that she’d put it in such a prominent place, and it was near the top so that when she slept she could be certain she was sleeping with it close and with herself right on top of it. That it was close was important. She checked daily to make sure it hadn’t gone anywhere.

That’s an example. It’s not universal, but it’s an example.

“Are you asleep again?” George asked after a little while, continuing to pat. He’d worked out a rhythm.

“No,” Jessica said, keeping her eyes closed.

“You still up for going out tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

It being the weekend, George had previously floated the idea of the two of them going into town and just making a day of it. Maybe seeing a film, maybe just sitting somewhere and doing nothing. It was meant to be quite nice, tomorrow, the Autumn weather inexplicably having decided to just leave for a day, as it was often wont to do, and the sun coming back.

“Good, good,” said George. He was glad. He’d been looking forward to it all week, as a matter of fact. Had kind of been the thing that had kept him going.

He then yawned, because the combination of sitting comfortably, being snug and having only recently finished work was a potent one.

“Oh my, I’m nodding off,” he said, closing his own eyes. There really was something quite soothing in the warm weight of that tail just draped across him. Perhaps he was just odd.

“George?” Came Jessica’s voice and he halfway opened one eye again.

“Hmm?”

There was a pause as she gathered up the words.

“...don’t be late again. I mis- I don’t like it when you’re late,” she said.

George yawned again, stopped patting and just drowsily wrapped his arms around her tail, snuggling against it and sinking deeper into the bed of stuffed animals.

“I missed you too…”

Jessica’s ears flickered and her head bolted up.

“Missed me too?! No! Dragons don’t - I didn’t - “

But he was already asleep, snoring quietly to himself. Jessica frowned and gave him a light poke in the side with a talon. He kept on snoring as happy as anything. If anything he just snuggled up even more. Jessica sighed.

“I don’t get you…” she said, cocking her head, just looking at him.

She couldn’t quite pin the feeling down, but there was just something right in having him there, on the pile. Near her. Like he belonged. And why shouldn’t he belong there? He was very valuable! Her first and only friend. Such a thing was a treasure, and therefore had to be kept safe. The logic there was ironclad. No holes or issues whatsoever.

Happy that things were as they should be Jessica put her head back down and closed her eyes, drifting off herself.

“Missed you too,” she said, quietly enough that even had George been awake he likely wouldn���t have heard her.

[hopevalley]

Hi everyone! I hope you’re ready for another Tumblr Special™.

Let’s talk about some stuff that’s been on my mind lately.

I’ve been working on my pet project, When Calls the Heart: Reimagined, and my bud @trash-god has assured me that the current first draft isn’t complete garbage, but the discussion we had eventually led to talking about Mark Humphrey and then character-related stuff and as usual I couldn’t shut up.

Before that, I just wanted to drop the update about Reimagined. I don’t know if that’ll be its actual title or not. It’s hard to title a novelization. On one hand you have the option to title it the same as the show, but it’s not the show, so then you’re kind of stuck feeling like you have to come up with something at least slightly different, but it’s still also technically fanfic, and—

Yeah. There’s also the potential for something like this to really blow up in a big way, at least word-wise, so that makes a title even more important. I’ll definitely be out there barking my wares like a peddler on the street, but like...here on Tumblr and especially on Instagram where there are a ton of fans. Twitter too, probably. Considering I have to type this five billion times across social media to try and garner some attention (and hopefully feedback) for it, I’d rather not be embarrassed by the title, or turn people away from it because they think it’s a regular fanfic and not a novelization of the show.

Which leaves me with very few options.

When Calls the Heart: The Novelization

When Calls the Heart: Reimagined

Some other title with a subtitle of “A When Calls the Heart Novelization”

It sounds simple but it’s not. “The Novelization” makes it sound like it’s following the show super precisely. “Reimagined” makes it sound as if it deviates in a big way. Something else could just be too much to type but at least it implies it’s an interpretation. What if this ends up getting absolutely huge and needs to be split up into parts, though? That makes it more difficult.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ve made it about five minutes into the first episode, time-wise, and have four thousand some odd words. It’s not even a complete chapter—more like an introduction and the beginning of the first chapter.

But something I noticed in those first five minutes of the television series is that...everything is so incredibly rushed. The pacing is awful. I think I might have talked about this a bit in my ‘episode write-up’ of the first episode, but even though it works well enough for this series (especially considering its S1 budget and everything) it would all be terrible for a narrative choice.

I mean, sure, the first chapter could start with Elizabeth on her journey thinkin’ ‘bout where she’s going, ruminating on her own hubris, and then BANDITS. Cut out and back in to her arriving in town without much of an explanation or showing how she personally handled the whole bandit thing. Then have Abigail, Cat, and Florence steamroll the heck out of her while the narrative laughs at rich, silly Elizabeth who isn’t afraid of hard work but is scared of a mouse.

But that isn’t what I want. Elizabeth as a character, especially the introductory character we’re going to get to know and love over the course of hundreds of thousands of words (in theory, of course), deserves better than that. The narrative cluster from the TV show served its purpose; it flung us right into the thick of things. Which is fine for TV and less fine for what would essentially be a book.

Again, don’t get me wrong, but I want Elizabeth to be the kind of character we don’t know everything about right away. I don’t want to spill every detail of her life right from the get-go. I don’t want her to come off as too obviously rich, especially in her own narrative. I want her observations and mannerisms and attitude to reflect the fact that she comes from money without stating it outright.

I also feel that Elizabeth as a character lacked a lot of attention in the show that, again, worked okay for a tv show, but would be doing her a disservice in a novel. She needs hobbies, passions, random relateable thoughts, habits, joys (especially the quiet kind), and motivation. Not to be That Person, but she needs a personality. As the main character it would just be completely unforgivable to have hundreds of thousands of words dedicated to a character that is dull to read about. Remember, books don’t give us the visually appealing scenes that the TV show does. Elizabeth’s smile, her hair, her fun outfits and hats... Those things can’t distract a reader from the fact that she isn’t a very well-fleshed out or understood character.

It also can’t distract from an insanely rushed narrative.

Tons of people watch WCtH for Erin’s performance of Elizabeth. They won’t be reading this novelization for that reason, because Elizabeth is not Erin.

(Though of course you can imagine her in the role if you want to and most readers will; it’s just not the kind of thing that can carry a book the way it can a piece of visual media.)

-

Reimagined is, as of right now, just a slight deviation from what we’re used to. Elizabeth has hobbies, interests. She is a passionate teacher who took the position in Coal Valley for Reasons You’ll Read About.

I really liked aspects of the Elizabeth portrayed in the film by Poppy and in the novel by Janette Oke, and some of those tiny things can and will work their way into this version of the story, too. I’m on board with Elizabeth being a writer, but I’m not on board for that being used as journal exposé writing for Narrative Ease and not to really go all-out in showcasing it as something she’s truly and honestly passionate about. If I want to see a movie that did a great job of showcasing a passionate writer, it’s Anne of Green Gables/Anne of Avonlea. Sure, Anne’s flair for flowery writing and drama was embedded into the voiceover bits and had some narrative function, but it was SO clearly a part of WHO SHE WAS that when you thought about who Anne was, you thought, oh, she’s a teacher for her job but she’s a writer at heart—especially when she learns to write from the heart (instead of what she thinks will make her successful).

I don’t expect Elizabeth to be that type of character (she’s far too sensible), but I need her to have a passion. A person doesn’t just take a teaching post in Nowhere Valley, Canada, in 1910 and not have a good reason for it. What drives her? What motivates her? What makes her happy? 

And when it comes to writing...what is it about writing that she likes? Enjoys? What’s the best part of it? The worst? I wanted to like Elizabeth’s writing arc because duh, I’m a writer, but it didn’t spark any joy in me because it was just too flat. If you give me half a chance I’ll tell you all the best parts of writing, and the worst, and the most frustrating, and the most rewarding. I’ll talk about character growth and development. I’ll talk about cadence. I’ll talk about self-indulgence.

Elizabeth’s passion for writing existed for one reason: “she writes in her journal for easy skips in the narrative.” 

I think she’ll keep her writing passion in Reimagined, but she’ll have other things that matter to her, too, and hopefully if it’s consistently presented it won’t feel like it’s there just to carry a plotline (only for it to disappear afterward).

It’s been fun so far! Elizabeth has been surprisingly nice to write. I won’t lie, though; it’s hard to follow the show enough to make things feel like a novelization while still deviating where it makes sense to. One small example is the conversation that Cat, Abigail, and Florence have with Elizabeth when she gets to town; the TV show didn’t do a bad job with it at all, but when it’s written out exactly the same it feels intensely rushed and out of character/unrealistic. Again, it’s something that got the job done in the TV show, but is nigh unreadable in novel format. 

And it’s not the info dumping, either. It’s just the way the characters go about things; it’s not hospitable, it’s not kind, it’s not thoughtful... and we know from later episodes that Abigail is the pinnacle of hospitality and kindness, and Cat isn’t too far behind her! Even Florence isn’t a monster.

So there has been an attempt on my part to twist things slightly, where mayyybe what Florence says that sounds so rude is really just Florence Being Florence (and observing a truth/reality, not always being awful), and where Elizabeth isn’t mocked on top of being doubted, and of course where some concern is shown for her well-being after her stagecoach was robbed and no doubt didn’t show up in town IN THE FIRST PLACE. I mean, how could they NOT know why Elizabeth was late? Being late by a few days or a week was NOTHING back then. It happened ALL THE TIME. (Thanks, weather!)

So yeah! The project is going. I was really getting into writing it last night, and I’d be working on it now, but I’m just too tired to feel useful.

-

For those wondering about Abigail...she’ll be there. I like the original character and I’ll try to move forward with that person in mind.

-

But back to the whole thing with Mark and et cetera. It’s really interesting how many WCtH characters got the short end of the stick when it came to character development. They have too many characters for the amount of episodes they get a season, which resulted in like...everyone dating for absurdly long periods of time (that had nothing to do with character-reasons until they felt they had to add that stuff in there to force it to make sense). It wasn’t just Jesse and Clara, either. Obviously Elizabeth and Jack took way too long to get together...and Abigail and Frank dated for literal years and should have had something related to that being..a plot for them. I think it might have been interesting in ways Jesse/Clara can’t be, just because Abigail had a long marriage with Noah and she’s much older than Clara, so she brings all that into a new relationship. Clara’s got different issues and sadnesses to work through.

Obviously it didn’t just result in characters dating for insane lengths of time; it also gave us a lot of just..nothing. This conversation started with Frank, because we were talking about Mark Humphrey, but he’s just one example of a handful. The series focused a LOT more on plot driven stuff than character driven stuff, which makes sense, but look at Frank’s character. He got an arc, and then when it was over, he just kind of became a very backseat background character. We might as well have named him Abigail’s Boyfriend at that point, because he hardly did anything that wasn’t related to Abigail DIRECTLY. He didn’t even really get scenes with Cody, which...c’mon. We deserved those. (The best we got was the Christmas movie where the peddler has his old Bible from prison but that whole thing was...not nearly as good or meaningful as it could have been, and of course IT DIDN’T GO ANYWHERE.)

But then it also happened to Lee, and Jesse, and Clara, and Carson and Faith and—yeah, you get it. I feel like if we had 20 episodes a season this wouldn’t be so bad (each recognizable character could easily get a two part episode plotline), but it’s a symptom of plots > character storytelling. More episodes won’t fix that if they just dump in even more bad plots.

S6 was a large improvement in many areas but they REALLY dropped the ball with Bill overall (easily one of the worst parts of S6 just because he went from being such an involved character to kind of a joke/rag doll that nobody knows how to include in a sensible way) and the children aren’t characters so much as tiny plot devices...that frankly aren’t even particularly interesting.

I’m really looking forward to seeing what they’ll do with S7. I hope it’ll be good! I really want them to get their footing onto solid ground and do the best they’ve ever done. They have something really wonderful and I want to be able to tell people “this series found its way and is worth checking out even if it’s usually not your speed.”

But it’s hard to do that when the characters always end up feeling secondary to the (poorly constructed, not very engaging) plots.

So we’ll see! These are things I can improve upon in Reimagined, but I’d really like the show to do some of that work, too. (Better late than never, right?)

[cyrelia-j]

[Fic] Me Tangere (Jack/Parmak)

Continuing with this since a bug kinda bit me on the pairing. Still for @borg-apologist who I want to give such massive undying thanks to for being so encouraging with this ridiculously self indulgent series. I don't normally do romance but I love this damn sappy over the top gooeyness of this universe and these characters.

Anyway, this is a sequel to Dear Jessie which is from Parmak's POV and can be found HERE

Note: This does feature C132 Parmak (Don’t know what that means? click HERE for the in depth but basically it’s an off canon version who’s different from traditional canon Parmak) and a LOT of headcanon made up stuff.

Summary: Ten years after moving to Cardassia Jack often finds himself reflecting on all the Good things in his life sure to keep his timers for them all. Two and a half kids, one Kelas, and a perfect morning in the garden, and he still can't quite believe it's all real.

Warnings: Fluff to the max, intersex Parmak who's pregnant in this story, talks of Jack's mental, impulse control, anxiety, augment issues, Jack's POV so it's very stream of conscious and Julian still doesn't come off too well because it's Jack's POV, past bad parenting and implied child abuse, Alternate Reality (mainly the same universe but averted Dominion War and some characters meeting under different circumstances), brief sexual content too

So if you wanted a sequel, here's your sequel :)

Juggling was one of the first things that he learned to do when he became aware that he was “different”. His father used to have all sorts of euphemisms that he would use aside from “different”. His father, his mother, any number of black and whites rushing around the busy house like one of the old gala scenes in the movies that he used to enjoy watching. His father would also say that juggling was a Supreme Waste (capitals!) of the gifts that he’d been given and Jack - Jack of all trades he liked to call himself using his middle name instead of the dull old John J”-  said if the old man paid all that money he could do anything he wanted and if he didn’t sleep he’d have more time. The old man didn’t rightly have an answer to that one, Jack winning, counting the score down as he learned to juggle eleven knives at once by the time he was thirteen.

Time, time was something the old man used to rail about. Brevis tui tempu est his old man would drone at him while his mother smiled and told him to listen because the old bastard was very wise. He’d go on about a lot of things often, frequently, all the time Very Loudly until Jack started hiding from him considering the matter of time on one of the high branches of the old oaks where they couldn’t easily reach him; at least not until they cut every one of them down. Jack considered that mutants like him should live longer if anything. But the old man didn’t like his Truths contradicted firing decrees from behind the old mahogany desk like a God himself. That desk was huge, austere, like the old man himself all dark eyebrows, dark eyes, sometimes turning into some giant owl in his vision or morphing to The General telling how some animals were more equal than others.

Jack was more equal than others. Jack was special. Jack was the investment of a lifetime buy sell buy till the old man jumped out the window just like one of those old fat cats in the twentieth century. Didn’t jump so much as pushed but that wasn’t anyone’s business but Jack and God’s and there was no God so it was Jack’s and Jack’s alone, damn right! Ah, amend that amend that, his business was his bondmate’s business too. Bondmate, husband, jailer warden, ah no, Incorrect thought with a capital “I”. Those Incorrect thoughts are fewer and fewer nowadays. Correct thought: Kelas is… everything. Kelas, Jessie, Kiss, and-

“Focus.” Jack hears the child’s voice and looks down, seeing his oldest looking up at him and he sets down all four of the large pots he’s been juggling, one after the other onto the sand. Jessie is nearly five now and is old enough now that ze recognizes when Jack’s mind needs to be tugged back with a small cue; like now. Kelas taught zem that, his brilliant Jessie picking it up so quickly. Correction, he thinks as he looks over to Kelas kneeling in the sand next to Kiss (“Kiss” because Jessie couldn’t say “Kesya” when ze was first born) adding water to the white sand to make a castle little by little. Their  child and Jack’s goddamn genius – is he or isn’t he a mutant little smirk ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’- bondmate is four months pregnant with their third. “Theirs”. That’s the correction that he makes. He’s gotten much better at those Johnny on the spot mental corrections since he met Kelas over ten years ago.

Kelas looks over at him and there’s this soft little smile, this look on his face that’s identical to the one he gave him in the Replimat the day they met, when Jack said he was blind and that Cardassia needed better optometrists if he couldn’t tell the difference between Jack and Julian with those spectacles and... shit... God there’s no God, no proof for God except that smile.  Jack had yelled at him with a jump off the table and Kelas had just laughed and then Jack was right there in his face and he’d stopped and looked down because he was just a little taller than Jack but he could see that Kelas was looking at him not afraid but like somehow Jack’s outburst was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen… I love you the more in that I believe you had liked me for my own sake and for nothing else. No, that’s Keats, not God Jesus, Mary, and Joseph same difference!

Jack thrives on the exercise he gets in that sprawling sand garden, succulents and other desert plants like one of the Zen gardens he’s seen pictures of making it a magical place like falling through a looking glass and finding the gardens of Ginkaku-ji on the other end instead of Underland. Well missing most of the coveted trees but he and Kelas and their family have spent years building it beautiful and art brought to life any why couldn’t the old man pay for some natural artistic painting enhancement because he can speak every language he tries to learn but he can’t capture Kelas or his children in more than memories. Ah right, because life isn’t perfect and if it was it would be dull and Jack is Absolutely not dull. He’s the Best Daddy as Jessie says and Kiss repeats and their children aren’t liars so that’s that. Every morning he’s out here barefoot in his loose trousers -how novel is that for him of all people not to be wearing a shirt?- with katas, with tumbles, sweat drenched before the sun is too high and his pale skin in has to be doused and drenched in sunscreen. Jack hatessunscreen.

He usually walks around the city with his big black UV umbrella.

Sometimes Jessie likes to drag the rake through the sand to make the patterns in the sand of the shared garden; this one is more secluded, closer to their modest dwelling than the others. Sometimes ze and Kiss fight over the rake; sometimes Jack joins in too though more often than not Kelas thwaps his shoulder with a book and tells him playfully to behave. Kelas will raise the big tome kissing him long and sweetly behind it, those full lips begging to be bitten ‘til they’re flushed dark gray, It’s one of many games they like to play, kissing until one or both kids yell “Aha!” declaring they’ve been spotted. They laugh when the book lowers and Jack is red and Kelas is just beaming with his glasses half askew. They have endless ridiculous little games they play and Jack is always amazed by how Good this is. Jack doesn’t remember his parents ever… doesn’t remember old George and Martha ever… old swampy ever being anything but cold to each other snip snap at the table clattering spoons and little presses of napkins to mouths.

“Right here, Jessie Jess mmhm. Your turn?” he asks going to one knee, letting himself be knocked backwards when ze yells “yes!” because they’re outdoors and outdoors they can be loud as they want. He gives a good dramatic death yell as his back hits the ground, holding his baby close a moment as he falls. Almost five, Jessie always corrects him, not a baby, Four years nine months nine days ten hours five minutes three seconds... and Jack watches his mouth, ensuring that any kisses are Cardassian presses of two quick fingers – index and middle – to each other. Things around his mouth make Jack anxious because he wants to nip and that leads to gnawing, to biting and that’s only acceptable if it’s Kelas.

Sometimes Kiss or Jessie will give him little nips to the rings on his fingers to show affection and he… doesn’t know how he feels about that because it’s special and theirs but it’s not typical as Bashir says with those castigating hidden expressions that he thinks that Jack can’t see just like he says it isn’t healthy for them to see the marks and the blood when he and Kelas kiss hard but they don’t get upset, they only laugh at how silly yadek and his red mouth look and… and Jack is Careful, always careful with the two of them because he would sooner die than hurt them and Kelas will tell him that he’s too most conscientious delicate and it isn’t necessary to self-flagellate and if he doesn’t knock it off he’s going to start calling him “Dimmesdale” which is absurd because Kelas is no Hester Prynne in any sense of the character and he should understand that  it absolutely is necessary to be careful because he broke too many children when he was a child even if he didn’t mean it and-

“Focus.” Jessie repeats, this time with a tap to his nose giving him a terribly weighty look; Jessie takes “helping daddy fix his head” very seriously. Jack blinks and nods. That’s a very serious second warning there!

“Right! We’re going upside down today hm hm?” Jessie nods excited, scampering off him, jumping at Jack the moment he stands back up. Jack catches zem easily around the waist, his baby a little monkey climbing up his shoulders. The air on Cardassia brings him alive even if it is warmer than he’s used to. Kelas says with a face, a precious Kelas face that he makes when something irritates him - cute, so cute will always be adorable a hundred two hundred, Jack doesn’t care - that the air of Nokar is the purest most amazing smell. He knows that Kelas still thinks about going back, away from Central, away from the southern continents to the Steppe, to the cold and Jack thinks it’s the funniest thing that a Cardassian would long for the cold but he understands it’s so much more than that.

Kelas is a misfit, a mutant too but a damn perfect one and Jack will fight anyone who disagrees.

But for all the stares and the whispers - which he can hear, always hear with his enhanced hearing - Jack has never found a place more of a home than on Cardassia Prime. Bashir, passing normal Federation mutt, Bashir asked him if he didn’t miss all the comforts of the Federation, the food, the culture, the people who didn’t glare or condescend and a list that went on and Jack had an epiphany. It was brilliant. He wrote it down he was pleased, he read it to Kelas, he read it to Lauren and Patrick and Sarina and a full audience around an evening bonfire to cheers and chirps in fact. Bashir wasn’t a mutant passing as normal, he was a basic passing as One of Them. Jack didn’t read it to Bashir because Bashir wouldn’t get it and the hell with him anyway! Jack didn’t have a lifetime of Federation comforts. He had a prison, he had walls and bars and “do this do that step jump sit behave be Normal!” He had a lifetime of people backing away from him making the sign of the damn cross and ha joke’s on them, mutants aren’t vampires and he could still bite throats out no matter how much garlic they used!

Jack grins big, wide, toothy, vicious as he wants when he looks at his children, when he looks at his Kelas and there’s nothing, no drug, no “Federation comforts” no religion, nothing that could ever bring him the high that their fearless answering smiles brings him. He walks through the streets with every damn one of these Cardassian Morlocks meeting him with a level stare, a sneer, a challenge to prove that he’s their equal. They challenge him when he recites his poetry. They aren’t afraid to shove at him in the crowded markets. They’re not afraid of confrontation, they revel in it, every Sunday morning Jack going into the city to argue with the same old woman selling flowers about every damn thing in the world and no shrinking back when he’s loud, no “shut up” no “behave” no belts no smacks to the mouth nothing but the same irritated arguments that they fling at each other.

Jack keeps grinning like a damn idiot as he looks up, feeling Jessie putting small hands in his ready to be raised up to the top of Mount Parnassus to meet the fabled muses. Jack can see a bit of a tremble of zes arms, but he shouts encouragement, a babbling string at his little hatchling - Kelas says “hatchling” though not properly hatched but that’s pedantic so shut up Jack! - turns himself upside down, holding a count of five before ze flops, Jack catching zem easily, the both of them laughing. It’s a life he never dreamed that he could have and no amount of holofeeds of the “successful augment doctor” like old technicolor popcorn matinee propaganda reels could ever convince him that he and that stupid smiling thing would ever be the same. As long as he lives, Julian will never know what it’s like to have people afraid of him and fuck him anyway. The sharp sound of a clap catches his sensitive ears, head jerking, that instinct relaxing in a split second seeing Kelas applauding him.

Applause isn’t a Cardassian custom, occasionally chirrups or a stamp of feet signify massive approval but Kelas thought the gesture was novel when he learned of it and Jack sees Kiss following along after him when he sets Jessie down. His children love “doing acrobatics with Daddy” and he’s just in awe of how far ahead their development is without being augmented. He teaches the children in their little community they’ve built too and he’s not just biased when he says that Kiss and Jessie are the best of the excitable lot.

“That’s my Jessie Jess hm! Shoot off the guns like Buffalo Bill! There’s a cowboy hm hm! We’ll have you swallowing swords for Emperor Wu mmhm!”

“Ze’s going to be a doctor!” Kelas calls out emphatically with that irritated face.

“Then an acrobat doctor hm. Think if the money you’d pull in adding a few flips to your routine hm. Climb that Bashir beanstalk like a diving board hm hm hop skip splash!”

“Splash!” That’s from Kiss before diving into the half-finished sand castle an explosion of wet sand everywhere on both zem and Kelas. Kelas laughs even as he spits out a mouthful of sand.

“Ah, right, definitely sticking with my usual practice, I think,” he says brushing sand from his lap.

Jack is sure that his face hurts from smiling, Jessie running past him bowling clear into the mess, into Kiss with a yell of “Splash!” the two tumbling around with their little growls play fighting, a little tinkling of beads reaching his ears too as they clank together. Jessie is slim, all limbs like Kelas, a wiry little worm as the two of them wrestle. It seems that Kiss will take after him, stockier, strong - nearly as strong as Jessie at three years six months fifteen days five hours nineteen minutes three seconds. His head is a constant count of every moment of their lives because every atomic second passing by is one that he wants to be thankful for. Kelas suggested that when he told him about the constant numbers and figures and unwanted thought intrusions that he might fill the space with everything positive in his life that he wants to track instead- fill his head so full to bursting that there isn’t room for anything else. So he does.

His head is full of clocks of all colors, shapes, appearance, a clock to count his children’s’ ages, to track the time since he and Kelas met, the time since number three (working title “Seska” still in progress”) was conceived, the time since the community where they live was completed, the time since their petition was approved for Lauren, Patrick, and Sarina to be remanded to their care (take that Nursed Ratched!), and at least half a dozen other events, tracking, counting, numbers flashing but these are Good numbers. Good numbers, good thoughts, his mind is usually a jumble of thoughts, numbers, followed by blinking impulses, little hands that pull at his limbs, his arms and legs, his mouth and make his body sometimes act outside his thoughts. It’s those impulses that he knows make Bashir say that he’s unpredictable and Dangerous and sometimes those thoughts intrude and lock him still afraid to act at all until he can pull himself out of it.

He has one now but it’s not a violent one. He hasn’t had a violent one in years and that one had a very specific trigger. That one was Elim Garak and wasn’t his fault no matter what Bashir said. That was one of the worst ones. That was one of the last ones and Not His Fault! It was Garak. It was Garak’s fault and Jack hates that Bashir thinks it’s some alpha male posturing poppycock that’s completely beneath him but according to Kelas it’s not on his place to speak to Bashir on the wicked devil that he takes to his bed. (Le Démon ! - c'est un Démon, vous savez, ce n'est pas un homme.-that’s Rimbaud predicting the wicked Morlock centuries in advance!). Anyone who scares his Kelas like that… anyone who causes his Kelas to flinch like that, anyone who makes that flash of fear cloud over his eyes is a devil no ifs and or buts and they’re dead!

The first time that he saw Kelas look at Garak, stop, panic, swallow and nearly take a step back terrified he lost it. Jack blanked out. He didn’t think at all. His hand was already moving for Garak’s throat by the time Bashir had tackled him because Bashir wasn’t as fast as him or as strong as him and if it wasn’t for Kelas asking him softly to please forgive it they’d see just how dangerous an augment that he was because no one including him hurts the family he went through hell to have. They used to tell him that he didn’t have empathy, that he was a monster incapable of understanding other people and he almost, almost believed them, but if Frankenstein’s creature wasn’t a monster, if Jack could weep silently, his head buried in Kelas’ lap when Kelas told him softly what Garak’s old iron monkey on his back, what his old man had done that had made him have that fear then he... no... no bad thoughts, not now. This is a Good place and a Good day and those thoughts are banished.

When Jack has that unconscious impulse now it’s to join in that raucous and he turns to Kelas, seeing him shaking the sand off the top of the long sleeveless tunic he’s wearing. meeting Jack’s eyes a moment.

“Splash,” Jack says in a rush and he catches those blue almost violet eyes widen in surprise and his mind would yell at him careful careful but he’s already moving with his hands on Kelas’ shoulders pushing him back to the sand. His mind corrects, his enhanced reflexes able to catch up with that recrimination that caution he’s pregnant he’s old he’s delicate he’s… laughing as Jack lands on top of him. Kelas is laughing loudly.

“Ah I should have known you were going to wait until the sand was gone. You always love getting me dirty!” He exclaims with a laugh as Jack in a rush of expelled nerves puts his face into Kelas’ neck sure he’s getting sand in his own hair now.

Kelas reminds him at least twice a day that he won’t hurt him- that he may be over a hundred but that doesn’t quite mean the same in their years and in any case their skeletons are more dense and durable. Sometimes he demonstrates it. Sometimes Jack even believes him. Jack turns his face about to say something to that but Kelas is already turning, kissing him silly, breathless, swearing at him in that melodic Northern tongue that’s like a slip of hisses, or angry snakes circling his ears.

“…sorry,” he says instinctively because sorry is what they always told him to say when he Did Something and he said it so much he used to like to see how much of a curse he could put behind those words.

“No you’re not,” Kelas mutters, trying not to smile, his hands sliding sandy, gritty over Jack’s sticky sweaty back holding him there on top before Jack can scramble off. “Mmm but that’s alright, I think your punishment should be to finish what you started.”

“Yadek has one baby you can’t give him one yet, Daddy!” he hears Jessie yelling at him and that only makes Kelas laugh even louder, the lines around his eyes crinkling, ridges flushing darker as he just… smiles up at Jack.

“Ah well… perhaps we’ll have to wait then,” Kelas says not moving his hands from Jack’s back in the slightest. His hands are strong, slightly calloused with the work that he does in the lab with Lauren now. He kneads at the muscles with determination and Jack feels like he might pool into goo dripping, soaking into the sand or into Kelas. That’s an idea- totally perfect idea.

“That right hm? No making new babies til this one’s done hm hm?”

“Can’t have two at once,” Jessie confirms terribly seriously. Jack smiles while Kelas keeps kneading at his back. Well, his little hatchling may have a numerical point but there’s always room for more practice because number three took so long it surely was because they hadn’t practiced enough and number four… ah impractical meandering illogical thoughts but-

“Maybe if we make you into an ovipositor... I bet Sarina could do it,” He hears Lauren’s voice and doesn’t ask how long she’s been standing there because Lauren is like the wind flitting in, out, hot, cold, but always there in some form. He doesn’t say that she’s like his sister but he hears their neighbors calling her that without correction and it’s strange but it’s Good and there’s a counter running for the first time someone called her his sister: three years two months five days four hours eighteen minutes thirty four seconds…

“An ovipositor? Ha! You couldn’t make a Kranessan fly hm!” The Kranessans, he learned were famed for their elaborate zip lines through the mountain passes.

“And you couldn’t make old Jala a rich woman if you tried,” she fires back with an arch of her eyebrow holding out her only to have Jessie and Kiss rush past her towards their house. She shrugs with a sigh. “I’ll see that they get to their lesson. Mr. Gok is teaching today and…” She pauses there, letting the old familiar rejoinder slip away unsaid. It’s become more of a small joke between them now.

There’s buzzing that Jack hears just then and he watches as a large dragonfly double wings gold, glistening in the sunlight as it hovers into the yard. Ah, right the little attendance drone, one of Patricks dozens of creations flying, beeping, walking around their compound. The newly elected council’s relaxed restrictions on sedition and unlawful assembly years back were what allowed him and Kelas to work tirelessly into one of the first communal living spaces outside of Central. There were more that had cropped up always monitored for radicals but as more sprang up, as more shared spaces came with their family dining halls and sand gardens and families sharing the grounds outside their modest homes, the more accepted they were.

Ah acceptable as Northerner and outcast refuse but there was no better refuse and no better life and Jack reaches up to sign off on the PADD the dragonfly is holding that Jessie and Kiss will be in class today outside with the other children. He snorts thinking of old Jala and older Gisha (and how Kelas always gets so hotly indignant when he calls them that saying they’re hardly older than he is) always hovering around chattering whenever he and Kelas make love. He’s heard them over stone walls, through fences, once catching their eyes with a curious blink before they waved him on and that… isn’t Normal, he thinks but he sometimes catches other couples or other triads outside their homes together in some partly secluded space with little mind paid. Sometimes he’ll hear a rattle of beads and he can always tell when Jala and Gisha are jabbering at each other about whether it’s better or worse for fertility if one is silent or loud. Jala thinks silent. Gisha thinks loud.

Kelas is always loud and Lauren says the two of them have a bet each time on which it will be.

Jala has yet to win once, and Lauren lets them know she has her data prepared whenever Kelas is ready to go over their new formulations for perfume tonics they’ve devised – fragrant and flavorful particles that confer different effects when “scented” from the air. Kelas looks thoughtful as he hooks an ankle around the small of Jack’s back, pushing that swollen belly up against him completely undoing him.

“Thirty minutes should be enough,” he hears Kelas say thinking sand is a challenge and rough and irritating and sand is nice beneath his bare feet but a cruel menace elsewhere and his hands are already beneath Kelas’ hip with a hurried murmur of “other leg other leg,” getting to his knees. Kelas wrapping around him like a beautiful pale vine, his hair half out of it braid, those glasses already mussed. Jack thinks he hears some impressed click from the other side of the wood fence marveling at his augmented strength.

He prefers to take it slow, to savor every touch, every press of Kelas’ mouth to his chest, every sigh, every push into Kelas’ body and Kelas into his too. Time is short, so short but the longer he can drag every perceived moment out, the closer to immortality in a beautiful vacuum where seconds aren’t ticks but instead Kelas’ breaths and slow steady beats of his heart. Ah, but now time is a rush and it always surprises him how excited his body is for Kelas in ways it is for nothing else.  Ah, the old women think they’ve seen strength? They haven’t seen anything, Jack holding that full weight with one arm now panting, quickly tugging himself free from trousers, from undergarments. Kelas is already whining as Jack starts biting his shoulder ridges hitching the hem of his tunic up with that free hand, Kelas squirming into position, a loud breathy cry when Jack enters him halfway, readjusts with both hands on his ass like he weighs nothing, driving right deep to his center.

And for that moment, time stops.

[amwritingmeta]

Ohh when the doc was going to drill Dean, Dean didn't do anything but seat and look. No attempts to move away or smth else. I mean, it seems like he really wanted to die.

Hello my lovely Nonny!! 

I am hard at work on some meta for you regarding this very topic, but let me throw this at you (it’s a gently toss) (I love playing catch) (please don’t hurl it back at me I bruise easily) (I also suck at catching things) (especially if they’re flying at my face) (I scream and flail) (and not the good kind) ;)

I actually don’t think he wants to die, I think he feels like he does, but he’s in the depression stage of his grief and so this feeling like he wants to die isn’t an actual want, it’s not a choice.

I also think Dean feeling like he wants to die stems entirely from him not seeing any reason to go on living. Wanting to die and seeing no reason to go on living have to very different connotations, because one means actively seeking out death while the other is passively accepting your fate.

I feel like Dean’s been ready to keep grinding since 13x03, but there’s no fight left in him, he doesn’t care (which is why Missouri is so forceful about him going to save her family - she needs him to actually care in order to ensure that he does his job properly), and we got the reason of this lack of ability to care textualized in his dialogue with Billie: Dean doesn’t think he matters, he doesn’t think what he does matters, ie. he’s lost his ability to have faith in the motto of “saving people, hunting things” that’s guided him through life, because he’s had his heart ripped out of his chest. 

Would he really welcome death? I don’t know. As depressed as he is, his first thought in Billie’s reading room is to say he’s got a house full of ghosts and a brother to get back to, right? So he does try to get back to Sam, back to finishing the job, back to carrying on with whatever there is to carry on with. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, sure, but it’s still there - because, I believe, deep down Dean knows he’s grieving and as beautiful as it is to think that you would actually rather die than be without the person you love, in reality we - as a species - have a tendency to carry on, and Dean - as a character - absolutely has the traits to, just as Sam did after the loss of Jess. 

What I mean is that this is not a tragedy and Dean’s endgame was never to lie down and die from a broken heart, it’s not who he is (as Sam tries to tell him after tempting him with beer and strip clubs and old habits to try and jolt some life into him), and deep down Dean knows this, he’s just so far gone into this depression stage of his grief that he’s unable to actually believe it, because what Dean knows is that even if the depression abates, the truth remains the same: this grief has changed him and he will never be able to forgive himself for all the years wasted, he will never be able to move on from Cas, there will be no more normal after watching the man he loves die.

And that’s scary as fuck. Because through this grief he’s gained perspective on himself, perspective he’s never actually had before. He knows what he wants. Without question. (at least I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t)

Now, when Billie lays the cards on the table, his request becomes for her to let the ghosts go, let them move on (because at least he can do that much even when there’s no moving on for him), based in his acceptance of the fact that with Billie in charge there can’t be any way out for him. He resigns himself to his fate, such as it is, because at the end of the day all he can really believe in is that his life is insignificant. This belief stems in the poison of depression and how it’s informing his attitude - just as the grief has been informing his attitude from the first frame of 13x01. *fucking beautiful*

As for the specifics of your ask: I think with the Doc, what Dean wanted wasn’t actually to die, it was rather to be lobotomised. 

Dean’s reaction to Sam telling him about how the Doc would lobotomise his victims looks like this:

And look at how Dean is chowing down on a HUGE plateful of bisexual bacon in this scene, hung over and indulging in his non-performing side, more or less in Sam’s face, and more significantly to me - though he’s kinda self-aware and glances around - he’s also indulging in his non-performing side in front of a room full of strangers (he needn’t glance around - everybody loves bacon!!): this is foreshadowing if I ever saw it, and also a narrative cue that there is many more layers to Dean’s depression and the regrets he’s dealing with than can be summarised by wanting to die. 

*aaaarrrgggghhhhh* *or should that be yeehaw?*

And then his meeting with the drill (sorry can’t add the gif) is filled with hesitation and a stare and making a face. It freaks him out, of course, but, nope, he doesn’t fight back. 

And yeah, to finish this reply off: I think it’s because he can’t see any other way out of the deep, deep depression anymore, missing Cas like he’ll lose his mind anyway so why not have it end with blissful forgetfulness? To me this is not a death wish, it’s a complete inability to see any meaning in anything anymore, especially in fighting against the inevitable. And the fact that Dean is so mentally and emotionally entrenched in missing Cas that this ^^^ is the state he’s actually reached (mirroring Cas when he said yes to Lucifer in S11) is so fucking romantic I can’t even. *big wet sloppy tears down my face*

Oh, another telltale sign to me that Dean’s depression hasn’t canceled out every ounce of his core character traits is his final query to Billie, finally giving us, in text, the fact that he believes there’s a chance Mary is still alive, that there is a chance to save her, which is why he wants Sam to keep the faith for the both of them: Dean wants to live, Dean wants to remember what it’s like to want to fight, to believe - but he just needs a damn win to enable him to recharge, to revive himself, to come out on the other side of this grief and carry on. Just some small sign to tell him that if he’s supposedly important, then his struggle is not for nothing, that he should burn and burn like the firewall that he is because he’ll be rewarded for it.

*slowest eyebrow raise*

Because, you know… phone call and Cas and Cas is the win and… yeah. These writers are the most romantic fuckers on the face of the planet, I swear to God.

I mean, Cas got himself out of the Empty, effectively ending his own depression, and is sent back to put an end to Dean’s depression, and Dean’s depression has mirrored Cas’ depression, and Cas has always been the root of Dean’s hope and faith and love and there would be carrying on for Dean Winchester, but no actual living without Cas. The fact that Dean isn’t just shutting himself down and giving up completely, the fact that Dean deep down wants to live, is the reason he gets Cas back. Because Dean deserves it. And Cas deserves it. They deserve this reunion because they’ve battled with the depression of being without one another and it’s time for the changes they’ve been through to manifest in the most positive light possible. I’m so fucking positive it will.

Slow and steady, most likely. Or balls out. Either way, their relationship will be subject to change. And fuck me I cannot wait for 13x06!! It’ll set the pace!

xx

PS. I didn’t make a “the doc drilling Dean” joke! I’ll save it for a rainy day. ;P

[somethingheresomethingthere]

Book Memories Memory

March 31, 2020

I like to keep a list of all the books I’ve read, but I have a hard time remembering specifics in order to give good recommendations. I sent Cara and Kaylin The Final Girls and A Man Named Ove respectively. I remembered my feelings associated to the books but not why I felt that way - this makes a recommendation tough. 

I’ve been reading quite a bit during this pause. Since I’m keeping this learning log, I would be remise not to include the books along the way.  

The Good Girl, Mary Kubica - I think it was Amber who recommended this to me with the caveat that it’s suburban. I didn’t find it all that suburban - I think that’s like housewife self-loathing and worrying about kids. If anything it was just a bit underwhelming. The storyline was interesting and went in a place I couldn’t predict- In crime/drama/mysteries that means a lot. The peak of the story roped me in to iron out the details, but in the end I felt nothing for the characters. I would recommend The Silent Wife, The Couple Next Door, Final Girls all over this one. 

Conversations With Friends, Sally Rooney - I picked this up as soon as I finished The Good Girl. Rooney’s Normal People was actually what originally caught my eye, but it was a hard cover, and I’m a broke bitch, so I went with this one. Critically acclaimed, on everybody’s list, seemed to have a light tone, with an interesting enough summary. Ended up really enjoying this book. In the beginning, it felt slow, but I learned the intentionality of it - eventually felt connected to what she was feeling and examined each thought against my own life. At the last page, I felt grateful to have spent the time thinking about myself and my relationships and what I want alongside this book. It’s confusing, it’s sexy, it’s blurry - I don’t know how tragic this is, but I think this is the romanticized picture I have of what living alternatively in my 20s looks like. Normal People is definitely on my list now. 

April 12, 2020

All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doeer - Recommended by Grammy, a Barnes and Noble employee, and the shelving. During quarantine, had some trouble getting to it in the beginning. Many of the characters feeling stuck, limited, without choices- wasn’t exactly an escape. I was waiting to feel something over the relationships developed between characters, but that never really happened. This book is about choosing the kind of person that you want to be, and the limitlessness of your possibilities even when the opposite seems true. The characters that meet tragic ends still left me at peace with their choices. Centered around a blind girl, and separately, a equally genius and curious boy. Now that I think of it, they’re both equally equally genius and curious. The author beautifully left out conventional perceptions and assumptions, described very specific things with incredible beautiful detail, and allowed characters to be judged as individuals and not by their identifiers without evidence. I’m not left thinking about this book often, but their characters will sit with me, especially Marie-Laure. The last 200 pages goes quickly. 

April 26, 2020

Enigma Variations, André Aciman - Kaylin sent me this in quarantine book exchange. At first I was shocked by how graphically sexualized the story was, and I wasn’t clear what it was she wanted to share with me. The book breaks down the intimate relationships throughout the entire life of one person into chapters. Earlier on, reading his voice exposed me to an inter-monologue that I never really hear, forcing me to experience another persons narrative, giving me some more empathy tools. But following this narrator’s growth in building knowledge of himself, how to navigate relationships, and relate to the world around him with more maturity and self-assuredness even when there was doubt was somehow cathartic? I was reflecting on my own relationships throughout the entire experience. 

May 31, 2020

Educated, Tara Westover - I’m with Oprah on this one. Whatever you’re going through, read Educated. This is a memoir which is nuts. Tara’s life is so unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Her life demonstrates the value of education and gaining perspective. Her journey to understand her own life is fascinating and something we can all relate to in some minor capacity. She is such an incredible writer, and there is not a single dull, self-indulgent chapter in her story. I watched an Amy Winehouse documentary at the same time as I was in this book, so I don’t remember if it was Amy or Tara who said this, but it’s stuck with me and keeps coming up. She says we never really have feeling about our lives in the moment, it’s when we think back and analyze those memories and try to fit them into the bigger picture of our lives that we actually attach emotions to experiences. I’m thinking that that means we get a lot of say in how we feel about things. Also, actually learned what the term “gaslighting” means through this experience. 

All The Bight Places, Jennifer Niven - Violet and Finch explore and discover life and happiness and togetherness through the lens of each of their pain. Finch is either given all the wrong attention or none at all while Violet silently passes with the pain of her lost sister. They find each other at their worst and make each other see the best in themselves. All the plot points in this book should feel devastating and depressing but it is so beautiful. This is a John Green kinda book that is just something more. I admire how Finch chose to live and is efforts in bringing Violet to that place. Makes me think differently about everyone’s sadnesses.

July 6, 2020

Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingslover - I loved this book. It took me some time to get through because there’s not much action in the story. The book is the year of a women who comes home and comes to better understand all kinds of love. I related to parts of Codi that felt the urge to constantly recreate herself and move on. Here you get to experience what it’s like to find yourself at home and realize you are loved and love your life and you don’t need to run from it. Really beautiful, simple, profound statements about the appreciation of life. 

August 31, 2020

Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me, Chelsea and Friends - This was such easy reading. Each friend of Chelsea’s shares a strig of short stories that attempt to be funny but are really just nice in a time of isolation. I liked reading an ode to a friend that was complex and celebrated even the most annoying and scary parts of her. 

The More They Disappear, Jesse Donaldson - I was looking forward to finishing this book to get away from these characters. Everyone is miserable. The book surrounds the investigation of the sheriff’s murder, and the story almost lays itself all out in the beginning. It’s more of a why-done-it than who-done-it. Beautiful descriptive writing but the story itself is miserable and anticlimactic. 

October 28, 2020

Call Me By Your Name, André Aciman

Bring Yourself, Mori Taheripour

[elizabethrobertajones]

4x03

Too tired to gif anything lengthy (or work out how to do these ones nicely and in 1 part) but when Mary and Samuel go to the farm to investigate, they have this little exchange:

MARY And I'm here because?

SAMUEL Family business, Mary... family.

SAMUEL What? You'd rather be waving pom-poms at a bunch of dumb jocks?

(The giffed smile is after he says that last line)

Anyway it just makes me really sad that this is the offered glimpse of Mary's life specifically between her and Samuel and what we have to go off on how this works between the two of them aside from him laughing at John and calling him naive etc. This has John parenting Dean all over it, with the family business line as always harking back to the line indelibly connected to Dean's speech in 1x02 because of how many episode openings it was pasted over, and I feel like it's Dean especially, rather than Sam who DID openly want to rebel and live a normal life (and would relate a lot to this as well, of course) because it feels more like pre-knowing them stuff, the kind of thing that John telling Dean to take care of the car or he wouldn't have given it to him in 1x20 for example feels like. The snide comments that police how they should feel about it and how Mary responds by snarking at him about going to do the job and putting on a smile and going to flirt information out of a boy at the farm. We don't see comments like this really between John and Dean aside from the car one because in every respect in season 1 John has bought Dean's loyalty fully already and since the very start that has been obvious - if little tells in 1x01 didn't give it away, Dean's behaviour in 1x02 standing up for the family business to Sam did.

I also have spent some time somewhere or other paralleling Mary & John to Dean & Lisa (I think the first post in this post-season 12 watch actually, where I wrote like 100 miles about Mary...) in the sense that she clawed her way to suburbia and went into a sort of denial - visually represented in 12x22 if you want to imagine she was doing the same thing the entire time she was playing housewife for real (and because she never learned to cook I find it particularly telling and distressing that it reads to me like she was in denial/depression about it rather than throwing herself wholeheartedly into learning an entire new life and genuinely trying to fit in with housewife culture of doing all the cooking etc... She still sneaked out to hunt and I still kinda feel like that was lashing out or rebellion against her own life, dissatisfaction being caught between two worlds, even self-sabotage to make John wonder if she was cheating, or just to indulge her secret other life or... you know, SOMETHING reckless and stupid when she had a baby at home to care for... Mary is NOT a stable person and I love her because she's a hot mess :P). (The Dean & Lisa vs Mary & John parallel isn't perfect but I'm talking specifically about mindsets and the djinn dream comparison Dean had to being with Lisa, and the deep deep place Mary went to in her head that reeks to me of similar minds.)

To me overall the Dean and Mary comparison is much stronger to me so though this makes a lot of sense as a Sam parallel (or, well, when it's parents etc we just talk about inherited traits with a semi-mystical power to channel personality directly to us whether we knew our ancestors personally or not...) I do read this exact more strongly as the sort of control John exerted over Dean potentially, which SUCCESSFULLY worked to make him grow to adulthood disdaining normal life and feeling like they didn't fit in and were outsiders and freaks who were not a part of regular life. I think Mary is young and headstrong and still in that stage where like Sam she can rebel and choose another life but in this specific moment we're having demonstrated the hunting life vs normal life that in season 1 we saw better explained by Dean calling himself a freak (or in season 2 Jo calling herself a freak with a knife collection when she tried to go to college, while Sam had the knife collection but was HAPPILY fitting in and in denial, we know Mary DIDN'T fit in and DID sneak off to go hunting, like Jo did). Samuel emphasises the exact annoying Strong Female Character trait of "i'm not like the other girls" but he's forcing it on Mary, which makes her want to BE like the other girls, even if like Jo or Dean she would struggle to fit in and keep it far more than Sam did with Jess or Amelia, where he could cut it off completely. Mary KNOWS she isn't "like the other girls" because Samuel made her that way, and so she goes to do the job with a forced smile on her face and to spite Samuel.

I wonder how things would have gone with her and John if Dean had never shown up and Azazel had never caught wind of her, and she had been able to carve her own path with nothing more than Samuel's influence on her life. How much was she screwed up by being raised a hunter to make her act as she did and how much was the deal a part of it? Azazel promised her suburbia and peace, the same terms of what Dean got with Lisa, and he managed to stick to it until other things intervened, although as 12x10 suggests and like Dean investigating the possible hunt, immediately after being poisoned, in the abandoned hotel, neither of them would ignore when their help was needed even if they were supposedly civilian now. Sam manages to cut himself off completely and in 8x01 he says he looked in the newspapers and saw potential cases and knew it wasn't his problem because he wasn't capable of hunting right then/wanted and had honestly more than earned his peace (given the circumstances of Dean and Cas's disappearance, and, as Sam was doing, ignoring the issue of Kevin).

I'm not saying Sam is less heroic but I think this specific sort of "You can never be like everyone else so do the job" brainwashing from Samuel and presumably John given what we know of how he raised them (Sam himself complains about that a lot in 1x01 but from the safe place of having rejected it at that specific point, again, having completely cut himself off and thinking he'd made a choice for his entire adult life), creates the complex where they HAVE to save people, and Sam got himself out before it got all the way into him; I think Mary is shown here at the crux of it and ironically maybe if she hadn't made the deal, she would have got out but having MADE the deal even with Azazel's promise of her suburbia paradise and nothing Supernatural ever bothering her again (as long as she didn't bother him in the nursery >.>) had a tie to keep her in the life, even as an unresolved *itch* of having that hanging over WHY she got such a peace that never let her truly settle or cut herself off in the way Sam could.

... Also it's making me think of Dean in the high school episode coming up later in the season, deliberately acting out and self-sabotaging his own life there right when he seemed to be getting popular or cool, or getting anything NICE out of the experience, and the contrast they made with Sonny's where away from John's influence he was allowed to flourish and do things like join the wrestling team. (Sam played football and did extra curricular stuff like theatre, or, you know, his homework, and John and Dean both also complicate it by having varying reasons for trying to preserve some normality for Sam on top of being raised as a hunter - John because who knows what he learned about Sam early on in his investigation and Dean just because he wanted to protect Sam wholeheartedly.) If Samuel was poisoning Mary all this time to hate the idea of being a cheerleader, it sounds a lot to me like, since they have this apparently more stable life she probably went to one school all her life, and could have been offered cheerleader but she's been encouraged to keep away from socialising and doing fun things and Samuel doesn't support her doing anything that cuts into her hunting time and emotional investment. If she likes cheerleading she might start craving a normal life, you know? At least in this respect John always being on the road got to yank Sam and Dean away from ever starting to feel too normal and comfortable anywhere until it WAS their normal, while Mary probably took a LOT of emotional punishment for being the weird kid at school who'd probably break someone's nose for teasing her about it but through all the things her father stopped her from doing, presumably had few friends and never got to do anything fun so was always feeling excluded. It's possible she was even homeschooled/had left school early and so that hypothetical from Samuel is about a life she's left entirely behind.

Anyway seeing the pain in her plastering on this smile to her father after a comment like this... it's the most Dean she looks the whole flashbacks we see Amy portraying her and she looks a LOT like Dean in a LOT of scenes because wtf this show's casting :P

[missallycat]

Once in the friendzone always a Martyzoned

I don’t like Marty. I don’t understand how is “Team Marty” a thing, how it’s even in existence.

Let’s start with who is naked guy... I’m sorry but so many people insist he was treated badly and I have to say BY WHO?? Other than Colin a couple of times (because they only see each other a couple of times) when was he treated badly? By Logan because he didn’t remember him? They weren’t friends, my guess is they didn’t have classes together since Logan was a year or two ahead in school and lets face it, Logan when he first shows up he partied hard, why did he have an obligation to remember a guy he had hired to work at a party? The “I’m seeing a uniform” thing... I don’t know if it was offensive or him just being “high” lol actually I could be wrong but when Logan first shows up I didn’t like him as much although he did make me laugh, and I really thought he was high lol the way he walked and talked in that first encounter, the squint saying I’m seeing a uniform of some kind... Or maybe he simply didn't remember because why would you if you only see them in a specific context sporadically, why would you remember someone who wasn't your friend or classmate? I get it can be seen as mocking but I honestly thought it was more for the viewers to mock Logan as “frat boy probably high or drunk out of his ass in broad daylight, doesn’t even remember his own name”, than for Logan to mock Marty. Other than that, Marty was always treated with courtesy by Logan (he offered to treat him and that wasn’t meant to be offensive, why would Marty agree to go to the friggin chinese restaurant KNOWING how these guys spent money, when he didn’t have money to pay for himself!? who was to guess he didn’t have money? Why is it so horrible to offer to treat him, is it because it was another guy? because he was interested in Rory? I thought that one was bad on Marty). Colin not so much, but I always thought Marty had a deep inferiority complex. Colin insulted again and Logan gave him a look, again saying although non verbally this time, "don't be an ass". But this time Marty was out of earshot.

Why is it assumed that because a guy is interested in you, and is apparently nice to you, you automatically have to fall head over heels for him??? Why?? Because he happens to be a guy and you’re a girl so you have to take the first dude who happens to be civil because otherwise you’re at risk of what... the big bad wolf? Of actually dating someone you’re... what’s that word again, oh yes ATTRACTED to?

Don’t get me wrong, when we first met Marty (I mean really meet him not naked drunkard passed out in the hallway nor trying to humiliate Rory in her pj’s and bringing her to his creeper friends who say “oh yes nice robe we all took turns trying it on”, seriously? that’s how you try to win a girl?) despite the trying to humiliate her, I liked him, I thought HOW COOL!!! Now Rory can have an actual GUY friend, someone who will be like the male version of Lane, a masculine (softer lol) counterpart for Paris. Other than Michel (but in a little aspect as much as I positively LOVE him, he doesn’t count, I’ll get to it in a sec) the Gilmore girls don’t have any guy friends, straight guy friends who aren’t romantically involved with their closest girl friends (I love Michel but not only was he Lorelai’s friend not Rory’s and older than her, he was also gay so in the not attratcted to them part he’s already not attracted to women), men who while unattached, instead of drooling over them choose to be just friends with them, men who could be into them but really aren’t. 

We saw Rory get rejected by William the laundry guy (now him I thought looked cute too bad nothing but humiliation afterwards came from that, for Rory lol) but we don’t see either Rory or Lorelai have actual guy friends who aren’t into them. Lorelai and Luke were friends for years but there was always this undercurrent of “more” between them. So when I saw Marty appear and I thought FINALLY a new kind of friendship. And at first things seemed to go very well, they were friends and he was funny and they had movie nights and they’d study that was fun

lol I mean he would even try to go head to head with Paris (losing of course but one had to give it to the guy for the sense of humor). 

Two things were perfectly and absolutely clear from day one

1. Rory had ZERO romantic interest in him whatsoever  

2. Marty never made a move for Rory. 

Yes we saw that Marty started taking SOME interest in Rory, asking her if she had a boyfriend, and trying to see how that was doing, but seriously dude? seriously? That’s how you work it? You’re just cowardly feeling out the land to see if she might reject you before you even try? We, viewers saw that, but Rory just saw her friend, a guy to talk to. 

Say whatever you like about the Rory boyfriends or crushes even if you like them or not EACH OF THE GUYS: from Dean to Tristan to Jess to Logan (heck even poor one date Trevor), they all made their intentions perfectly clear once they were into her. Even Logan, he didn’t want to make an actual final big move because he didn’t want a relationship but he flirted with her, he always was very clear like he was interested in her and after that, they started being together and then they got in a relationship. 

Marty was sort of a pet, a lapdog (I love dogs, I have a lapdog, is not an attractive quality outside the canine world) and a sort of a doormat, always ready to be at her feet at her side, at her beck and call.

Why must she owe him anything simply because she was his friend and he felt something else? Facts are:

- Dude never ever asked her out on a date

- He never ONCE said he was interested in her (before it was SPELLED out to him that she wasn’t during Chilton’s little Anna visiting

- In fact when he asked her if she was with anyone, he said I’m just curious, which prompted her to go looking for who? Oh that’s right, NOT Marty ;)

- He was a sort of a lapdog poor thing. 

I feel bad saying it but he was always at her beck and call always around her yet never actually trying to get her attention, never even trying to flirt with her or complimenting her, never ONCE even attempting to ask her out. He was a bit of a doormat, always ready to be relied on, stepped on, never saying no, never denying anything, never having anything else to do but be around her... She liked him as a friend, she considered him a good guy, but he was always going to be a friend and nothing more because he put himself in that spot all on his own and then actually got mad because he had it spelled out.

I mean the guy had clearly SPELLED OUT he was considered a friend, and at first I felt sorry for him. I felt really bad for him because he had been sort of a pet, not really considered a guy not even considered a best friend...

But then this “wonderful” friend decides to simply bolt, he dissapears after sending Rory back in a taxi during the whole Anna debacle and he doesn’t talk to his friend. Same friend he used to visit and talk to daily, he just stops showing up, and so when she suddenly sees him outside decides to try and talk to him, invite him to watch movies, to hang out as they used to, to try and reconect their friendship, and is perfectly clear she was still treating him as a friend, Rory was always a little self centered to notice and honestly, which one of us at 19 in that situation would have noticed the very subtle signals almost non existent that Marty had? And what signals were those? He was at her beck and call, that’s friendship, rather too “doormat-y” because he’d never say no to her, he’d never hang out with other people and her, just always hovered around her, he came running when she called and he asked if she had a boyfriend “just out of curiosity”... are those signals? 

See, I’m one of those people who think men and women can be friends if they want to, no extras whatsoever just friendship, I have guy friends who are my closest friends who treat me like another guy sometimes or sometimes like a sister depending if they’re being annoying or protective. I’m an adult yet I jump up and down while grabbing my best friend’s arm (a guy) while he indulgently rolls his eyes at me (lol) and tells me to calm down. I would hug my guy friends or hang of their arm WHEN is someone I really see as a friend. I don’t see how watching movies with a friend or studying with him, even having her feet on his legs for a while (at 19 I really don’t see the bad of it) I don’t see how that is leading him on. Why? Because she’s a girl and he’s a guy? I’d put my legs up on my best friend’s bed (girl this time) or on top of her legs while watching movies, if she was gay or we were both gay then I’d be leading her on? Or is that only because it was Marty on the recieving end and Rory on the unconscious end? Will it be the same if Marty hadn’t been interested and Rory had, would people still assume he SHOULD have gone out with her? he SHOULD have been interested in her?

I always thought Rory treated Marty as a friend, why shouldn’t she try and invite him to watch movies (Duck soup) when she didn’t know why he had briefly lost touch with her? He only stated he was into her when it was perfectly obvious, after she had already SPELLED IT OUT loud and clear in his face that he was nothing more than a friend to her, when it was clear to a blind man that she was already involved with Logan, that’s when this great friend decides to make a move on her? Why? because that way he can have the excuse to be butthurt and bolt.  See that’s my problem with Marty, I think with friends like that, who needs enemies?.

Marty is this guy who constantly put friendship coins in the little “relationship with Rory” machine, and when “love” or “sex” wouldn’t come out he got offended, angry and left his friend. If it was only that, I’d probably still feel only mildly annoyed over Marty and a little sorry for him and that would be that, but on season 7 he had to show up again... why, Marty? why didn’t you stay doing musicals?

He shows up and instead of being for example “oh hey yes I knew you, you know life, work, school crazy stuff how have you been haven’t seen you since freshman year” or such “crazy how people can lose touch huh?” I mean that would have been a lie but he wouldn’t have seemed like this sad little character who didn’t get over his one sided crush with Rory EVEN while being in a relationship with someone else! WHY??? He could have been awkward but over her, but no, Instead he pretends he doesn’t know her and becomes monosyllabic idiot who grunts and makes Rory uncomfortable. (I’m not defending Rory in this little part, she should have said something after the initial shock, she should have spoken up and confronted him and told Lucy but I’m not talking about that right now) I never understood why he came back? to create a conflict between Rory and her new friends? To make a fight between Logan and Rory? I stopped being sorry for Marty right after Anna shows up to break havock at Yale and I started REALLY hating Marty when he came back in season 7. If only he had stayed as a friend, if only he hadn’t come back as this pathetic little man with a huge inferiority complex, reverse snobbery and still drooling over some girl who had only ever treated him as FRIENDS! from day one!!!! They didn’t even become an item or even kissed, nothing, he was this sad little man still hung up on a first year crush. Oh Marty, you could have been as cool as Lane, but you had to go and ruin everything. For all of the above I just really really REALLY don’t like Marty

[oxidation-corundum-archive-blog]

Two Weeks Ago...

Oxidation-Corundum turned 1.

I can’t begin to express my gratitude for anyone that’s followed, liked, or even shared my content. I’ve been working at this for a while, now: writing roleplays, growing my characters with others, having fun along the way...

All I can really say is thank you.

...

But that’s a lie, and all of us know it.

Here’s some shoutouts to a whole lotta people under the Read More.

First and foremost, @siblingfaunus. While things’ve been a little rocky as of late, I’ll never forget the kindness that you’ve shown me: you’re a fantastic writer, Ebony and Obsidian Ishikawa remain to be one of my favorite OCs that I’ve interacted with, and you truly exemplify the qualities of a true friend beyond comparison. Thank you. My only wish is that I could be half a good a friend to anyone as you are to me.

Second, @chainlightniing / @howlfortheknight / @somerichkid. I wish I could project this onto a goddamn megaphone and have it be mandatory listening for a year: follow this person. This person deserves so much. Her OCs are all fantastic, she does a stellar job of causing my heart to be torn in two GODDDAMNIT STAR making sure that the balance of power is always there in roleplaying, and while I can only do so much to help you, I wish I could do more. You’re a damn good roleplayer and an even better friend, Star. Never let yourself believe otherwise. Thank you.

@achillca / @khiicne. A wicked cultured lass, you are; you always find some way to inject your studies and passions into your roleplaying, and you truly do feel like Pyrrha in real life (and I mean that in the best way possible; seriously, if I had to give you a dollar for every time I saw you type a swear and immediately imagined Pyrrha saying said swear, your college tuition would be a thing of the past). I’m so grateful to have you as a roleplay partner and a close friend, Dev. Thank you.

@jaune-refaire-arc. You have one character, and go through the motions with that character very, very well: quality over quantity is your game, and you play it. Your Jaune is beloved by so many, as he should be; I truly feel like I’m talking to the blonde haired doofus when interacting with him, and while it’s been a while since we’ve done anything super large, I can’t wait to see what you come up with next. Thank you, Nate. Keep doing you, and never let anyone stop this beautiful train you’re riding on. #BlobjobsAllDay.

@team-lpis-livia. While we haven’t done too much, I’m always grateful for your patience: the little lightning bug you’ve raised has been nothing but a pleasure to interact with, and I eagerly await to see what adventures she goes on with CRUST and the rest. You’re nothing but a pleasure to interact with OOC when we get to talk, and I do hope things are alright! Thank you! Next we meet, I pray it’s with a smile.

@cpring / @elucive / @tubefullofcorgi. While I know you’re busy with real life stuff and you haven’t been around nearly as much as you’d like, that’s okay! I always look forward to your getting on and us talking about...whatever, really! Serious stuff, lighthearted stuff, SHIPPING SO MUCH SHIPPING, you’re nothing but good to be around! While I haven’t done much with the little maiden lass yes, I know that Ivory and Zwei are both great to interact with, and when you’ve got the time and energy to spare, I can’t wait to craft more tales with you. I’m grateful to be writing with you, grateful that you’ve stuck around. Thank you, Jess.

@xgorgaux. Over the year, I’ve seen a little bit more of Euryale; we haven’t done much, but I’ve seen you pop up in my memes now and again, and every time, I get a small smile on my face. It’s nice to be appreciated, y’know? I’ll make it up to you one day...you deserve more love. You’ve been one of the first OC blogs that’s followed me, and I regret not having done more with you sooner. Thank you, Dez; you’ve been here since nearly the very beginning, and I can’t be more grateful.

@blondiethepunmaster. We haven’t done too much in the way of actual Tumblr roleplaying, but oh MAN, Skype has a lot. When you get less busy (and I have faith that you will, one day), I can’t wait to write more with you; whether it’s the team you’ve got in your head or the punmaster I’ve known you for. Thank you, Livia. We’ll get back on beat one day, and our harmonies will resound! Keep natural, stay sharp-tongued! Music pun!

@ms-belladone. While I’ve only known you for...what, a week? I find you great company; a friend of a friend is a friend, as they say...and I’m glad to call you my friend. You’ve been nothing but loyal so far, and while I can’t pay you in gold or silver...all I have are my words. Thank you, Mitch. I wish I can say something like “Your loyalty will be rewarded with time...” or something ominous, but...well, you’ll just have to take my thanks in the meanwhile. Mi dispiace.

@aslxn. Formerly a team of RWBY’s older brothers (which I still like the ideas you had out there, by the way), now you play Arslan, a sorely underplayed character with a whole lotta gusto! I’ve yet to do too much with your writing in general, and I pray that that’ll change one day, with a bit of effort. Thank you, Lex. You’ve been here through good times and bad, and one day, I’ll repay the favor. Keep Yangin’ on.

@velvet-material / @lovlylance27. While we haven’t talked nearly as much as we have back in the early days (and I blame my own forgetfulness for that), I do miss what good times we had! Being able to write with you was a pleasure, even if I was still discovering my characters through the time we did (and even if it was just Chrom and Velvet stuff; whoops). One day, we’ll get to writing stuff for real, if things lighten up on your end. Thank you, old friend. I hope that things are well.

@jolisorciere / @cutthroatheels. Like some others, we haven’t done too much; but you’ve been busy, and life’s happened, and it’s alright! I always appreciate you comin’ back, lookin’ at our stuff, and givin’ it your all...and I also appreciate your choice of muses! Glynda and Melanie (of all characters) are super different from each other, and you play both really well! Can’t wait for when we next do things. Thank you, Penny! You’ve never nickel and dimed me out of a roleplay, and...honestly, I just wanted to make that pun. I’m sorry.

@prcdigaldaughter. You were one of the first Weisses to really interact with me, and for that, I’m eternally grateful; we struck a chord early on, and while we haven’t done anything in a long time, I’ll always appreciate what you have done for me. Thank you, Alex. You helped me become who I am; I hope our friendship will continue to burn brightly.

@teamorcd. ORCD is a super fleshed out team of four that I found through, if I recall correctly, basically blind luck? For once, something goes my way: I found a friend, a great roleplay partner, and four characters that I will hold in my heart for quite some time. Thank you, Sabi. Your OCs are always a delight to be around, and I look forward to doing more with them (and you)!

I also want to give a bunch of shoutouts to people that support me or have been interested in my roleplays, or people I’ve even just met, so...here we go.

@velveteen-faunus (AND ALL YOUR OTHER BLOGS, HOLY HELL), @acoupleofbravedorks, @littlesuncat, @like-a-hummingbird, @vi-helleborus, @rujiba / @silvcrclawed, @drroisin, @teamarscandfriends, @fightqueen18, @iironhearted / @aqucphobia, @nightmare-fantasia, @oceanxcbeauty, @criimsonwolf, @graeaegladiator, and @ask-skylark.

Finally...I want to thank one last person. I know this is going to sound self-indulgent, but...I want to thank myself.

I’ve grown. I’ve watched me change. A year ago, I didn’t have the smoothest of reception into the RWBY community...I thought my ideas were garbage because of the people I had met. But then I met all of you, who pushed me to create more and flesh things out. And through you, I began to change, too: and now, I’m starting to learn what it means to love myself. Even if it’s difficult, and I can’t always convince myself that what my depression thinks is wrong on my own...or even with help, I’m slowly and surely making progress.

Thank you, me. You’ve rode it out for a year and two weeks. You’ll make more friends, you’ll strengthen your bonds between existing ones. You’re stronger than you think you are.

And thank you, everyone. Without all of you, I wouldn’t be here; not even close. I’d still probably be telling myself my ideas aren’t worth the light of day, but you’ve all proven me wrong. You’re living proof that what I create can be recognized.

Here’s to another year. Let’s keep the tempo up.

-Samuel Kim, musician, writer, moderator for Oxidation-Corundum.

[nindysm]

The predictable downfall of Rory Gilmore

First, let's establish some things that are NOT news. As always, I am stressed about work - more precisely, about not doing and achieving as much as I should have. I am under pressure of turning 30 in six months with no significant change in any aspect of my life. I have this looming fear of becoming irrelevant and replaced by younger, better, more humble, more flexible, more talented people. I am nowhere near financially thriving - I am struggling just to be stable. I feel like I am wasting my life and nonexistent career path. I am crippled with an immense guilt of not learning to deal with capital F Failure sooner. I KNOW that I SHOULD turn my life around quickly and get my shit together before all opportunities slip away, but wow why am I still here, whining and oversharing on the internet.

I have been re-watching Gilmore Girls. Growing up, when the show was still airing on TV, I did watch some episodes of it and was familiar with the big arc but I was never really into it (I was more into Friends and Sex and the City hahaha). However, sure enough, I took pride in being compared to Rory. When people told me that I reminded them of Rory, the bookish, studious girl from Stars Hollow, I couldn't help but feeling this sense of accomplishment. Like Rory, I also wanted to be a journalist and author. Like Rory, I dreamt to enter Ivy League schools. And I'll admit, I too wanted a strings of cute, devoted boyfriends like Dean, Jess, and so many others haha.

Anyway, in the past year, I've been trying to revisit some old habits that I did in my youth, which I believe contributed to being driven and actually getting things done well. Included as part of this nostalgia was listening and watching stuff that were a big part of the period. Thus, my intention of re-watching Gilmore Girls is simple, I want to study Rory. I want to see this determined girl that I grew up being compared to. I want to see what makes her tick and more importantly, how she copes with the real world as an adult.

And boy. What the fuck.

Watching the show as a 29 year old, I must say that I find Rory Gilmore insufferable. She is a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks the world must revolve around her because she is oh-so-very special. She treats people around her poorly, from her boyfriends, best friends, and especially her family. The fact that she is now stuck as a thirtysomething is actually predictable because she never puts in the work. She expects things to just be handed out to her in a silver spoon and that her rich grandparents will always come to her rescue. No wonder, she doesn't go anywhere when she could've been going places.

Everything that happens to Rory in adulthood can be traced back to her teenage years. Even in the pilot, I had this slight annoyance when she had her mom's staff at the Inn helping her with her school assignment. That's her responsibility? Not to mention the meltdown she had at Chilton when she couldn't take the test because she was late. And don't get me started at how Rory treats Lorelai. That being said, I wish Lorelai was more assertive towards Rory. I think Lorelai tries so hard to be the cool mom but on the way, she excuses many bad behaviours. If only she uses the mom card more often, maybe... Rory wouldn't grow up to be so bratty after all? Of course, it's not entirely Lorelai's fault, I mean Richard and Emily had some fair share of overly indulging Rory, but at least Emily sometimes called Rory out when the snobbery escalated.

Nonetheless, I could not help but to be self aware. Am I turning into Rory Gilmore myself? Have I been a Rory?

Many have pointed out that Rory is such an only child, the ever-pampered baby who never learn how to share and accept failure. Could it be that I am in the same path as hers then?

I always think I'm different from other only children, in the sense that I am to a certain extent self-reliant, but am I though? Haha. Isn't feeling "different from the others" is in a way a form of entitlement and superiority?

Unlike Rory who thinks that some jobs are beneath her, I pride myself in wanting to put in the work, in taking any job no matter how small or big. But is it really? How about some projects I did not put some thoughts into because I felt it wouldn't look so good on my portfolio? How about those easy-money stuff I take purely for the money? Am I still better than Rory? How about this chronic, ongoing mallady in which I feel that I have poor work ethics?

I feel like, with all that goes on with Rory, she deserves it. That being said, do I deserve this anticlimactic journey? Maybe, I mean why not? I am not exempted from reality. Am I plunging into my own downfall?

I know that I have a choice to turn things around, that things can change, that it ain't real until it happens. But I'm running out of optimism. I genuinely thought I'd achieve something by now, something that is my own. I am aware that things like this take process, but it doesn't help to be constantly reminded that I'm going past my prime soon. No more under 25, under 27, under 30. On one hand I realize that this society's obsession with youth is toxic and that most young achievers are incredibly privileged. On the other hand, a part of me feels that I'm just saying that to excuse myself, to justify my own's mediocrity.

There's nothing inherently wrong with being mediocre of course. It's just that with the resources that I was provided with, the opportunities that I had... it's easy to see myself like a failed "investment". I can see it in people's eyes, when I told them about my studies, where I live, my age... there's always that look, that "What are you doing here? You should be doing something big." Is it wrong to want to be doing something small, or am I just too afraid of failing big?

I feel like this blog has chronicled all of this existential crisis for like a decade now. I feel bad, really. I was hoping that things would turn brighter.. But I can still feel the same angst I had at 21. Nothing changes significantly. Will I still feel the same at 31? 41? Maybe not. But I just wish by then I'll grow more comfortable with it.

[itsfinancethings]

October 11, 2019 at 03:01AM

The last time we saw Jesse Pinkman, in the series finale of Breaking Bad, he’d just escaped a massacre. After refusing to put a mortally wounded Walter White (Bryan Cranston) out of his misery—an act that would’ve added one more item to the long list of sins he’d committed under the influence of the meth kingpin who used to be his high school science teacher—Jesse (Aaron Paul) drove the nearest El Camino straight through a chain-link fence, hit the road and never looked back. His symbolic shackles broken, he laughed and sobbed, his grizzled face filling the frame. By then, he was a traumatized, nearly feral mess. But he was free.

Unlike Walt’s inevitable death, Jesse’s ending was morally ambiguous: manipulated by a man who’d come to represent evil incarnate but still personally implicated in horrific violence, Jesse had also suffered terribly for his transgressions. Like Dorian Gray’s portrait, his face registered the blackening of Walt’s soul. So it seemed somewhat appropriate that Jesse’s fate remained unsettled. As Paul explained to TIME in a recent interview, “You’d like to think he’s riding off into the sunset, but you know life isn’t going to be that easy for him.” Sure, he made it out of five seasons alive. Surviving much longer, however, would be a test of his intelligence, resourcefulness and—most of all—his determination to live a better life.

Six years later, Breaking Bad creator Vince Gilligan is back with the results. The gripping El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie, out now on Netflix and showing through Sunday, Oct. 13 in some theaters, picks up where the series left off. Jesse—who spent the episodes leading up to the finale in a box, held prisoner by the disconcertingly cheerful Todd (Jesse Plemons) and his gang—has to get out of Albuquerque before law enforcement can track him down. But first he needs to clean himself up, ditch the El Camino, scrape together enough cash to make a fresh start and say goodbye to the few people he loves whose lives Walt has spared.

His first stop is the home of his old friend Skinny Pete (Charles Baker)—a small-time criminal who is, predictably, in the midst of a video-game marathon with their pal Badger (Matt L. Jones). Despite its action-thriller pace and scale, one of the greatest pleasures of El Camino is that it still makes space for the funny banter that cut through the bleakness of Walter White’s descent. If Walt is Breaking Bad’s Richard III, Pete and Badger are its Shakespearean fools, cutting the tension with endearingly dopey exchanges like: “You couldn’t drive Miss Daisy.” “Whoever that is.”

Ben Rothstein / NetflixMatt L. Jones as Badger and Charles Baker as Skinny Pete in ‘El Camino: A Breaking Bad Movie’

Yet these early scenes, which ease viewers into a structure that braids Jesse’s efforts to skip town together with generous flashbacks that fill in crucial blanks from his past, aren’t just comic relief. They demonstrate how far our hero has drifted, over the course of the show’s two-year timeframe, from these simple screw-ups, who come off as disarmingly innocent by comparison. “You’re my hero,” Pete insists as Jesse staggers around the house in post-traumatic shock, devouring food like a wild animal and behaving as though a SWAT team might burst in at any second. Though they can’t possibly understand what he’s survived, the tenderness these guys show Jesse—who watched helplessly as his so-called partner Walt systematically destroyed just about everything that was good in his life—is heartbreaking.

Paul earned three Emmys for his supporting role on Breaking Bad, and in El Camino he delivers a mesmerizing lead performance that proves he deserves a spot on Hollywood’s A-list. (In truth, it should put him in the Oscar conversation, but this is a TV sequel distributed by Netflix that won’t meet the Academy’s eligibility requirements.) Fully re-inhabiting a role he hadn’t played for years, he endows Jesse with the same mix of (waning) goofiness and (escalating) existential terror that propelled him through the finale. Yet the movie, which contains as many nail-biting moments as the show used to spread over a full season, gives him something new to be: an action hero—albeit a uniquely conflicted, exhausted and in many ways broken one.

It’s to the credit of Gilligan, who wrote and directed the film, that it feels like a continuation of Breaking Bad without also feeling like merely an extra-long TV episode. It’s a true movie, with the taut pacing, satisfying conclusion and grand visual scale that distinction implies. The big screen does justice to the same detailed sound design and nimble camera work—replete with destabilizing effects such as scenes that open from bizarre vantage points or follow heretofore unknown characters—that made for one of the most cinematic series in the history of television. In place of the show’s deep orange mesas and azure sky, Gilligan offers desiccated, beautifully barren beige vistas, as though this city in the desert has been drained of all possibility for Jesse. Even if you have a Netflix subscription, this harsh splendor is worth the price of a movie ticket. (Whether or not you make it to the theater, please—please—don’t watch this on your phone.)

Aside from a few unnecessary character cameos, most of which you could easily guess but none of which I will spoil here, El Camino avoids the pitfalls of this year’s many feature-length sequels to TV shows. There’s little of the fan-service inanity that abounded in the Downton Abbey film and none of the sentimental self-indulgence of Transparent’s insufferable musical finale. Like AMC’s Breaking Bad prequel Better Call Saul, as well as morally flexible saloon owner Al Swearengen’s (Ian McShane) storyline in HBO’s Deadwood: The Movie, it completes the unfinished portrait of a character who remains on viewers’ minds.

There’s a unique potency to the connections we form with the fictional people on TV, which at its best combines the vividness of movies, the intimacy of books and the seriality of comics. Sometimes we remember them with the same wistfulness that colors our memories of friends with whom we’ve lost touch. That goes double for Jesse Pinkman, an audience surrogate who served as the tortured conscience of a criminal demimonde populated by milquetoast psychos (Walt, Todd, Gus Fring) and sad, irredeemably compromised men like Saul Goodman (Bob Odenkirk) and Mike Ehrmantraut (Jonathan Banks).

Joining a Breaking Bad Televisual Universe that is also a moral universe, one that weighs the soul of each protagonist in turn, El Camino makes space in the trilogy for hope. In Walt, Gilligan illustrated how a meek facade can conceal bottomless malice. Saul Goodman is what happens when a person with good intentions is incapable of following society’s rules. But going into El Camino, Jesse’s soul still hangs in the balance. In order to escape his old life, he’s going to have to prove that he’s smart and strong enough to make it on his own. And we can’t help but worry for him—in part because it’s so easy to imagine ourselves behind the wheel of that getaway car. What choice do we have but to see his story through to the end?