#no i cannot tell you i am both sad and in extreme physical pain i have to choose one thing 4 u to care abt at a time 😠

[strawbebyjam]

realized i am uncomfortable admitting to people close to me if i’m feeling pain on more than one dimension GDJDHDH

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 29 - ao3 -

“In the future, you should send your children to the Cloud Recesses for me to teach,” Lan Qiren said. He was sitting with Wen Ruohan on one of the rooftop gardens in the Nightless City, watching the moon and stars from a pavilion placed there for that purpose; their bodies were pressed close together, and it felt as if they were far away from all the things that were familiar. “You and Lao Nie both, and naturally I’ll come visit with you often as well, bringing my nephew. Between the three of us, we might even be able to teach them how to be proper human beings.”

Wen Ruohan laughed in his ear and pressed his lips to his cheek – he had taken to kissing him at random, spontaneous, as if still overwhelmed by the fact that he now had the right to do it.

“I will,” he promised. “I agree, I think they’ll turn out better that way…you would really have me educate your precious little A-Huan?”

“If I’m willing to entrust myself with you, why not him? Anyway, I can teach him music, and with the aid of the other teachers in my sect the sword in the Lan sect style, but you can teach him much more than that. You know how to look at the world and see it for what it is, and then bend it to your will, make it sing to your tune. He’ll be sect leader in the future; he needs to learn that, and you can teach it to him.”

“I can, and I will,” Wen Ruohan said, then thought for a moment and asked, “What does Lao Nie bring to the table?”

“Flexibility, mostly.”

Wen Ruohan barked out a laugh. “He certainly has that.”

He didn’t even sound bitter about it any more.

Lan Qiren smiled.

“In the meantime, I will handle the rest of it,” Wen Ruohan added, and Lan Qiren looked at him in silent question. “Come now, Qiren. Did you really think that I would allow you to remain caged in the Cloud Recesses your whole life?”

Lan Qiren paused. That was the sorest part of his heart, his most painful misery, but he didn’t think Wen Ruohan would bring it up casually. If anything, he was a bit more afraid of what Wen Ruohan might get into his head to do about it – there was very little Wen Ruohan wouldn’t dare.

“Da-ge –” he started warily.

“No, no,” Wen Ruohan said, lightly scolding. “Little Lan, be serious! I already rejected the opportunity to cage you here at the Nightless City, playing only for me, despite how much I longed to do so. I refused to do it – me, refusing myself – because I knew it would only make you sad. Do you really think I would allow other people a privilege that I have denied myself?”

Lan Qiren did not laugh, but he dearly wanted to. It might be the first time he’d ever wanted to laugh about his situation – not even Cangse Sanren had managed that. “Has anyone told you that you are extremely self-absorbed?” he asked instead. “Arrogance is forbidden. Do not be haughty and complacent.”

Wen Ruohan smirked back at him. “All true, little Lan, but don’t forget your favorite: Do not tell lies.”

Self-absorbed, narcissistic and arrogant, Lan Qiren concluded, and there was no helping it. It was clearly a terminal case.

He used his sleeve to hide his laughter.

“What are you planning, exactly?” he asked once he had recovered. “If you harm my sect, whether directly or indirectly by denying them my services, I would be even more upset than if you tried to lock me away in here.”

Wen Ruohan waved a hand dismissively. “Do you think me so incapable? I have already begun making arrangements. Discussion conferences may only be once or twice a year, being as they are tremendously irritating to arrange, but there’s no reason that we of the Great Sects should not recognize our greater duty towards the smaller sects, and not to mention our obligations to protect the mortal world –”

“You know that it exists, then?”

Wen Ruohan ignored him. “The resources of cultivation clans are limited, and the world large. There are many places which would benefit from aid that do not see any simply because they are far away or tucked in inconvenient places, and no sect lives nearby – naturally, it is our duty to fight evil no matter where it is encountered. Lao Nie has already agreed that it is critical that the sect leaders demonstrate our sincerity by fulfilling this duty in person, leading by example.”

Lan Qiren’s heart had already felt as if it were overflowing with warmth, and it felt even more so now, almost squeezed to pain by how much joy was there. More than he had known he could contain.

Bad luck in brothers, he thought to himself - but oh, he had such good luck in friends!

“I see,” he said, thankful that his usual neutral tone concealed how happy he felt. “And naturally, where you and Lao Nie go, Sect Leader Jin cannot be far behind in his eagerness not to lose out, and where three of the five Great Sects lead, naturally the rest cannot be far behind. So I, too, will be obligated to...what? Go out on night-hunts in inconvenient places?”

“The world is too large, and the number of cultivators too few – and at any rate, there’s no point in setting up a full night-hunt which draws in every person from a thousand li for a few paltry fierce corpses or a ghost or two. I propose, instead, that we would send cultivators out alone, in pairs or in small groups, to wander for a few months through the remote places in the world and clean them up. Then, at the next discussion conference, the Great Sects could jointly agree that whoever was most enterprising would receive a reward, and naturally, stories of various exploits could be exchanged – ”

“Ah. Another reason for young men and women to gather and boast of improbable exploits.”

“Think of it as giving them more opportunities to win glory,” Wen Ruohan said. “And stop talking down about ‘young men’; you are a young man. Naturally you are also qualified to go out to do such things. Required, even: if our Great Sects do not set a proper example, who will?”

“Mm. A proper example. Even if I coincidentally happen to spend more time playing music than hunting demons?”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes were bright. “Even so. And naturally, you could always bring along someone more powerful to do the demon-hunting for you…”

“How convenient.”

Wen Ruohan smirked. “Do you doubt that I will be able to make it happen, little Lan?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said, then added, honestly: “I think you could take over the world if you wished.”

“Naturally! But it would be quite irritating, I think, if I had to also ensure that both you and Lao Nie did not disapprove of my methods…” He paused, lips twitching. “By coincidence, while we’re discussing convenience, I was thinking that it would be dangerous to send all those wild and reckless young men out there without proper support. Surely it would be only reasonable to set up a few convenient places here and there, not so far away, to provide them with supplies and a place to rest and recover –”

Convenient places that would fly the Wen sect’s flag and spread its influence, Lan Qiren presumed. Lanling Jin would be furious – using wealth to buy influence was their favorite technique, and they resented other people copying it – and would immediately insist on establishing their own set of “supply stations”, and then the rest of them would have to catch up and make their own. Yet another expense, and the Great Sects would need to do more than most; it would probably wreck havoc with the Lan sect’s annual budget.

On the other hand, well the remote parts of the world really did need the help. One of the Lan sect’s newly recruited guest disciples had been talking about a place not far from his hometown that specialized in making coffin goods; it was, according to him, the most inauspicious place that could possibly be imagined…

Not a place anyone might want to go, unless they truly were intent on traveling.

Lan Qiren smiled once again. He thought he might never stop smiling.

“Indeed,” he said, trying to sound dry and rational. “Very coincidental. No one will doubt that this is nothing but a scheme to expand your reach and power, rather than any personal motive.”

Wen Ruohan did not answer, but instead, matching a smile of his own to Lan Qiren’s, pressed his lips against Lan Qiren’s once more.

After a little while of silence, Lan Qiren cleared his throat and asked, “Do you intend to tell people?”

He was not referring to Wen Ruohan’s plans for the future.

Wen Ruohan understood.

“In time,” he said. “As much as I would love to shout that you are mine and I am yours from the rooftops and perhaps have bulletins be posted to every town -”

Lan Qiren grimaced. It would be one thing if he thought Wen Ruohan was exaggerating for romantic effect, but unfortunately it would be just like him to engage in that level of over-the-top grandstanding.

“– but your position is not yet certain, and my reputation is too questionable. People would make assumptions and spread malicious gossip, and I – I would not harm you to please myself.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“It’s not sweet-talking when it’s true,” Wen Ruohan protested, although he was chuckling. “When you are more renowned as a teacher than a sect leader, when little A-Huan is old enough to have passed the worst stretches of childhood – then we will announce it, and let the rest of the world choke on it if they like. You, me, Lao Nie…hmm. Jin Guangshan will probably think we’re concealing a conspiracy and ask to join in.”

Lan Qiren gagged. “I refuse,” he said. “I don’t care if I’m not physically involved, neither you nor Lao Nie are allowed to even think about it. That man has visited so many prostitutes that one might be forgiven for thinking he believes that the road to immortality is paved with venereal disease.”

“…thank you, that was an image I did not require.” A pause. “Jiang Fengmian –”

“Remember when he punched me in the face in a fight over a girl I didn’t even want?”

“It wasn’t a serious suggestion.” Wen Ruohan chuckled once more and pressed another kiss to his cheek. “Some years ago now, I swore to your Cangse Sanren that I would do right by you. I ought to invite her here and show her that I’ve made good on it.”

“You haven’t made good on it.”

“I haven’t?”

“No. Such a promise is fulfilled through the keeping – if you want to do right by me, there is no one singular moment that would qualify, but rather a continuing obligation.” Lan Qiren smiled up at him. “I’m sorry, da-ge. You’ll have to continue to do right by me for the rest of our lives.”

“I will,” Wen Ruohan said, and smiled back. “It would be my pleasure.”

-END-

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x8 thoughts

I am so lucky that the creators of Ted Lasso decided to make this entire show specifically for me. #blessed

If last week felt like a bit of breathing room (albeit tense, poignant, character-progressing breathing room) with distinct narrative lines, this week’s episode was a chaotic yet tightly-written swirl of pain and hope and sadness! No neat subject headers for this one, y’all. Just my brain and heart in the inadequate form of a bulleted list. It is the medium available to me at this time.

I am going to remember the moment when Ted calls Sharon and tells her his father killed himself for the rest of my life.

(I could say a bunch of stuff about his face and what he says and how he tries to hide his tears from Beard right after and how insanely much I adore this character and ahhhhhhhh but I’m just going to leave that scene there in our collective memories.)

Jamie. JAMIE. Higgins has given some great advice about love on this show, but his musings about his up-and-down relationship with his own father were not helpful in the context of Jamie’s dad, who is an abusive piece of shit. I really adore that all of the main AFC Richmond staff members are realistically a bit hit-or-miss with their advice and life philosophies (some are mostly miss this season, of course).

And I am completely in awe of the moment when Jamie punches his father. The way he just stands there after Beard kicks his dad out of the locker room. The way you can hear a pin drop. And Roy—Roy who is learning in so many areas of his life about his influence on people, learning that the things he needs aren’t necessarily the same as the things other people need—is the one to cross the room and hug him. Hold him, really, with the tenderness Ted used when he hugged Rebecca outside the gala in 1x4. God.

I’ve thought a lot about how s1 was about giving people a soft place to land. There’s always an angel there when you need one. There’s always an opportunity to be kind. If you look for someone, you find them. If you look for the good in someone, you find the good. And as everyone works through their individual journeys in s2, that can’t always be the case anymore. But there are still so many moments of angels on this show, and it’s not about chance and serendipity and fate [not that it was about that in s1] but about the effort it takes to become someone who can be there for someone else. Or who can be there for yourself. I’m so proud of Jamie for physically fighting back against his father. I’m so proud of Roy for being the one who recognized what Jamie needed.

I have every feeling in the world about how Ted is almost totally frozen both times (s1 and s2) he witnesses Jamie’s father abusing him. In s1, he was still there for Jamie after, and I have every reason to believe he’ll be there for Jamie after this incident as well, but that frozen stance HURTS. He’s in so deep with his pain about his own father that it’s like he physically cannot snap out of it to act in the moment. It seems entirely outside of his control, and it breaks my heart, because Ted wants so badly to be a good father, a good coach, a good friend, a good partner, a good patient. He’s there for people in all kinds of ways, even in his current less-than-capable state. He takes care of Sharon post-concussion and even gets her a new bike! During the disastrous match at Wembley his coaching is ineffectual and everything is chaos but he’s the last one standing on the pitch! But this really awful thing keeps happening to Jamie and Ted is just…frozen in the face of it. Like one of those nightmares where you’re running in place.

The frozen-in-place nightmare also kind of applies to the way the total separation between Ted and Rebecca feels, too. I have never for a moment doubted the writers’ intentions in setting these characters up as soulmates on parallel journeys, and I’m actually really digging (on a story level) how disconnected they are right now. It is IMPRESSIVE that their absence in each other’s lives feels like such a glaring loss, one we cannot forget even as there are so many other things happening onscreen. It is 100% not just shipper goggles making me process information about Ted while thinking about Rebecca and information about Rebecca while thinking about Ted. I know there are a lot of really angry and frustrated people in the fandom right now (both T/R shippers and T/R antis and non-shipping fans who don’t get why s2 is different from s1) and while I understand being frustrated by choices characters make, and frustrated by the feelings the show makes us feel that we just want to feel more of or less of, I continue to agree with pretty much every narrative choice happening right now.

Agreeing with the narrative like this?! This is such a unique experience for me as a viewer—to feel like I’m on a ride that is at once absolutely wild and incredibly sensible and well-crafted, and to feel simultaneously completely invested and anticipatory and speculative but also totally willing to trust where it goes. I long for Ted and Beard to really talk. I long for Ted and Rebecca to stop missing each other. I long for Roy to have a serious conversation with Ted about what’s happening with him. I long for Keeley to find a vocation, something that drives her beyond her projects. I long for so many things! But I wouldn’t long for them if this show was less good. If the show was less good, I wouldn’t have a wish list a mile long because I wouldn’t be so attuned to the details and potential lurking in every scene. THIS IS SUCH A GOOD SHOW, I CANNOT HANDLE IT, I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

(To that end, a great deal of the Ted Lasso tag and so many Twitter reactions reactions to the show feel super stressful right now and I am kind of just trying not to look?! I love this fandom so much because of the amazing conversations that happen and because of brilliant fic and because there are some awesome people I never would have encountered were it not for this show. That little bubble is wonderful and I’d stay in this fandom no matter what in order to keep experiencing those things. But fans’ catastrophic reactions to every little thing that happens, every little choice a character makes that isn’t the “perfect” choice? The takeaway that the writers—on this show of all shows—wake up in the morning ready for another day of torturing shippers rather than another day of writing a beautiful story they genuinely want to write? I do not enjoy those parts at all. I would like to opt out of those parts. I’m having such a magical experience watching this show and talking about this show and listening about this show and writing about this show with a variety of people who feel all kinds of ways. I truly wish I could somehow transfer the energy of this experience onto all the people who are hating it right now. I don’t mind at all that people are having vastly different reactions to this show and are sharing their honest feelings, including the really angry ones (I can appreciate something and disagree with it!), and I get that sometimes the language of fannish reactions is intentionally, ironically hyperbolic. But there feels like this very serious trend of people legitimately thinking writers on this show are targeting shippers and have lost respect for their characters, and I just feel like an alien from another planet when I see that stuff. I guess I just feel like people make art because they want their art to be visible to other people and to themselves, but that doesn’t typically involve specifically catering to or torturing a subset of that audience?)

I am more fascinated by Sharon Fieldstone than ever before. I have been running through every single action with her and Ted so many times. The confirmation that she’s living in club-provided housing (that could not look more different from Ted’s club-provided flat). Ted clearly noticing the many bottles. Sharon’s face while she tries to casually recycle them. (Sharon could legitimately have a more problematic relationship with alcohol than Ted does, and I find that extremely interesting and am very curious to find out what happens there.) Sharon leaving him voice notes while she’s concussed, probably because she’d been thinking about him shortly before the accident. The way Ted calls her and does all the funny voices and it’s not frustrating like all the times he uses his silliness and allusions to deflect during their prior conversations because this time, those behaviors are just a part of him showing care for another person. The way they stretch each other, and Ted is still wrong about the things he’s been wrong about, but they both grow all the same.

While it is pretty much impossible for me to imagine that this show would include an actual romantic relationship between Ted and Sharon (it would be beyond unethical even if they could write it well, and Sharon in particular is so professional and committed to her work, and it would erase so much of the powerful message about the importance of seeking therapy from a professional who is not your friend or partner, and I would totally hate it), watching this episode was the first moment I had this queasy little feeling that it’s possible that Ted could end up developing really complicated feelings about Sharon since, at this point, he’s been honest with her about things he’s hardly spoken about before and you can really form an attachment to people you feel safe with in a new way. (I mean, I’m sure Michelle knows what happened with Ted’s father, but I’m not even certain if Beard does.) He’s so broken right now, and Sharon is such a great person and so different from anyone else in his life (even though Rebecca is also different, and Beard is also different, and Roy is also different, and so on), that I could see things getting really fuzzy for him. I continue to have faith in the way the storylines on this show are handled. I’m just. Putting this here.

(In saying that, though, I also wanna make it really clear that I don’t just automatically assume anytime a new female character is introduced that they’re going to end up becoming a romantic complication. Like, Phoebe is allowed to have a teacher who is an attractive woman and AFC Richmond is allowed to have a sports psychologist who is an attractive woman and Keeley is allowed to talk to Jamie Tartt without it threatening what she has with Roy and all these people can exist as human beings without the introduction of romantic drama.)

Isaac gives every player one haircut per season, OH MY GOD. The JOY during the haircut scene. YES.

KEELEY AND REBECCA. Their text thread. The affirming video call right before Rebecca goes into the restaurant. The way Keeley sits all snuggled up against Rebecca in her office.

I was pretty thoroughly spoiled for the Sam and Rebecca plot through 2x8, and I was bracing for something far more problematic and tortured than what happens in this episode. The words I would use to describe their scenes: awkward, cute, cringy, and understandable. There are a million reasons why this relationship isn’t sustainable, but I felt completely understanding of both their choices here. This show has a lot of thesis statements, but I keep going back to the idea from 2x1 that there are people who enter your life to help you get to the next point, and I think it’s entirely possible that Sam and Rebecca will mutually be that for each other.

I find comparisons between Rupert and Rebecca super upsetting. There are absolutely meaningful things to say about the irony of ending up in a situation with an uncomfortable resemblance to certain taboo elements of an ex’s situation. But that ex is abusive and manipulative and cruel and Rebecca has exhibited NONE of those behaviors, and it makes me really sad to think that people feel that the writers on this show have betrayed Rebecca in giving her this storyline.

As always, I reserve the right to keep blathering about this show. I’ve had a headache for a couple of days, but my head is also so full of 2x8 thoughts that I couldn’t keep them in even if the circumstances for writing this were not ideal. I kind of hate that I’ve included frustrated fandom thoughts within the analysis of what I felt was an absolutely gorgeous, complicated, heartbreaking, near-perfect episode of television, but if ya can’t be a little dramatic on your own tumblr while you’re feeling raw and under the weather, where can ya?

[aggressive-positivity-network]

do any of the mercs play board games?

Mercopoly (Board Game

Headcanons)

Scout:

You think he has enough of an attention span to play something that doesn’t involve sweating out his energy drinks?

Hell no!

He gets very bored very quickly, especially with something complex like chess.

He’ll play cards sometimes, but only Crazy Eights and Go Fish - that’s all he knows how to play.

However, there is one true board game he plays occasionally: Candy Land.

It’s one of the few board games that you don’t really have to read the rules for, and there isn’t any writing on the cards.

However, he only asks to play it when he’s not feeling very well.

Medic even has a page in his medical journal for the mercs that says, and I quote:

“The Scout has an extremely short attention span, and if an activity isn’t active or immersive, he will not stay long. If at any point he chooses a sedentary activity, a check-up is in order.”

As sad as it is, a request to play Candyland is a good way to know if Scout needs a little extra reassurance or support.

By the end of the game, Scout usually feels more himself, whether he wins or not.

Engie is especially good with Scout when he’s this way, being the one of the most emotionally sensitive of the group. But he also knows Scout would never admit straight-away how he was feeling, so he usually has a more fun way of getting answers.

“You feelin’ more like a King Candy or a Lord Licorice?”

“...Fudge Monster.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah...”

Spy:

If you ask him, he will most likely go off on a tangent about chess, and how it’s a game of strategy, deception, and crushing your enemy with your wit.

He scoffs at any other game, and constantly makes fun of several of his more intelligent peers for finding interest in them.

“You are mercenaries. Blood-thirsty killers of men. And you are playing ‘Hungry, Hungry Hippos’ like a hoarde of kindergartners?”

But one thing he cannot resist is Sorry.

He considers it above normal board games because it has strategy - or at least that what he says.

He actually just likes it because it’s a game of revenge, which is like a drug to him.

He’s gotten so good at it that if he asks you to play Sorry with him, it’s almost guaranteed that he’s mad at you and just wants to let off some steam by giving you a horrendous loss. However, occasionally, he’s the one who loses.

Spy isn’t a poor sport, exactly - he’s too cultured for that - but sometimes his pride outweighs his manners and he convinces himself that the other player cheated through made up signs of deception.

He simply “allows” them to win because he “doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

But god help the unfortunate soul who decides to rub their win in his face.

Sniper had won five games in a row, and it was clear Spy was getting hot under the collar.

Sniper ended their games with a mischievous, “You’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.” and a small pat on his shoulder.

Spy immediately saw red, grabbed Sniper’s hand, and before the aussie knew it, he was against a concrete wall with a butterfly knife to his throat.

“I could kill you right now. Your final cry for Medic will be drowned in blood, and I would leave you here to die a painful, dramatic death. You’ll be replaced with a rusted trash can of a bot until they could grow another clone of you. Every memory will be gone. The team will be shrouded in grief, not because of losing you, but losing what the clone can never have. And I shall bide my time, ask the clone to play the same game, and kill them when they win. Another clone, another kill. And again. And again. And again. You think the Manns give a damn as long as their work is getting done? You will never be able to form a single thought before I spill your blood - caught in an eternal prisoner’s dilemma where you always lose.”

After gathering his bearings, Sniper finally spoke.

“Is this about your takeout?”

Spy scoffed.

“Do you really think - !”

“Tonight, my treat if you don’t kill me.”

Spy squinted.

“Egg rolls?”

“And an extra order of crab rangoon.”

“Your treat?”

“Yep.”

“How do I know you won’t poison me?”

“Chemical test before and after the food arrives.”

“How do I know Medic isn’t in on it?”

“Miss Pauling as a witness and Scout as an overseer. Pauling’s main objective is to keep us alive, and Scout can’t do bloody anything subtle, even if he wanted to. You can also play back the cameras in the lab, if the mood really struck ya.”

Spy held Sniper against the wall for a minute or two while he thought it all over, then let Sniper fall to the ground.

“I don’t need your sympathy, bushman. But you had better keep your end of the deal. I am the only backstabber around here.”

Demo:

Can’t even stay awake long enough to play most board games.

On the rare chance that he’s sober, he, Engie, and Medic like to play Monopoly.

Here’s the thing: you should never ask a drunkard, an engineer, and a sadist genius to play Monopoly together. It will not end well.

They have been playing the same game for years, with new rules in place and physical extensions to the board in order to try and end the game. Every other Friday, they take the weekend to try and finish it.

However, it all ends up fruitless.

Demo is usually the one keeping the peace, since he is the least competitive out of the three. That isn’t to say he isn’t clawing for the win as much as the other two, but he is definitely the least invested. He’s mostly staying out of principle.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, ‘s ta ne’er give up, e’en when the goin’s gettin’ tough. Roll the dice, doc.”

Despite his confidence, he’s not even sure what he would do if he or anyone else won. It would seem more like a relief than a celebration.

Medic:

He’s the one who started the Eternal Monopoly game, which has led to some theories that the game itself came straight from hell, and is one of the many punishments used on sinners. The box does smell a bit of brimstone…

He seems to enjoy the chaos that each round brings and the challenge of coming up with new rules to the game. To any outsider, his commentary and directions are complete nonsense.

“According to zhe ‘Calvinball Rule,’ as stated by Engineer, and the ‘Double Kill,’ as stated by myself, since the current time ends vis a three and ve all received at least two kills zhis veek, ve need to double every other roll and whomever loses zhe resulting game of ‘Bim Bum’ vill have to go to zhe Purple Jail.”

The rules and mechanics are like an unholy amalgamation of Monpoly, Sorry, chess, D&D, Bluff, and poker.

However, when Medic isn’t stapling pages of rules together, he likes to play a nice, relaxing game of checkers with Heavy.

Both of them are excellent checker players, but neither of them care who wins.

In fact, they usually talk over the game, taking the other player’s pieces as one of them shares a story from that day’s battle.

They’ve even played while Heavy was in surgery - leading to many unfortunate times when Medic had to fish a piece out of Heavy’s intestines.

One would think that a genius doctor would also have a passion for chess, but he expresses his disdain for it almost every time the checker board is brought out.

“Ach, people think chess is such an intelligent sport. Let me tell you, liebling, it is terribly overrated. If zhe devil can play chess, anyvun can. He might as vell just give souls avay, vis those shaky claws of his.”

Engineer:

Being the engineer, he is usually the one to add to the Eternal Monopoly.

Pieces, board extensions, cards, trivia - it gives him a nice break from all the weaponry.

He’s usually the one who remembers all the mechanics and rules, and serves as the judge if rules contradict each other.

“Alright, now let’s see here…we’ve got the Infinity Loop over here, but now you’ve got the Time Travel card…how many years? Infinite? Ho boy…looks like I’m gonna have to add a Hilbert’s Hotel square somewhere. Hold on…”

Despite his affinity for Eternal Monopoly, Engineer will play almost any board game. He learns new rules and figures quickly, and enjoys the challenges that brings.

However, if he’s particularly burnt out, he likes to take a break by playing Jenga. He and Spy have a friendly rivalry, since Engie can tell which blocks are supporting and Spy has quick fingers.

Spy, oddly, is a lot more amiable losing in Jenga - he knows Engie won’t think less of him - but Engineer hates when the bricks fall over. Not because it means he lost, but because, to him, it’s a failure on his part…even if it was someone else that knocked it over.

He’s made several blueprints for the perfect Jenga game, but has concluded that no human hand could put it into practice.

During one particularly bad day, Engie bumped the table, causing the whole column to come crashing down. Spy had already recovered from the noise, but Engie was still standing there, stone-faced.

His eyes were covered by his goggles, but it was clear he was crying.

Several of his machines had broken on the job, and to him, this was just another egregious mistake.

Spy carefully put the blocks back in the container, and Engie came to his senses.

“I’m real sorry, Spy. Maybe another time…?”

Spy only nodded. He was thinking.

The next time they played, Spy brought out a different container.

Instead of wood, the bricks seemed to be made of a sturdy foam.

“They fall a bit more…quietly,” Spy explained. He dropped one, and it only made a small bouncing sound. “Pyro uses these, but they allowed me to borrow it.”

Engie was a bit skeptical at first, since it was a new material, but he got the hang of it rather quickly. He was almost ecstatic the first time it fell - the blocks barely made any sound at all!

After a few games, Spy had to leave for an assignment. Engie put a hand on their arm.

“Thank ya, Spy. Maybe you ain’t the cold-blooded backstabber I thought you were.”

Spy chuckled, but said little else. He didn’t want to admit that noise sensitivity plagued him as well.

Pyro:

Pyro loves board games, and has quite the collection in their room.

Each plastic piece is at least a little melted, and all the boxes have two or three scorch marks.

Hungry Hungry Hippos, Candyland, and Uno are among her favorites.

He is an absolute beast at Uno, though.

They take each game very seriously, especially when they can convince the whole team to play.

As you can imagine, it’s pure chaos - it even led to a rule in the Merc Guidebook: “When playing Uno with three or more players with the inclusion of a Pyro, at least one Mann Co. representative and/or a mediating Medic must be present.”

Pyro has been known the hide cards, bribe players, or even try to set flame to competition. Playing Uno is almost like a mission, with weapon preparation and Spy posing as other players.

The mercs even have a betting stand that Sniper runs. All parties have lost a lot of money that way.

It’s pretty much the only time outside of battle that the team remembers how cruel and malicious Pyro can be.

Sniper:

Conventional board games aren’t exactly his forté, but he does enjoy a bit of cards every once in a while - Solitaire being his favorite.

He even has a pack of cards in his Sniper Square for that exact purpose. It allows him the pass the time without having to look away from his targets too often.

On occasion, he could be pressed to play poker, but only if the stakes weren’t monetary (i.e candy pieces, crackers, duties, etc.).

His favorite part of every match is shuffling the cards. Pretty much every merc could shuffle cards, but Sniper could make them almost float with how quick his fingers and wrists moved. He always began the game with a new trick he learned, which delighted his fellow players (usually Spy, Engineer, Medic, and Demo).

You could always tell if he had a busy day because he would avoid tricks with too much movement, which would be murder on his sore fingers and hands.

Pyro is currently learning card tricks from Sniper, and show off what they learn at the beginning of every Uno game.

Heavy:

He isn’t a huge fan of the bright, plastic-y board games that Pyro has, although he will play them if asked.

It’s mostly because of how complicated the rules are and the fact there are almost never a Russian translation for the directions.

He always prefers checkers, cards, or mancala, which he almost exclusively plays with Medic because he’s the only one who speaks fluent Russian.

Heavy can play a mean game of mancala, though, and it’s the only game he can beat Medic at.

Soldier:

The only games he will play are Battleship and Uno - but only after Miss Pauling convinced him it was “American enough” because the game had red, white, and blue cards.

He prefers the electronic Battleship because of the sound effects and voices. However, if it’s out of batteries, he’ll make his own sound effects.

Miss Pauling is the best at pretending to be a commander, so she’s usually the one playing with him - but, sometimes, Demo gets in on the action, too.

[stxleslyds]

Jason doesn't show up in DC's animated series (though the does "spiritually" show up as Tim Drake in Season 2 of Batman the Animated Series).

Jason has a strong presence in the video games, though. So what is your opinion on Jason's characterization for Arkham Knight? He is a DLC for the Injustice games as well. Judy be warned that I did watch some clips of Arkham Knight and the torture was too gruesome for me.

RED HOOD IN VIDEO GAMES.

Hey there friend, thank you for the ask!

INJUSTICE 2.

I had to do some research on Red Hood’s appearances in the Injustice games because I was never really in touch with that story. Here is what I knew about it, there are two games for PC, one of them is Injustice and the other is Injustice 2, the games also have the comic books that give context/background to the lore of the game.

I used to play Injustice: Gods Among Us on mobile phone, and I had Jason as a playable character there, I also found out way too late that “Nightwing” wasn’t really Dick Grayson, it was Damian because he took on the mantle after he and the rock killed Dick in the comic (forever mad at that ridiculous death and the kinda scary art that comic had).

I looked for information about Red Hood’s backstory in wikis and all that because I refuse to read an alternate universe book written by Tom Taylor, there are things that I am just not willing to do.

All in all, I think that this Jason was in surface level, the same as his canon comic counterpart up until the time of his resurrection. Given that the world was at war and the League of Assassins wasn’t working openly, he and the others had to live in the shadows, he seems to have been trained proficiently by both Batman and the LoA so he is a very hardcore opponent. There are some bits of his story with Damian and a place called Gorilla City that I do not understand because I haven’t read the comics but I am fine without it.

The thing is that this Jason is pretty cool, he sticks to his morals and fights for what he believes is right, he doesn’t look like the kinda guy that takes sides in this war which is probably the best idea. Both Batman and Superman seem to be on the wrong side of history with they ideals.

What I did see and I loved eternally was the ending to Red Hood’s story, I will link the video here! But I will also copy and paste all that he says there because I think it’s really important and where I was able to see more of his characterization.

"That. Felt. Good. Titanium composite hollow point bullets with a C4 kicker. Fastest, most explosive ammo in the world. I made them myself. With the invasion over, Bruce and Superman started fighting again. I wasn't down with either of them. On the one hand, the Regime's right. Scumbag murderers and rapists deserve to die. But on the other hand, I'm no fan of government authority. Especially the dictatorial variety.

So, while the world's finest fight each other, I fight for the people. The weak. The innocent. Anyone who can't protect themselves. When they cry out for a saviour, I'll answer. As for the criminals that threaten them? They need to know that their actions have consequences. That the Red Hood is coming for them.”

This is excellent, I absolutely love this, this Jason knows his morals and doesn’t bow down to anyone and in the end, he is truly a hero to the people that need heroes the most.

Him saying that he believes that some criminals have to die but that he can’t really join Superman’s side because he cannot associate with it because he isn’t a fan of dictatorial ideas, I love this man.

I feel like this is a fair characterization for Jason, I believe that if something along the lines of what happens in Injustice happens in current continuity then Jason wouldn’t join any sides, he wouldn’t be neutral per se but he will fight for his own ideals. And his ideals in most universes are protecting people and I think that’s great. I love to see a world where Jason is seen as more intelligent and put together than the Batman.

Something that I find quite funny and interesting from this game is the dialogues that characters have with each other when they fight, I found this video compilation where you can see all the dialogues between Red Hood vs Robin (Damian Wayne), they are so fun and I love the animations too.

BATMAN: ARKHAM KNIGHT.

Oh, ArkhamVerse Jason, my beloved.

He is, to me, the epitome of this meme.

I have actually watched the whole game playthrough, several times, and Jason had a DLC as the Red Hood for that game (Nightwing has one too and I will talk about it later because I love this version of him). And, yes, the torture scene is very gruesome, it was incredibly sad and it made me feel bad. But I also think that they made it that way so it could support the kind of storytelling they were going for.

The reality is that this Jason suffered his whole life, and was constantly introduced to lifestyles that he never wanted to be part of. The world around this Jason wasn’t kind at all to him and there is a long list of people who did him wrong.

Although ArkhamVerse Jason didn’t die, like his comic counterpart did, he suffered the most. And his suffering really drove him to be the best version of an unhinged Jason Todd. But it’s clear, his brutality and murder intent isn’t laced with his Red Hood persona or at least not on the same level as it is with his Arkham Knight persona.

This Jason’s characterization works to perfection, but it only works that way because he was well developed within the game lore and the comics. This Jason was extremely well trained, he is probably the smartest version of Jason, his mind and his level of preparedness are unparalleled when it comes to other Jason Todd variants (a little MCU Loki talk right there).

I would go as far as to say that this Jason would be an excellent match to peak Dick Grayson from before New 52 in comics. Those two would clash so immensely, but man, it would be one hell of an intellectual and physical fight. Two Kings doing what they do best.

Anyway, for now take my word for how well characterized Jason is in the ArkhamVerse, I will make a post were I deep dive more on his character both in game and comics. There is so much to say about him, he is truly interesting and very complex.

Now, I will be a little cheeky and I will use this ask as an opportunity to talk about my man, ArkhamVerse Nightwing aka Pretty Boy.

I love him so much! In the game when you get to meet him (I will link the video here! it’s five minutes long, and worth the watch) you get to see both Nightwing’s and Dick’s personalities. Nightwing is fun and relaxed, he is a little bit cocky and doesn’t let Batman be a pain in his ass, he is truly a beast. Although he is never seen without the mask in a moment when he is alone with Bruce you can really see Dick’s personality shine through. He obviously has had issues with Bruce in the past but there is also this palpable respect coming from both of them to the other. Bruce wants to protect Dick but he acts like a jerk instead of telling him what is on his mind. Dick wants to help Bruce at all costs, he refuses to leave Gotham until they solve something that he was already working on before Bruce needed his help.

There is also this sort of goodbye scene between the two (I will link it here!) that is extremely sad because Dick doesn’t believe Bruce when he tells him that he is proud of him. Dick cuts him off just when Bruce was trying to open up and I think that scene speaks volumes about how rough their relationship was. Dick never finds out that Bruce was “dying” after being infected with the Joker’s blood/gas, so it’s very bittersweet.

There is also the Nightwing DLC, where we get to see Dick being the best of the best, he is so skilled and funny and smart. It is amazing how much this game made me love their Nightwing even though he doesn’t appear much, his dynamic with Penguin is just perfect, Dick literally makes Penguin’s life very difficult. All of the people working with Penguin kinda fear Dick a little bit, some of them are even impressed by his skills.

Oh and, when Nightwing gets captured at some point in the game, Penguin’s men are saying something along the lines of “I was sure Batman will come in” “how come?” “what’s tied up downstairs and getting the crap beat out of it?” “Oh yeah, Nightwing” and that is so true, if I were Batman, I will also risk my life for Nightwing.

I just love Nightwing, he makes me so happy! He is the best here!

Anyway, enough of me loving Nightwing uncontrollably, I will make a separate post where I only talk about ArkhamVerse Jason so, yeah, be ready for that one because I love that Jason too, he is hot.

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 1

-no hate (this is merely my humble opinion) but i strongly dislike tom hughes as tom riddle, and here’s why-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION.

Just personally, this fancast induces a lot of cognitive dissonance for me, but this is the first time I’ve been able to sit down and articulate properly why it always throws me for a loop.

Now, does he fit the visual/aesthetic archetype?

Yes. I understand completely why people like this fancast. We know that he is studious, intellectual, and (at the time people generally fancast him for) involved in the criminal underground, and he more-or-less fits the physical description.

And, to be clear, it’s not that I don’t think Tom Hughes could play Tom Riddle, it’s that I don’t think the character he plays in the fancasts is a close enough approximation of Tom Riddle.

For me, herein lies the issue.

Tom Riddle’s character is all about the emotions bubbling under the surface. He’s a disaster waiting to happen -- he’s angry, he’s lonely, he wants revenge, he feels empty and hopeless and desperate, he’s irrational...

Not sure what movie/show the Tom Hughes clips come from, but the character he plays isn’t that at all. the character he plays is very self-possessed, poised, self-aware. Reflective. Remorseful (there are clips of him crying when/after he shoots someone). Introspective. 

That, to me, is not Tom Riddle at all. 

Yes, he does deal with moral conflict, but it’s never at the forefront of his mind. It’s not something he’s constantly grappling with. He doesn’t really... brood in this Hamlet-esque way.

Tom doesn’t think. Sure, he plans, he ruminates, he rationalizes a posteriori. But he’s very unaware of himself (in fact, it’s one of his fatal flaws). It’s not that he doesn’t have emotions; just that his internal state is a mystery most of the time.

He doesn’t connect with his own emotions; he is completely estranged from them. Tom cannot tell you whether he is happy or sad (not just because of his pride). He keeps his emotions and moral compass (which are highly uncomfortable things), in a locked little box, swallows the key, and disregards them. And yet, this character connects so deeply with his emotions that even the audience can see exactly what he’s going through. 

(There’s an openness -- an ease of vulnerability -- that Tom Riddle doesn’t have)

The thing about Tom, is that he hates himself just as much as he hates everyone around him. Creating Horcruxes to save himself from death is not an act of self-love, or even narcissism to the extreme; instead, forcibly ripping your own soul seven times is the most literally and metaphorically self-destructive thing a person could possibly do.

"Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction —"

If we go all the way back to Book 1, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, you’ll remember that the eponymous material (first described in the Epic of Gilgamesh) is capable of producing the Elixir of Life, a magical substance that makes its drinker immortal, as long as you have a steady supply. Not only that, but according to the beliefs of historical alchemists (such as Nicholas Flamel), it was capable of curing any disease. In the alchemical tradition, it symbolized perfection, enlightenment, and heavenly bliss.

If all Tom Riddle was concerned about was prolonging his life, this is the obvious (and better) option.

Here’s the alchemical symbol of the Philosopher’s Stone. Looks kind of like the Deathly Hallows symbol, right? It represents the interplay of the (at the time, believed) four elements of matter -- a sort of periodic table, if you will.

The mature Philosopher’s Stone was believed to be a red stone (for making gold), and the immature one a white stone (for making silver). Rubeus Hagrid and Albus Dumbledore, anyone??

"So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?" said Harry. "Why couldn't he make a Sorcerer's Stone, or steal one, if he was so interested in immortality?"

And Dumbledore responds:

"But there are several reasons why, I think, a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort.”

"While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort would be entirely dependent on the Elixir, and if it ran out, or was contaminated, or if the Stone was stolen, he would die just like any other man. Voldemort likes to operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable...”

And while, yes, he did try to steal it rather than make it, I am sure that in the time it took Tom to make all of his Horcruxes, he could have learned enough alchemy to produce it for himself (or wheedled the information out of Nicholas Flamel). While Dumbledore hypothesizes that it’s because Tom hates feeling dependent, this must be irony, because he spends the first book as a literal parasite, the next three as a virtually helpless creature, and the remainder still reliant on his Horcruxes.

"Well, you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

But, like me, Dumbledore is making guesses at Tom Riddle’s internal state, and in this case, I think, he’s made an oversight. Horcruxes make him equally as dependent as the Philosopher’s Stone would have. It’s been established in canon that you cannot make yourself immortal without help; either you rely on the continued existence of your Horcruxes or your supply of the Elixir.

And while the Elixir represents the positive aspects of eternal life, like renewal, rebirth, and the cyclical nature of the universe (see above the ouroboros of Cleopatra the Alchemist, one of the four women who knew how to make the philosopher's stone), a Horcrux is antithetical to life. It represents disorder, and once the creator of Horcruxes dies, they are unable to move on from Limbo -- shut out of the cycle. Harry describes Tom’s mangled soul as looking like a flayed and mutilated baby -- permanently immature and stagnant.

This theme of destruction is furthered by the Golden Trio’s discussion on how to reverse the process:

Ron: "Isn't there any way of putting yourself back together?"

Hermione: "Yes, but it would be excruciatingly painful."

Harry: "Why? How do you do it?"

Hermione: "Remorse. You've got to really feel what you've done. There’s a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can’t see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?"

With this in mind, we can surmise that Tom is either (a) impatient, which we know he is not (b) there was some deeper reason for favouring Horcruxes -- so, yes, I believe that either metaphorically or literally, this was self-harming behaviour.

He takes on the name of Lord Voldemort because he hates himself, Tom Marvolo Riddle. He hates the Muggle part of himself so much that he’s willing to tear apart his entire being. 

"Voldemort, is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter..."

If that isn’t renouncement of himself, I don’t know what is. He was clearly not born Voldemort.

While of course, this does NOT excuse ANY of his actions, I find it vastly implausible that the likes of Malfoy, Mulciber, Carrow, etc... would have been welcoming in any way, shape or form to an assumed ‘Mudblood’ in scruffy secondhand robes from a London orphanage, and as such, indoctrinated him into his fanatic belief in blood-purity via antagonizing him. 

(Imagine Hermione, but poor and without parents, in the 1930s/40s. She would not have been treated well in Slytherin, either.)

Children are more vicious than you think. And while Tom probably gave as good as he got at Wool’s Orphanage (and was possibly an active aggressor himself), Hogwarts wouldn’t have been a level playing-field. (I’ll talk a bit about this and the significance of the Gaunt Ring in Part 2).

In other terms, I think Tom was bullied for having dubious origins. That’s often the swiftest way to radicalize someone, and would have left Tom with a crippling sense of self-hatred that I don’t think he would have even picked up from the orphanage.

(And it’s possibly this early experience with relational aggression that results in his constant need to be on the offensive/defensive, distrust of others, and fear of vulnerability. To me, this is an archetypal response of someone who was a past victim of bullying.)

Why else would an extremely powerful half-blood subscribe so strongly to those beliefs? (Rather than discriminating via amount of raw power or something -- because what Tom is immensely proud of when Dumbledore meets him is his ability, not his parentage). But I digress.

Now, Tom Riddle is never, ever quietly menacing like this. The mask is either completely on or completely off. We never see this character angry. Tom Riddle, when the mask slips off, is fury incarnate. Anger is the one emotion he doesn’t find weak; the one emotion he’s completely and utterly honest with.

Besides, that brings me to my next point. Tom’s not quite so austere. In fact, he’s quite witty, and often quite pleased with himself.

Just look at the difference in their body language. Tom has much more fluidity (he’s circling Harry, the head-tilt, the eyebrows move and he smiles a bit) than the other character, who has so much tension. Yes, they’re both menacing, but in completely different ways. Tom is comfortable with his actions, no matter how shitty they are. This other guy doesn’t like doing what he’s doing, but he’s going to do it, anyway.

Contrasted with the above, Tom’s unawareness of himself is such that we end up with a character who has a bizarre mix of extreme self-hatred and high self-esteem -- he always believes he is in the right -- in this case, doing Salazar Slytherin’s noble work -- while going to extreme, self-destructive lengths, such as tearing himself in half at the mere age of sixteen.

So, sorry... I kind of get the appeal, but... I don’t like the fancast. 

(More unpopular opinions coming at 5:30 PM EDT tomorrow!)

[autisticchicc]

Autism and Love

TW: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse, drug-related metaphor

Love and obsession, for me, are separated by a very thin line. Even if I weren’t autistic, I know I would still love fiercely, but I also know that autism has a profound effect on the way that I feel and express love.

In my life there have been numerous occasions where I thought I was in love, and I often still debate with myself about whether I have ever been ‘in love’. Nowadays I tend to take the view that love is something very personal, and just because it doesn’t last doesn’t make it any less valid. Being someone who is still on good or even great terms with all of my ex partners, I’d say I absolutely loved them at one point in my life. Maybe I still do love them, but I live a strictly categorised life. That love is now a purely a platonic love that comes from knowing and trusting someone for a long time. That ability to categorise so strictly is something some of my exes have had a hard time coming to terms with, I am quick to move them into the platonic love category and keep them there. Once someone has been placed in the platonic category, they do not leave. I don’t get back with ex-partners, and I don’t actually think its possible due to that strict categorisation.

My very first boyfriend sent me a message the other day asking if I ever still think about him. I replied honestly and said that I do not. I think that this comes from the strict categorisation too. If you are my friend, I think about you, but not that often. I have a lot of things happening in my head at all times, a sensory cornucopia that is exhausting to sort through, a conscious stream of five or six trains of thought, and my special interests. Special interests are a really intriguing factor in the context of autistic love, because I believe that the intense focus and adoration we treat our interests with absolutely translates to the people we fall in love with.

Anyone who has been close friends with me while in a relationship knows how insufferable I am when I love someone. I talk about them at any given opportunity, for longer than the other person probably cares to hear about it at times. When I love someone, they become a source of great inspiration, I find the characters I write resembling them, I could spend hours editing pictures and videos of them, my artwork is littered with their image. Love, for me, is an all-encapsulating thing. It invades every aspect of my life, consciously or subconsciously. They become the most beautiful person in my eyes, I drink in their image as though dehydrated. Curiously, even things I perhaps did not like about them before suddenly become things I look at fondly. Something about that shift from like to love, it is a very powerful shift for me.

Ironically, I’m not very forthright with my expressions of love. After mulling it over for years, I’ve realised that I’ve been conditioned to believe that love and pain go hand in hand. When you love someone, you must expect them to hurt you. At least, that’s what I thought until I deconstructed why I thought that. I had become accustomed to people weaponising my love for them, using it to blackmail me emotionally or to excuse physical abuse. As such, although I feel so deeply for the people I love, I am always very anxious about showing it in ways that can be used against me. I don’t show them the story or the art that I created inspired by them, for fear that they might think me obsessed for spending so much time on something pertaining to them.

I get very embarrassed when performing acts of service for my partners. I enjoy tidying and cleaning a lot, and I often want to do it for my partners to make their lives easier, but I get scared that they will think I’m being subservient and that they can take advantage of me. When I see my partner enjoying something or fostering a talent, I desperately want to invest in it, buy them tools and find resources so that they can develop it further, but am scared that they will think me strange and over-enthusiastic. I’m the kind of partner that loves extremely hard, and wants to express it as such, but I cannot quite get over the shame.

I have only recently been able to engage in non-sexual physical touch without flinching. Learning that touch is your love language when you have been shying away from it for years is a strange thing. It almost feels like a betrayal of sorts. Why was I denied this thing that I love for so long? And the reality is, it was a part of that fear. I have to be vulnerable with someone in order to allow them to touch me. Vulnerability has never come easily for me, although I always desperately wanted it. Finding someone that I can entangle limbs with, that I can kiss and hug on a whim, that I can show physical affection in my ‘weird’ autistic ways with has been very therapeutic for me. For the first time, I feel like I can have vulnerability and touch without it being thrown back in my face. It feels desired and reciprocated, not only do I want to touch and hold this person, but they want to touch and hold me too.

Another lesson within that has been ensuring that while I maintain my tough, outer visage, I am honest about needing to be soft and fragile sometimes. I have always been forced into being strong and resilient, it was never a conscious choice that I made for myself. I was forever pushed to be strong for other people, constantly making sure that those that needed me didn’t have to see me struggling or breaking under pressure. I never had someone I felt I could truly cry in front of, ugly, drunken sobbing type of crying. At least not without feeling judged or treated like a flight risk. Having someone I can be unapologetically sad in front of and they don’t force me to be strong for their own comfort feels so alien to me, but the relief it fills me with is immense. I am no longer pretending, and I am no longer embarrassed to be fragile. I can break down in front of this person and they will never question my strength.  

While crying and vulnerability are certainly an obvious hurdle for plenty of people in relationships, for autistic people there is the added stress of getting used to unmasking in front of a partner. I didn’t get diagnosed for a very long time, which will tell you just how good I am at masking. As a Hispanic girl, a lot of my behaviours weren’t reprimanded too much. Being loud and aggressive is normal in Spanish culture, and oftentimes isn’t even interpreted as aggression the way it is in the UK. Conversely, I did terribly with the tactile nature of social interaction in Spain and among Hispanics. I didn’t want to kiss strangers or even family members on both cheeks, I didn’t like having my cheeks squeezed by old women, and I didn’t like people touching, grabbing, or shaking me. But I was unfortunately forced to do it for my own survival. I don’t know if the sentiments around disabilities have changed in Spain, but the way I remember it in the part I grew up in was that they weren’t talked about. I didn’t even know what disabilities were until I came to the UK.

In England, pretty much every aspect of my behaviour was reprimanded; my loudness, my ‘aggression’, my opinionated disposition, my lack of a filter, my inability to understand my classmates’ feelings… The list goes on and on. At a certain point, I learned to just hold in a lot of my personality until I got home. What I didn’t realise that I was actually holding in some instinctive behaviours in privacy as well, I would flinch and stop if I noticed myself stimming, my face would go red when I couldn’t verbalise properly, and I often found myself practicing facial expressions in the bathroom mirror because I was self-conscious that I wasn’t doing them ‘correctly’. I started my own personal journey so to speak about a year ago to completely unmask, alone. I still cringe when I catch my arms pulling up into ‘t-rex’ form or if I start verbally/physically stimming, but I’m slowly becoming less ashamed of myself.

Consequently, unmasking in front of someone else has been incredibly nerve-wracking. The ‘issue’ (I say issue but it’s quite the opposite) is that I’m so comfortable in my partner’s home that I unmask without even realising it. Something I’ve noticed however, is that half the time they don’t. When my fingers twist and rub against each other, I glance up nervously to see if I’m being watched. No one has even glanced at me. I stammer and mess up my sentence, or my mouth fails halfway through, and yet even then no one laughs or looks at me strangely, they just wait for me to rectify or finish the sentence. I wonder if part of me still thinks I’m under the ultra-critical gaze of my secondary school peers, expecting to be torn to shreds verbally over my quirks as I always was, but it never happens. I have to constantly remind myself that I am well liked here, and my quirks are something people are fond of now.

Overall, love as an autistic person is intense and difficult, but an experience that is so all-consuming it feels almost like you’re on some kind of drug. I’m a very logical, science-based person, but love is one of the few things that still feels remotely magical to me. It can draw me out of my cold, black and white world and into an illogical whirlpool of emotion. I rarely act on emotion alone, but love is something that certainly has the power to make me do so. It embarrasses me a lot, it makes me feel out my depth, it makes me behave in ways I normally wouldn’t, but I’ll endure those feelings any day for the reward. I still have a long way to go before I can properly express myself to a partner, but one day I’d really like to be able to show them all my projects inspired by them, and the true level of sappiness I’m capable of (lol).

[atouchofgreen]

Weed & Mental Health (adolescent)

Mom and Dad,

In the recent months I have experienced cognitive decline that I attribute to my use of weed cartridges. I started smoking weed cartridges when I was in my senior year of high school, and  became addicted. I hated it but for some reason I couldn't stop I smoked daily. Although I took month long breaks often, I continued to smoke in college during my first 2 years. Towards the second semester of sophomore year, I used legal delta 8 carts instead of delta 9 carts. The only negative aspect of using up to my sophomore year was my lack of motivation and any minute cognitive changes went away following abstinence. I should have quit or asked for help. In high-school I asked for help by leaving my stash on the laundry machine and gave a singular puff to mom one time (she thought it was an e-cigg though). In highschool in my AP Chemistry class, I saw a kid at the end of class do a hit from a similar weed cart in front of his friends. It would have been so easy for him to get caught, he was standing up giggling with his back turned but the teacher was on the computer and didn't notice. I recognized then that this kid was so alone with his addiction that he did it in front of his friends at school out of pain and solidarity. He had an expressionless face most of the day and seemed distraught, I knew from the grapevine he smoked a lot. He was like me, addicted, and did a hit in school subconsciously screaming for help. After class I asked coach Jacobs his thoughts on using weed. He said, sitting on his computer desk chair with his hands behind his head, " I think after 25 half a joint does the same damage as having a martini, but before then its really bad for you physically, mentally, and your development as a human being. You should wait until after your brain is fully developed to try anything." I remembered this for the rest of my life. I didnt have the courage  to directly ask for help but I needed it and should have asked anyone. I couldn't quit it although I should have had the courage to do so. I tried quitting many times but I was too far down the drain mentally. But now, I am scared for myself. I quit completely following moving jethin in because I was noticing cognitive decline in myself. It was terrible. One morning, I woke up and nothing entered my brain its like I was a zombie. That is why I quit. I hoped I would regain my functionality like before, but to no avail. My iq seems to have dropped 10 points at least. My short term memory has regressed so much that learning new information is difficult for me. Reading is harder and to recall something takes me much longer than before. I have a harder time making long term plans and imagining things. I had a hard time with understanding and expressing English as well though this has been improving. My mind is nothing like it was before. Now, my memory, pattern recognition, recall, imagination, has diminished to a much lower degree. I was fine last year and the year before that, my mental health and cognition were good, but recently it seems like a switch turned off for me. When I walk in the world I don't absorb information the same. I don't abstractify what I am seeing as easily, and my short term memory is really shot. Its like I'm just walking in the world blind deaf and dumb. I am scared I won't be able to pass my classes even though compared to highschool these classes are an absolute breeze relatively speaking to when my brain was sober. I can't do quick calculations anymore and I am acutely aware that my senses are just senses. Seeing touching hearing are just that, I can't calculate the same way i used to to create a coherent experience of what's going on around me. I don't have appreciation for life anymore. I  am telling you all of this now because i have really experienced cognitive decline and I am extremely depressed, unhappy, and anxious. I am afraid that my prefrontal cortex and hippocampus is permanently damaged. Weirdly, I've had a dull ache in my head ever since I've quit, in the middle and front of my brain, that's been getting slightly better with time. The slight discomfort or pain is always there its terrible. It also gets better temporarily when I cry, meditate, or sleep for an extended period. I hope that after a few months this dull pain would subside and my mental capabilities would return. Even my dreams are less complex and have less emotion. All of this is what I talked to that therapist about.  It's not like I am sad ALL of the time, but a lot of it. But I am pretty sure my mind will never be what it was before. I experienced life to its fullest extent while I was not using any drugs, and now that I've been sober for 2 months now and my mind is not returning close to what it was. I still feel like a zombie when exercising, and I develop a deep sense of sadness right after I work out because i recognize my short term memory and mental capability are weakened which makes it hard for me to make good memories and I get anxious about my future. I am pretty emotionless, even fear is hard for me to experience. When I am unhappy, at times I break out into a sob, but because my emotions have dulled probably from the weed, I only start to sob momentarily and then return to a face of stoicism. This makes it hard to achieve catharsis for my sadness and it gets bottled up inside. I don't really mind the mental health difficulties from quitting weed - that can pass over time with proper behavior - but it's the cognitive difficulties that makes me afraid. I am afraid that I will never be able to view the world the same way that I used to before weed. I am afraid that I won't be able to become a doctor unless my brain heals over time. I have read many studies about the use of marijuana during adolescents. Although there is conflicting research, my experience suggests the worst for me - that what I am experiencing may be permanent. I also read that smoking weed during adolescence can delay prefrontal cortex maturation, meaning I would never be able to absorb information and process it  the same way ever again. If only I had read the dangers of early marijuana use earlier and understood I would have quit immediately. It is entirely my fault my life is like this now, I was too weak. Both of you have given me everything and helped me the most you could. Especially Dad. Dad, I feel so bad because you have lowered your expectations of me so much. If I hadn't started smoking, I know I would be a completely different person.  Mom and Dad, I have been thinking about committing suicide for some time. I've been thinking about it at least once a day actually for a few months. Its not that I think life and the world is terrible and bad, I actually think the opposite. Before smoking I loved life and loved myself. I could feel the world like a thumping heartbeat or a quivering harp playing soulful music. I feel like killing myself because my current and future experiences will be inorganic. My brain structure/chemistry probably changed forever and I don't want to live with this brain anymore. I cant understand everything going on around me thus I can never understand the world the same way like I used to. I feel like i can't learn new things, everything I do now is because I am just accessing what I learned before starting to smoke weed and during freshman and sophomore year of college. My emotions have waned. I can't calculate complex things anymore and put it into context sufficiently. I can't move my body and think strongly at the same time. Right now, meditation and thinking about my long term memory is my only friend. My short term memory is shot which affects my learning and ability to make meaningful experiences or connections. It's like I have pseudodementia though not as bad. The only joy I get is accessing my long term memory and talking long walks in places and with people that used to bring me joy. I loved Turkey so much and the time we spent I go there in my head all of the time. I love Africa, I love India, I loved my friends at swimming and during highschool. But if that's all I am living for I don't know what the point is. I curse myself everyday for making the mistake of smoking weed or not quitting when I could have. I could've become a beautiful person had I continued developing normally. I am so sorry for being a bad son. I am so sorry that you came from India to America to have a child that fucked up like me. I am sorry for the stress this places on both of you. You both did nothing wrong in raising me, I just fucked up. I am sorry for how this may affect your work dad. And I am sorry for being a liability for the family. While I am drowning I don't want you both to drown with me. Maybe I can get a job somewhere or go into the military. At this point cognitively, unless my brain is capable of rewiring itself (maybe that's what the dull persistent ache is in my head) I don't think I can learn the information necessary to safefully treat patients. My therapist said it would take 3-4 months to a year to feel normal again but I don't know what I will do if I can't return to baseline. I used to live with such a thirst for life and understanding but if that doesn't return I feel like I am dragging life down and owe it to my memory of what life was before weed to take my own.  Currently my plan is to wait a year and a few months before seriously thinking of committing suicide if I don't heal because the pain I am feeling is so immense. I want to live life FEELING everything organically regardless of what it is. Also my smarts are gone and that gave me tremendous joy. I know what life was like before using weed and I know how it should feel. But I cannot properly life, my sense of self, empathy, and life around me currently. I am walking around blind deaf and dumb I don't know if I want to live this way for the rest of my life. I would have loved to become a doctor.

I just don't know what to do anymore, I don't want to kill myself and I don't think I will have the balls to frankly but that saddens me even more if I can't feel or process what I am experiencing for the rest of my life. Life is too short to waste, any life really even if I'm dumber than what I used to be. I think of people who are paralyzed, people who have cancer, who have nobody left to care for them, people who are homeless and have physical ailments. They don't give up, but their minds are still natural. I am young and the only reason I am thinking of this is because I don't want to go the rest of my life with derealization of the world around me. I don't want to live the rest of my life blind deaf and dumb. No new experiences since the latter parts of my weed addiction have given me any meaning in life compared to what I had learned before smoking weed. I am grateful I got to experience and learn the meaning of life from my perspective and others when I was younger, thank you for that. I love you both so much. I am sorry and don't worry I am not going to kill myself its just that I am angry with myself, angry with my cognitive decline, and angry that I can't experience what life ought to be currently. I am hoping for better in the future though. I just thought you should know.

Love, Your son

Before Weed: 

I am telling you this because I am scared for myself although it may be too late. Before I tell you what I've been going through, I want to tell you about my life experience up until junior year of highschool. Although I wasn't exactly extremely smart from your perspectives, I was acutely aware of my surroundings. In school I was more focused on how things were organized and what every single person in the room was thinking and what their plans were rather then what they were teaching. It's like my brain was calculating 20 things at once and i was living existentially all the time. I was incredibly happy just to be alive. I could recall the exact positions of people and things around me, what I was thinking, and the sutle muscle movements of people over a reasonable amount of time. I used to know what people were going to say before they said them, and know someone's personality outlook on life, habits mentality etc.  just by watching for 10 seconds to an incredible degree of accuracy. The longer a person was in my focus I learned more about them exponentially. I could learn things very well and had a memory based on the things that I was focused on that was so precise and better than almost everyone I had ever met. People in high school who knew me well knew this and would be shocked how i could know things about them. Some things like sexuality and gender insecurities, presence of autism/ Asperger's as a child, family life back home, and who liked who, I could tell about people after observing them for a little. I had  respect from people at school and some teachers because they knew what I could learn about a situation or people just by being in the same room. I could learn new words in the blink of an eye if I heard it just once, I was constantly calculating. With dad, I could not learn what he tried to teach me though just because I was so scared of him that my focus wasn't there and panic was always set in I was scared to be beat frankly (i wasn't scared of the pain but just scared what it meant which was hard for me to fully realize because I would slightly repress the memories and I don't like to do that). But it's from him I learned how to analyze people and the world. But he is one of the only people I've ever met where I could not track his mind to a satisfying degree. For most people I would now what they were thinking, what they were incubating in the back of their head, and their current plan of action in a glance by looking at the eyes and body. I could not do this with dad because his mind is faster than mine it was too hard to keep up. He has mind palaces that are so structured and he can jump around his mind so easily I couldn't keep up with the mind palaces he created and how he navigates them. It was harder for me to do this with people who had a very high iq but I would practice everyday and would cherish analyzing introverts for practice. I walked on a street with a hundred people I would make an observation about each of them and could later recall exactly what I saw and what I was thinking. My kinesthetic sense was very good so physical distances was easy for me to calculate and remember. I truly believed that before starting weed I would become a doctor because all my strengths coincided with it. This ability, although most ppl might be able to do it, peaked for me right before starting weed. I was very much in tune with spirituality and enjoyed reading storybooks, meditation, and socializing. I was never focused on myself but what was around me, I kept my thoughts and feelings in a box in my mind to help me learn as I recorded what others were doing and thinking. I had balls - I asked out girls in highschool, and honestly wasn't afraid of much because both of you enabled me to experience life by taking me everywhere.

[jewishconvertthings]

Something I’ve noticed come up again and again in conversion-focused/prospective convert spaces is a fascination with orthodoxy. I think a lot of what drives this is the desire for universal recognition and to do things the “right” way. And, since Jews both inside and outside of orthodoxy tend to hold up orthodoxy as the gold standard for halacha and for conversion in particular, people who would never otherwise consider converting orthodox still end up seriously investigating the possibility and/or even attempting it. This becomes especially painful to watch when, for one reason or another (or several) the individual in question simply cannot convert orthodox without making life changes that are, frankly, not worth it or even impossible.

I say this as someone who absolutely, 100% went on this ride.

(This is a Very Long Post, so I’ve put it under a cut)

I am a queer non-binary person in a relationship with another queer non-binary person who is not Jewish and has no plans on converting. Now, at this point in my life, I present in a traditionally feminine way 98% of the time (and was assigned female at birth), the aspects of physical transition that I have accessed are not visible or are easily able to be masked, and for a number of extremely personal reasons I won’t get into here, I have also reached a point in my life where my ability to be attracted to cis men is not something that I automatically reject.

So on a pragmatic level, if I wanted to be orthodox I had two choices: (1) Stay with my partner who I love and have built a life and a home with, who supports my Jewish journey and observance 100%, who loves me no matter how I present myself gender-wise, and whose life experiences as a fellow queer non-binary person allow us to have a profound understanding of each other; or, (2) Leave my partner, and also most likely also make an effort to stamp out or at least conceal the queer and non-binary facets of myself.  

I think it’s pretty clear that I opted to not take path #2, which left me with the decision to either pursue a Conservative conversion or accept being a Noachide. Fortunately, I happened to already have a Conservative community that I really loved and three Conservative rabbis for my beit din, each of whom I tremendously respect. Therefore moving forward with a Conservative conversion did not cause me all that much cognitive dissonance. To be perfectly honest, all told, I think my theological framework fits better within Conservative halacha anyway and there is plenty of space for me to exist and be respected as a queer non-binary person with a non-Jewish spouse.

But despite what I feel is an overall very good outcome to this problem, I still went through a whole grieving process for letting go of the idea of ever converting orthodox, and looking back I felt it was really important to interrogate why. I could of course take the easy way out and say that it was because I was sad to lose this particular shul as my primary community, but that’s not completely true. I still go there sometimes and enjoy it when I do, and also by the time it became clear to me that this was not a community I could convert through, it was no longer my primary shul. I’d already switched.

I could also say that it was because I deeply desired living and sharing community with a congregation where the majority of members took halacha very seriously and lived by those convictions. While I have deep love and appreciation for my Conservative community, the reality is that I am in the minority as someone who keeps a strictly kosher kitchen and one of a handful of people who make much of an effort to be shomer Shabbos. At the same time, I have found and built friendships with those who do take a more traditional approach to observance who also share other values of mine as well. So I have ultimately ended up in the exact kind of community I desired, even if it isn’t the numeric majority of the congregation as a whole.

There was also a very real period where I needed to sort out my understanding of what I believed about what Torah even is, and how I wanted to build my Jewish observance from that understanding. (Namely, that even though I can never say that I believed with perfect faith that the Torah was given directly to Moshe by G-d on Mt. Sinai in its entirety and in fact believe that most of the evidence points away from that understanding, I also felt it was important to essentially accept it as an underlying assumption for interpretive and halachic purposes. I have . . . evolved a bit since then, but honestly haven’t moved too far from that position.)

The point is that there were actual, real reasons other than just for the validity.

But if I’m being extremely honest with myself, while it was far from being the only reason or the “real” reason, it was nevertheless a not-insignificant reason for why I was disappointed and felt a loss. I understand the other pieces pretty well at this point, and so with the benefit of time and some emotional distance, I decided to examine this a bit more deeply.

I think the problem is two-fold. First, I think that the same intense beliefs and emotions that drive someone to do something as drastic as converting to Judaism to begin with also create a desire to do so in the most intensive way possible. Amongst myself and the many other conversion students and converts I’ve met, irrespective of our many differences, our passion for Judaism and our enthusiasm in Jewish engagement are near-universals. For better or worse, that tends to manifest as a desire for a high level of observance and for a community that shares that commitment.

Second, I think that converts of whatever background, but especially those of us who are marginalized in other ways, tend to be under a great deal of scrutiny from the rest of the Jewish community as to our motives and our processes for becoming Jewish. While I don’t doubt that this is painful for anyone, this can hit especially hard if you have experienced some other kind of serious invalidation, erasure, and/or rejection in other areas of your life.

So I think, after having sat with this a bit, part of that feeling of hurt and loss comes as a sort of echo trauma from having been erased and rejected as a queer non-binary person. The invalidation I’ve received both outside and inside the queer/trans community has been significant enough that the idea of stomaching more rejection, more invalidation, and more treatment as an interloper was a tough pill to swallow. Combine that with my genuine passion for Judaism and desire for an observant Jewish life and community, and you had a perfect storm of me reaching for a community that was, all told, not a good fit.

I eventually moved past that stage, and ended up quite happy in my Conservative community. So what’s the problem? Why am I bringing up such a painful topic if it turned out fine?

Here’s the thing: I’d seen other people ride this emotional rodeo before and so while I anticipated these feelings of rejection, I was afraid of experiencing them and tried to avoid doing so by being hyper-aware of the possibility. It didn’t work. Unfortunately, this was just something I had to figure out on my own. However, there was another effect I’d seen as well, namely that once people had processed the immediate sadness, there was usually a bit of backlash afterwards. I saw this especially with a particular friend who regularly expressed not just legitimate criticisms of orthodoxy, but lashed out angrily towards anyone who expressed an interest in orthodoxy or who happened to be orthodox and talk positively about their experiences. This was serious enough that it almost ruined our friendship.

I did manage to mostly avoid this latter effect because I actively built relationships within my orthodox community and maintained them even afterwards, and because I refused to make that rejection a personal thing. I also gave myself ample space from that community and have only engaged to the extent that I can do so in a healthy, comfortable way. But it’s worth noting that despite controlling my outer reaction, I definitely had to process and work my way through that same anger internally.

I raise all of this for the following reason:

I haven’t seen anyone talking about this much, and what I have seen has not been constructive or compassionate. While I don’t think reading about my seemingly typical (even cliché) experiences as someone who was not a good fit for orthodoxy trying to shoehorn myself into it for understandable (but ultimately futile) reasons will spare anyone the emotional ride of having that experience, nor do I think it will likely help anyone avoid having to experience it themselves to be sure, I do think that it may help with a couple issues. First, I think it may help outsiders who have observed this trope have a bit more compassion for those going through it and be able to offer some better responses than derision or telling folks to just get over it. Basically, realize that these are growing pains, and try to be kind and mature about it.

Second, I think it may help people who are on the verge of going through that experience and/or who are in the middle of it to understand that it is A Thing, that it is not an inherently bad thing, that they are not bad people for having to go on this emotional journey, that it is reasonable for them to have hard feelings about it, and that the only thing they really do need to be careful of is how they treat the people in their communities and not take this out on them. Ultimately, if you are unable to convert orthodox for reasons outside your control (or even just realize that you inherently don’t have the right worldview for orthodoxy/have an actual desire to live an orthodox lifestyle) there are usually other ways of meeting your community and observance-related needs and it is best to start exploring them sooner rather than later.

Collectively, I think I would challenge conversion students and liberal converts who are considering an orthodox conversion to seriously consider if there are other ways to meet your spiritual and community needs. If so, why pursue orthodoxy? You really do need an honest answer to that question, even if it takes a bit of soul-searching to get there. If it’s about universal recognition, you need to stop immediately and reconsider. (Understand that there basically is no such thing. Then understand that this means that you will have to build an internal Jewish identity that is unrelated to how random people without community decision-making power view you.) Finally, I’d ask that you try really hard to separate the larger trends and systems within orthodoxy from individual Orthodox Jews you happen to encounter.

And of course, I would challenge folks to leave passing judgment on any given conversion student’s process and motivations up to their sponsoring rabbi.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

3, 6, 20 for the writing meta asks!

Why hello there! I won’t lie, I was, of course, extremely happy to see another ask in my ask box! Perfect thing to wake up to, and get the brain juices flowing! So, let’s do some answering! >:D

****

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

There’s one particular scene that’s actually been in my head for days, but of course, when I try to actually write it, my brain just fizzles out into the unknown. However, the scene I want to write and will have to write is Fane and Solas ‘reuniting’. More or less, when Solas finally realizes what and who Fane is and vice versa. It involves a lot of build up from previous chapters and scenes, and since those aren’t written yet I’m a little stuck on how to get it off the ground. I can share a few little concepts though that I did manage to write up!

“May I?”, Solas asked quietly and softly, carefully lifting a hand to hover near the aggravated gash. He would not touch it unless Fane explicitly stated that it was amenable. He would do no more harm than he had already.

There was a long pause, the two of them sitting practical inches from each other until Solas heard a sound between a growl and huff exit past sealed lips. That had a small smile working its way onto his face. How painfully nostalgic that sound was to him, like rolling thunder during a downpour..

“Hmph.”, Fane huffed out again before jerking his head lightly to indicate that it was fine, but he could see how a serpentine jaw locked up instinctively. 

Solas frowned slightly at that before shifting a bit closer, not ignoring how the other tensed up even more as he let his palm rest against the seeping wound. 

To have such adverse reactions.. How much have you had to suffer due to my rashness? A heavy, crushing feeling bore down on Solas’s heart--it was like a spiked cage was closing in around it, threatening to puncture and leave him to bleed out. He did not know all of what happened surrounding the Herald’s early life, but he had witnessed the man’s sensitivity to magic, watched as a normally proud and dominating form crumbled into no more than weak shivers and suffocating retching. He had also, during a moment of childish weakness, caught glimpses of magically burnt, jagged patchwork scars along an uncommonly naked arm--the skin, for once, having been freed to breathe and scream. Solas had not been close enough to see more, at the time, but the severity, the deepness of those torn segments he had seen, and the fact that Fane’s body was covered neck to waist in leather wraps told him then that strong arms were not the only place such...familiar, but gruesome scars existed.

The scars upon his arms, and most likely his entire body… They are indicative of what his kin had endured, but how…? Solas felt his frown deepen further upon that thought before refocusing on the wound marring a porcelain visage, which was as hard as stone as it peered into his own. He would have to think on those aspects later. He would get no answers while Fane refused to speak to him, and it would do neither of them favors to speculate. 

Solas gingerly swiped a thumb along the crimson gash on Fane’s cheek, involuntarily hushing the man softly when a light hiss escaped tight lips. The wound would scar, no matter how much healing Fane would allow. It was deep, nearly piercing through the thin skin of a cheek, and Solas had done that. In self defense, yes, but he had still caused damage.

He had caused harm due to an inability to stay. away.

He must suffer another scar because I was blind. He cannot not wrap this one. He cannot hide it from sight to make its deepness feel more shallow. I have marked him, in two ways, and neither are kind.. The weighty thought flitted through his mind before Solas blinked as he felt and watched Fane lightly lean into his touch, gold glittering in emerald despite the dimness of the cave as those eyes narrowed a bit from both stinging pain of a wet wound and, dare he say, contentment from a century absent gesture. 

That had Solas’s smile turning sad as he absently stroked under a brilliant golden emerald eye, unphased by the two toned hue that encompassed a blackened pupil as it met his gaze unflinchingly. How had he not seen it before? The truth was always staring at him--figuratively and physically. Why had he averted his own gaze? To hide? To run? Or was it to protect? He knew not. However, he did know, from the way a warm, but crushing feeling wrapped around his entire soul was a truth that could never be denied for fear of justifiable rage--for fear of punishment for mistakes so grave as to render a vow completely moot.

“...I missed you.”, Solas whispered against his better judgement and earlier thoughts, watching as Fane’s pupil widened a bit before it trembled slightly with emotion, the emerald within the iris deepening to drown out brilliant gold. He had to close his eyes at that, a feeling of weightlessness and oncoming longing threatening to have him, too, drowning within emerald. “What am I saying? I have no right to have missed you, but I can’t.. No. I do not have the right..”, he murmured  in the next moment before lightly shaking his head, absently cupping Fane’s warm cheek more fully. 

There was no use dwelling upon his lack of foresight, for it was his own blindness that had shaded him from the truth--his own pride and fear. He had not wanted to believe there was hope, and he did not deserve to have such lofty ideas after what he had done. He deserved to wander about in darkness, happiers visions obscured while only ghostly apparitions haunted him beyond the Veil, clambering, clawing for a way out of the prison he had locked them in. This was nothing but a hopeful dream--one of many that constantly plagued him with falsities and--

“I missed you, too..”, a hoarse, exhausted, but distinct voice sounded, completely cutting off the wave of his thoughts to shove Solas’s mind back into reality before it came once again, quietly. “I’m sorry..”

Solas’s eyes shot open upon those words, ignoring the way he could feel the hand that rested upon Fane’s cheek trembling slightly to gaze into deep, deep emerald as it shook just as much with concealed emotion. No--no, this could not be real. He did not deserve for this to be real!

“Sorry? For what? I am the one that should be sorry..”, Solas stated with a deep frown, gaze flitting down to the hand that bore the Anchor--his magic. “I have shackled you without even rattling the chains before you myself. It is a sound you should never have known..”

Fane let out a tired sigh, shaking his head slowly with a tiny grimace. “You have never held them, Solas.”, he said before sighing again. “The chains were always there, and you weren’t the one to make me aware of their sound.”

“But the orb--the mark, it is..”

“Yours, I know, but it’s not the same. I remember the difference. Trust me.”, Fane said before leaning into his hand more. “I remember...everything. Well, mostly everything. Some parts are still fuzzy, but I know you, I know who or...what I am, I know the bond we held, and I know how I died..”

Solas couldn’t help but flinch at that last statement, almost retracting his hand until Fane reached up weakly to keep it in place. “Herald, I--”

The corner of Fane’s mouth twisted into a tired sneer. “Don’t recede into formality. I hate when you do that.”, he said before letting his hand fall back to the ground with a light thump. “Responding as if I’m a stranger to you is pointless.”

“How would you have me respond after all that has happened? Should I feel jubilant from the pain I have inflicted upon the world, upon my people--upon you? Should I ignore that all that has transpired and will transpire is my doing--my mistake?”, Solas questioned, a niggling of irritability born of mental exhaustion working its way into his voice. He was exceedingly growing weary due to not resting for more than several hours at a time, the two of them having to swap routinely for watch.

He watched Fane’s chest rise and fall heavily with another sigh before glittering eyes shut with equal weariness. Solas frowned at that. What had gotten into him? He was tired, yes, but so was Fane, and he had not just had his identity sundered like a torn blanket, only to be stitched back together again with completely different patchwork. He had also not just suffered having his mind nearly broken from magic so potent and so sickeningly familiar as to cause an age old frenzy to take hold without an ounce of hesitation. This whole ordeal was simply exhausting and unbelievable, even as proof practically...leaned against him?

Solas blinked, thoughts once again veering off a depressive trail as he felt a heavy, but warm weight resting itself on his shoulder. He turned his head a bit to see that Fane’s head had lulled forward to find a place to rest--eyes shut and snowy brows furrowed as if in some kind of discomfort.

“Fane..?”, he called out softly, tentatively reaching up to card a few fingers through snowy hair--the strands coated in a grey hue due to residual ash and dirt. 

Emerald made a reappearance as Fane cracked his eyes open, glancing up at him drearily before starting to shift as if to move away. “Sorry.. I was--”

Solas quickly, perhaps too quickly, shook his head, weaving his fingers into dirty hair to gently guide the other to stay put. He should not do this, but...he couldn’t help it. Against his better judgement, Solas let his own head come to carefully rest upon the side of Fane’s before he shut his eyes--an instant wave of contentment filling in the void of his soul.

“Rest. We will speak more of this at a better time.”, he commanded quietly, smiling a bit as he felt the other relax his tensed up form. “I can tell you are exhausted still.”

“So are you..”, Fane muttered, his voice rumbling pleasantly which had Solas letting out a quiet hum. How he had missed that sound, even when it had had no voice to go along with it..

“I will wake you in a few hours. I can manage until then.”, he said softly before absently stroking through silky strands of white. He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at the texture. How was it, that despite the grime and despairing ash, there was still a softened quality to the dragon’s hair? Perhaps that said something about Fane himself..

“Mm..”, a content hum reached Solas’s ears, the small smile upon his face growing by a fraction before he felt warmth and strength wrap around the rest of his body in the form of two tired arms. He tensed a bit before he realized what was happening; Fane was hugging him--holding him as if Solas would suddenly disappear..

He shifted his head a bit to gaze down at where Fane was resting against him, his heart growing tight upon a matching frown etched into a pale face. Oh, my dragon. I only cause you harm, so why do you continue to tempt more? And why can I not dissuade it? His mind questioned before his own arms came up to wrap around Fane’s shoulders, tangling a hand into snowy, short locks. 

He should not do this. He should not give false hope and promises to someone who deserved better, but it was like a tidal wave of longing, of yearning, and of grief had suddenly come crashing into him--slamming him against the rocks, wet and spent from fighting the tide. He wanted to drown in a sea of emerald and gold…

“Ma’isenatha..”, Solas whispered out the Elvhen without a shred of hesitation, even as his mind practically screamed for him not to. “Ma’isenatha..”, he said once more as he buried his face into Fane’s neck, the man’s own arms tightening around him to pull closer.

Obviously, there will have to be one hundred percent more context and soul searching, but I’m mainly just playing around with ideas of how both Solas and Fane will handle the situation. Like I’ve said before, I don’t see them avoiding each other, even with Solas constantly stating he’ll only cause Fane harm. Fane isn’t made of glass and Solas knows that, and he also knows that Fane has a place upon this particular chess board, but not as a pawn, but more along the lines of a rook or a knight. Fane’s involvement is essential to Solas, even if he’s not happy about it since it could end the same way it did before. It also helps that Fane is stubborn and as his abilities reawaken, he can back Solas into a corner to make the man face what he’s fearful of. That was Fane’s role as a dragon, after all. To guide emotion and unclog the dams of them so they could flow freely in a realm where emotion and imagination were the world’s very foundation. But again, this is just a concept of what could potentially happen after Haven, so it may change later on when I finally get there! 

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

In terms of my OCs, it’s obviously Fane since I can still find ways to evolve his character and add on to what I already have established. In terms of those not of my own creation, I would say Solas. He’s easy for me to write, to formulate thoughts about. I think it all boils down to the fact that, in a certain way, he and Fane are parallels. There’s evidence in canon, of course, to support the Inquisitor is a mirror for Solas, but I took that a bit further. I also wanted to explore the emotions, that I believe, Solas would showcase with someone he not only knew before the Veil was erected, but loved in a forbidden way. I will never tire of making Solas melt over Fane and vice versa. There’s not enough softness in the world, so I seek to rectify that! >:3

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

I’m a slut for symbolism. Yes, I said it, I’m a slut for it. The whole reason I have focused so heavily on eyes in my fics is because eyes are the gate way to the soul. Fane can see into that window with his abilities and even without them depending on how open a person is, and it allows him to properly communicate without offending. It’s more or less a way of saying, ‘If you just look at someone, truly look at them, then you don’t need words to understand them. You can see the pain, the happiness, the sorrow, the whispered love without ever uttering a single word.’ That’s the whole basis of Solas and Fane’s relationship, and how it even formed in the first place. I mean, how else do you think a Elvhen god and a dragon became friends, and then lovers? It took a lot, I’m not gonna lie, but Fane is Solas’s heart and Solas is Fane’s sky. A heart and sky don’t need words; they only need someone to listen to the beat or gaze upwards to the clouds. Fane and Solas from the start, as two elves, synchronize with each other as if their souls are greeting each other without their physical forms knowing. You might say, ‘Well, wouldn’t Solas clue in after watching Fane? Or wouldn’t he know from his eyes?” 

Yes and no. The eyes throw Solas off, but he doesn’t focus on them because the memory of them belonging to another is too painful. This is another way of me saying, ‘If you don’t face the truth, it will remain hidden to you, but the pain it harbors in its very shadows will not. It will stalk you, it will taunt you, and it will tear you apart from the inside until you look.’ Solas denies his heart, even as it beats before him, from a fear of foolish hopes being mere dreams, and a grief that is so aged from hands died with draconic blood and magical chains. Fane turns his potent gaze from the sky, even as blue eternity stretches before him with love and understanding, for fear of turning it grey as he is and trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care even though he cares so much. It’s tragic in its own way, but I visualize a happy ending or at least bittersweet one.

There’s also a very heavy focus on color, primarily grey. This is physical in some way to Fane, things look muted to him or take on a greyish hue, but overall, its how he views the world at present. It’s grey, not black and white. Same things happen for different reasons and sometimes neither of them are good and neither of them are bad. Fane views the world in grey because that’s how he feels on a daily basis. He’s grey because he doesn’t know who he is or what race he should answer to. His existence is not black and white and sometimes, he wishes it were because it would be easier to accept. Those feelings lessen over time as Fane reconciles with the fact that he’s a dual creature with experiences spanning two lifetimes and two races, but the world’s greyness doesn’t lessen for him because between all the political intrigue, war, corruption, and ignorance, there’s red, crimson. As much as grey can make Fane feel hollow and out of place, red is another ball game--a terrifying one that houses inevitability and every time a noble topples peasant and opponent alike for personal gain, every time a plain of nature is destroyed for expansion, every time magic is used as a dominating influence rather than a ritualistic one, every. time. a dragon is erased permanently from a world that sorely needs them, that angry hue paints Fane’s vision and hands where there was otherwise indifference. And once again, it is inevitable, those happenings simply spur it to climb faster and faster. What is it, you ask? Well, I think we all have an idea. 

****

Thank you for the ask and apologies for it being so loooong! You chose the question for me to ramble and I ramble ramble ramble! >:3

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Disability and Loren

@zarohk asked for my thoughts on a Disability Studies/Media Studies perspective on the disability depictions in Animorphs.  Which was foolish, because I’m teaching an entire dang class on the subject of superheroes and mental health, so I have Many Thoughts.  [PLEASE NOTE: I am nondisabled, so if I err, please tell me so.]

Loren’s role in #49: The Diversion does a lot of things right, and a lot of things wrong.  She incurs a traumatic brain injury that results in memory loss and blindness a couple of years after Tobias is born, and lives with said injury for about ten years before Tobias finds her and gives her the ability to morph, which restores her sight but not her memory.

A few places where I commend the depiction of Loren:

It gets into the massive underemployment of disabled Americans.  Loren is smart, canny, athletic, compassionate... and working a call center job in exchange for state benefits.  Said state benefits do not afford her a decent standard of living; Tobias notes that she has few possessions and almost no time for leisure activities.  Americans with disabilities are twice as likely to be unemployed as those without, and those who do have jobs are ten times more likely to be paid less than minimum wage, e.g. in sheltered workshops.

It shows how inaccessible a lot of systems are in the U.S.  Tobias notes that Loren accidentally grabs an expired quart of milk — because nothing on the label is printed in Braille.  Putting raised text and/or Braille on food packaging is a health and safety issue, one that the U.S. ignores even though it violates its own laws (e.g. the ADA) because companies tend to do what they want and “what they want” is usually not to spend more money on packaging.  The call center and bus system are both marginally more accessible, especially when Loren has Champ to help, but they’re still clearly spaces set up for sighted people that don’t take blind users into account very well.

It shows some of the workarounds that help deal with accessibility problems.  Loren’s house is set up so that there are clear paths to and from all of the relevant spaces.  She’s doing that to allow herself to move around comfortably in that space, because she’s made it accessible for herself.  She memorizes the layout of the local store, and uses that to get around as well.  All of those details help show that she’s adjusted, and actively interacting with her own circumstances.

It drives home the difference between service dogs and pets.  This distinction is extremely important, and it gets ignored all the time by entitled ableists who want to bring their pets into stores.  Tobias and Marco both assume from the outside that it can’t be that hard to become a service animal — just do what Loren says to do, right? — but it takes Tobias 0.02 seconds to realize that it’s not that simple and that he cannot imitate Champ’s lifetime of training on the fly.  He says that he manages to get his mom home in one piece, and that that’s about all that can be said for his sad performance as a guide.  Champ has skills like ignoring interesting smells and applying exactly the right amount of pressure to the harness that most pets don’t have and also most pets can’t learn.  Champ is not a pet, at least not while he’s in that harness; he’s a gainfully employed expert assistant.

It rounds Loren out as a character, and definitely does not just make her into a lesson or problem for Tobias.  Loren is gently humorous, tolerating her coworkers’ teasing and Ax’s attempted juvenile delinquency with an eye-roll.  She’s compassionate, listening to other people’s problems on the phone with genuine concern and not swatting flies if she doesn’t have to.  She’s tough-minded and stupidly brave, chucking rocks at Visser Three’s head and flying at attack helicopters as a three-pound bird.  She’s fallible, unable to support Tobias emotionally even when he asks her to do so and unwilling to check in on him after leaving him with her sister.  She’s a fully rounded person, one whose personality is informed but not defined by her disability.

It talks about some of the unromatic aspects of a Traumatic Brain Injury.  Too often in other works of fiction, we see a person get bonked over the head and wake up with no episodic memory but all other brain functions intact (*cough* Rachel in MM1 *cough*).  Loren actually gets into the fact that she forgot huge chunks of language, forgot how to brush her teeth, forgot how to walk across a room.  She obviously lost her sight as well, and she mentions lifelong balance and coordination problems.  Even her amnesia isn’t absolute — she has some traces of recall, but can’t make anything coherent of her impressions.  Her injury isn’t 100% realistic, but it’s more so than many TBIs we see in fiction.

It focuses on the intersection of disability and social class.  Tobias notes that Loren is under a compounded threat because of her inability to move to a more secure neighborhood and her obvious vulnerability.  He feels a lot of disgust with himself when he and Marco and Ax are harassing Loren, because it’s so clear that this isn’t the first time she’s been harassed.  Tobias understands that his experience with poverty as a nondisabled male minor is different from Loren’s for those reasons.

A few places where Loren falls into the common traps of implied ableism creeping into fiction, as written about in Narrative Prosthesis: 

She gets “cured.”  Loren falls into the “kill or cure” dichotomy, like most of the other disabled characters in Animorphs.  In her case, it’s that she gains the power to morph and in the process regains the ability to see.  It isn’t a complete cure, true — she still has no memory — but it means that she’s no longer blind for the rest of the series.  Having the occasional character no longer be disabled sometimes isn’t automatically problematic; having every disabled character get either “fixed” or killed off inherently treats the disabled body as a problem that needs to be solved, through sci fi nonsense if no other way is available.

She implies that she’d rather die than continue to be disabled.  When injured by dracon burns, Loren initially refuses to morph out even though Tobias tells her she’ll die if she remains a bird, because (they both assume) to morph out is to return to her blind human body.  This moment buys into the stereotype that it’s better to be dead than disabled, again inherently devaluing the lives of actual blind individuals.

There’s a certain amount of mystery around how she became disabled.  It’s interesting that we never actually get a definitive answer on that one — Loren says she was told it was a car crash, but there’s also an implication that she was attacked by controllers, and we don’t know for sure.  However, the fact of her disability is treated as an aberrant state that needs to be explained, the book inherently asking “why are you like this?”  By contrast (for instance) she doesn’t ask Tobias “why are you in the body of a hawk?”

She views herself as a burden, and the narration doesn’t do enough to contradict her.  Loren says that she couldn’t possibly be expected to raise a child while also blind and coping with a TBI.  Real blind people raise kids all the time, however, including blind single parents, and it’d be nice to see some evidence in the story that Loren’s assumption is wrong.  Loren also apparently assumes that she can’t begin to play a role in Tobias’s life even now that Tobias is more self-sufficient, again because she views herself as relatively helpless and non-contributing due to her disability.  There are some hints that she’s wrong, but we don’t really see her either begin to contribute to the resistance or build a relationship with Tobias until after she’s become un-blind.

Tobias’s view of Loren is often pitying.  As much as Loren doesn’t initially view herself as a potential maternal figure to Tobias, he doesn’t view her as a potential mentor either.  He repeatedly expresses horror or sadness at her life circumstances, and assumes that her life must be barren due to the spartan nature of her home.  (Of course, that begs the question of why the hell a blind woman living alone would ever bother hanging pictures on her walls or putting doilies on her coffee tables, but Tobias doesn’t consider that angle.)  Again, Tobias is allowed to assume that her life must be meaningless if she’s disabled, but it’d be nice to see some contradictory evidence in the form of her having close friends or inane hobbies or some other proof that to lead a disabled life is not to automatically lead a lonely one.

Loren expresses bitterness and desperate desire to be nondisabled.  Again, it’s fine for any character to say “I wish my life was different,” and it’s a common consensus among blind writers/bloggers that being blind is often a pain in the butt.  However, views as extreme as “you need vision to have a fulfilling existence” or “vision is part of what makes us human” are ableist crocks of shit.  Loren doesn’t go so far as to espouse those extreme views, but she also doesn’t seem to view herself as having a well-rounded life in spite of her disability.  It’d be nice to see Loren talking about sight as handy or enjoyable or a thing that the designers of 99% U.S. environments assume everyone must have, rather than a necessary precondition for a minimum standard of life.

Loren’s disability is somewhat medicalized.  Same caveat as above: disabilities are by definition medical things that some bodies do or have that other bodies do not.  However, discussing disability primarily through “this is how your body is different from Implied Normal of Nondisabled Body” and focusing on doctor’s notes, diagnoses, physical differences, etc. can serve to disconnect the lived experience of the individual from their body.  It also tends to focus on the ways that the body is “the problem” rather than focusing on the ways that environments and attitudes are problematic, which then prevents anyone from asking hard questions about the environments and attitudes.  Loren’s doctor’s note, discussion of scarring and loss, and repeated physical descriptions are somewhat more medical than social.  It’d be nice to see a little more emphasis on the social factors that make blindness a disability (e.g. improperly labeled milk), and less on “your eyes are different from those of Implied Normal Nondisabled Person.”

[kidmachinate]

Rising Up From The Fatal Fall

I look back and wonder...when did this turn into a more sad or depressing place of sorts...this also comes with the thought that things cannot be good all the time. You're always gonna have that great relationship with RNGesus. You're not gonna have that good run in your rougelike of choice. Eventually you will though. The process at times can be extremely painful. It can possibly be even more painful watching others run into brick walls. This is turn can and will lead you to do the same.

Detaching from anyone and everyone isn't the best course of action but I also know there are others who can relate to simply being there, being temporary, or on a healing journey to figure out the best ways to move forward. It isn't so dark if people reach out for trust, inspiration, or believe in what you have to offer. There is always a silver lining to a journey that can feel very much unsatisfying. Enforcing the above allows what happens to happen without trying to force any outcome.

We're all free souls at the end of the day and should praise the days in which we can keep going. Even if we check out mentally and take that fatal fall, there is hope, and you can make your comeback. Get quiet and patch up loose ends for your personal progress. The close ones will understand. Friends and family that you've been close with for years or even just days, seniority means nothing. You'll just know. As stupid as Myspace top 8 was, we all do it. Maybe even less.

I can't pretend things are always great but I won't get wrapped up enough in the negativity to cease progress. It doesn't always have to be a life changing thing like a new house, car, or job. It could be waking you one day and telling yourself or seeing a key phrase that says to you, this is who I am and how I want to press forward. You can be positive while still having a firm understanding that things can and will suck. Don't drown in your own home. If you do, you're in trouble. Be where you can get quiet in your own head until you can emerge with a good story after the fact to tell the right people that can appreciate it. Most importantly, you can back some self respect and understand you can accomplish more than you thought before doing what you accomplished.

I'm tired. Both mentally and physically more than ever. I'm still not giving up. Not even sure why entirely at this point...but I won't. We don't always need all the answers or to have it figured out and somewhere in the healing journey things will make sense again. Helping with without hurting...because you won't always get loved back and that's okay. Give freely because you want to. Not because it is expected from any given person.

This isn't a different post after all, is it? I thought I went quiet to then turn around with something better. I feel the context here is different. Less desperate and/or depressed, while definitely feeling it still. Dealing with instead of reacting to. Maybe it's just the tiredness talking.

We all get silent from time to time. I get that. With some, I even see it too. A benefit to the silence. Pay attention to who notices and then go back to your personal life focus. Praise the sun.

[chainofclovers]

This Way Up season 2 thoughts and feelings

We finished watching the second season of This Way Up last night (watched it in two sittings over Friday and Saturday) and I liked it a lot more than I thought I would though the season did feel uneven at times. The story also made me feel incredibly, incredibly sad, and my brain is so cluttered with thoughts that I'm not sure I'll be able to actually make sense of the show if I don't just go on and share my impressions, as scattered, self-indulgent, and based on the limited memory of a single viewing as they are.

Where was I when I was watching this season of television?

Physically, I was on the couch with my wife, repeatedly remembering and forgetting that the Olympics were happening. And so, interspersed with this deep dive into the mental health and personal and professional challenges of London-based Irish sisters Áine and Shona, I experienced some archery, skateboarding (those bros honestly seem tooooo cool to even want to come to something as embarrassingly earnest as the Olympics, but good for them!), and men's gymnastics.

Mentally, I was contemplating some significant professional (and, yes, personal in their way) life events that are neither here nor there for tumblr dot com. I was also considering the season two premiere of Ted Lasso and my fannish relationship to that show. For it is true--the person I was while watching season 1 of This Way Up is not the same person who watched season 2 this weekend, because in the meantime a 45-year old white man from Kansas (and every person he knows) managed to become my primary media preoccupation, and I am surprisingly chill about how not chill I am about this anxiety-ridden ray of sunshine/football coach (both footballs). But as we all know, being chill does not mean feeling chill. That make sense?

Anyway. This Way Up. It's about to become a mess of spoilers and feelings in here, so venture behind the cut if you dare!

For Obvious Queer Reasons I was extremely curious to find out what happens between Shona and Charlotte and Shona and Vish. As such, while it was uncomfortable to watch, I think my favorite scene in the whole season is when Shona and Vish have video chat sex and Shona has this intrusive memory of sleeping with Charlotte that feels like the ONLY moment in the entire season that she isn't performing or editing herself in some way.

My other favorite moment is when Charlotte talks about how upsetting it is to feel like a "lesson learned" chapter in Shona's autobiography.

I cannot believe I'm about to type these words, but I think the writing on this show might actually put too much trust in viewers to pick up on things. I know, this never happens! This is my dream! Why am I typing this? But hear me out. I think there are a lot of interesting parallels in terms of whether Shona and Vish (established, engaged, committed) and Áine and Richard (new, taboo [but is it really that crazy that she ends up dating the dad of someone she tutors?], exploratory) are truly able to listen to each other and accept each other's needs. It's about honesty or lack thereof, and it's also about what's really happening inside someone's mind. It's such an incredible moment when Richard tells Áine he likes that she's always so "up" and she has this private moment where you can see this heartbreak in her eyes because of course we know that she really struggles with her mental health and with depression. And I like that the show has both Bradley and Charlotte in the position of being on the overlapping outside of those relationships, offering their own wisdom from a place of really, really caring about Áine and Shona. But I just wanted MORE of that. This episodes are so short, and I needed there to be more of a tight story about those parallels, more of a sense that we'd hurtle towards some kind of revelation by episode 6.

I realize this is a thing about UK shows, but these seasons are just too short. The episodes are like 24 minutes long and there are only six of them and I felt that while you could create an effective season of TV with those constraints, this season jumped between scenes too frequently. I wanted to live in the scenes for longer. I didn't want to feel like I was watching the editing and decisions about what to show happen before my eyes.

If season 3 happens, my second biggest dream is that Bradley and Áine can have a conversation following up from the observation that it would be nice to be with someone they're just comfortable with (spoken while they're slumped on the couch together having one of the warmest conversations two characters share all season). My biggest dream is that Shona and Charlotte can have a respectful conversation about how Shona defines her sexuality. I want Shona to be safe explaining if she'd want to use the term bisexual or queer or pan or even lesbian or some combination of those terms. Not because the labels are the most useful thing, but because in this case it would be incredibly useful for her to force herself to choose some words, not in the context of feeling Vish-related pressure. To be brave enough to describe herself, and to be safe enough to know that Charlotte isn't going to make some snide comment about men. It's totally fair that Charlotte is so hurt, but she needs to be able to listen, too.

I do think this season does an incredible job capturing Shona's intense ambivalence about herself, and how she is SCRAMBLING to deflect from that by focusing on her sister, work, family, wedding-planning, the hen do, basically anything but dealing with her own little brain and heart. I mean, when COVID starts to arrive in their lives, it feels like she really wants Vish's asthmatic uncle to be the golden ticket they need to call off the wedding.

I have mixed feelings about how frequently Áine references the feeling of being an actor or the feeling of experiencing things as someone might in a movie or show or the feeling that someone else is treating her as an actor or character rather than as a real person. I think it's an interesting thing to write about, but upon first watch I struggled to figure out if it was a commentary on the other parts of the story or an additional thread Aisling Bea wanted to weave into an already incredibly short season of TV.

It was very jarring to have a COVID plot. The only mainstream media I've seen so far with a COVID plot is--LOL (to quote Áine, who says LOL so many times this season)--the final scene of the Saved By the Bell remake. Again I say LOL!!! I didn't hate it or love it, necessarily, I just thought it felt strange because we're still in the pandemic and everything is strange.

Everything with Tom was so, so, so painful. I don't know if I can even get into it. I just felt visceral devastation and was hurtled into strong memories about people in my own life who died prematurely. (Suicide but not only suicide.) The way the last scene ended felt like--immediate tears just pulled from my eyes without me even realizing what was happening. And God, the way Tom-in-the-flashback calls her a "soppy cunt" (I think?) and we realize Áine used those exact words to jokingly refer to Richard's previous girlfriend who was a human rights lawyer? GOD.

While Áine and Shona don't really engage with each other in the same way my sister and I do, my sister and I are also really, really close and I'm the older sister and watching this show always gives me a lot of emotions about siblings. This is actually part of why the rapid scene cuts and feeling that they both were leaving so much unarticulated stressed me out. Áine nails it at the end when Shona has finally told her about Charlotte and she says Shona needs to tell her more, but I wanted to SEE that conversation happen. I wanted to FEEL Áine's reaction, because Áine's reaction matters more than Vish's or their mother's or anyone else's. It was frustrating!

I dunno, y'all. I really love this show. I think it is exactly what it wants to be. I could not tell you today if I will ever rewatch it even though I (think I) still consider it a favorite. I honor and respect the fundamental messiness and pain and hilarity of this show. What a wild experience.

[mbti-notes]

Hi mbti-notes, I hope you're doing well. I am an INFP young black American and the past few weeks have been such a nightmare. I obviously support the protests that have been taking place but I feel so hopeless at the same time. I've never been a fan of this country but the past few weeks have at least provided me with more clarity and conviction that there is nothing to be salvaged here. I have a friend who's also black but lives in europe and even we're at a loss for what to say to each (con't)

[con’t: other. I feel so angry and disgusted. I remember learning that as a part of anti-US propaganda during the Cold War, they’d show how black people have been treated in America and be like “this is how they treat their own people”. I’m not saying I support the USSR of course but it surprised me to hear that in the eyes of other countries, we’re as American as anyone else. It never felt that way. People can’t even protest police brutality without being faced with more police brutality. I’ve donated to bail funds, signed petitions, contacted my representatives about a piece of legislation that would help combat the issue of missing and murdered indigenous women but...I think the closest thing there is to a solution is for another Great Migration but this time, we just leave America. I feel bad saying that because obviously so many people don’t have the means to do so and it shouldn’t have to come to this but nobody wants us here. If the black panthers...]

It seems that tumblr disappeared the rest of your message, but I've read enough to detect some problematic thinking. It’s not about whether you’re “wanted”, it’s about the fact that you have a right to exist and be treated as human, equal to every other human under the law. It is beyond the scope of this blog to address politics and write political commentary. This blog primarily addresses individuals and how they cope with their circumstances. I won’t be able to understand all the experiences that you’ve had as a black American given such a short message from you. All I can do is bring to light your attitude and beliefs and how they affect your ability to cope and thrive in life. 

Developmentally, irrational pessimism is always something that INFPs should be vigilant about due to Fi-Si loop and the struggle to develop Ne big-picture thinking skills. There is certainly lots of injustice in the world, but this doesn't mean that there isn't also a lot of good in the world. There are many good people out there doing good things, otherwise, you’d have nothing to donate money to. There are also a lot of decent people who understand that racism is a big problem but don’t know what to do about it. Yet your mind is only ever trained on the pain and suffering - this indicates Fi extremes. I have a longstanding habit of observing how different people respond to challenges in life. For example, I see some black Americans out there protesting, some are educating people, some are attacking people, some are sowing anarchy, some are running for office, some are giving up, some are hiding, some are writing, some are leading legislative initiatives. Black Americans as a group share the burden of racism, but each person handles it in their own way. What is your response and why?

You focus on the problems, drowning in negative feelings, and perhaps even look for evidence to reinforce the belief that everything is irredeemable (misuse of Si), which means that you lack a big picture perspective. For your own well-being, perhaps you need to make wiser decisions about how you spend your time, where you focus your energy, and with whom you associate. Otherwise, you are only ever a victim of circumstance, bending and breaking with every gust of wind. If there are things/people in your life that exacerbate your tendency to be negative, it's up to you to adjust your decision making so that you are not always surrounded by the negative. Just as you keep physically healthy by not eating crap food, you should keep mentally healthy by not feeding yourself a constant diet of emotional negativity. For example, people tend to be much more pessimistic when they spend too much time on social media or consuming political commentary that is designed to be emotionally provocative. Perhaps there are healthier ways to spend your time. Whether you followed this or that tweet is of little significance if it only ends up with you feeling miserable.

With respect to moving: There are a variety of methods to measure the health and well-being of a society, and it's natural to think about how your country stacks up against others. Different societies have their own character and excel at different things. However, it's important to remember that there is no society without problems. Some countries are better at hiding their problems than others. Europe is no paradise, as there have been long running problems with colonialist and xenophobic attitudes. American society tends to be very extraverted and media driven, so its problems are often hanging out there for all to see, which might make them seem a lot worse than they really are.

Each aspect of society, whether you think it is positive or negative, is the result of a trade-off. For example, people often respect the U.S. for its staunch commitment to free speech, which allows for marginalized voices to be heard. But the trade-off is that you may get a more noisy and toxic social environment, as all voices get elevated and amplified. The question for you, as an individual, is whether the trade-offs are worth it for the kind of life that you would like to live. With the example of free speech, I’d rather have free speech, so I’m willing to tolerate all the noise and accept it as the cost of doing business. Nobody can make these sorts of judgments for you, as you are the best person to decide what's best for you. Thus, I'm not sure what to tell you. I only remind people that the decision making process works best when you give proper consideration to EVERY side of an issue, as opposed to being myopic, extreme, or one-sided.

Right now, there is a lot of frustration and anger floating around. Being so emotional basically means being myopic, as you are hyperfocused on the things that make you sad or angry. This will blind you to everything else. When you lose sight of the positive, Ne might start to believe that the grass is greener elsewhere. There's no denying that the problem of racism against black people runs very deep in American society, all the way back to the founding of the nation on the backs of slaves. But are you denying that progress has been made?

When people use the word "progress" in relation to history, they mainly refer to how things changed for the better. I think people too often forget that progress almost always comes at a steep COST. Society doesn’t change because people miraculously get “enlightened” en mass. No. People suffer, things get mangled, blood is shed, and there is a period of intense pain and sacrifice - these details tend to get glossed over in history classes as hindsight and nostalgia take over. Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin. Thinking that you can create something new and better without destroying what is old and obsolete is wishful thinking. To be clear, I'm not advocating destruction; I'm only saying that, in reality, you cannot escape destruction, as it is a necessary stage in the process of creation. If you are unlucky, you get to live during "interesting" times. But, viewed from a bigger perspective, it also means that you get to live during a time when you have a chance to make a difference and what you do matters. From this perspective, being alive right now is better than living during a time of being forced into accepting the status quo, is it not?

What is society other than the people comprising it? Societal problems are analogous to psychological problems in that they are deep-seated, long-running, festering, recurring, and difficult to resolve. I believe that there is a qualitative shift in attitude right now. It doesn't mean that racism will suddenly get fixed once and for all, but I've not seen such widespread attention and commitment to the problem in a long time. It actually gives me hope. I have older friends who've remarked that they suddenly feel transported back to the unrest of the 1960s. IMO, it means that another period of progress is on the horizon, but it also means that a time of intense turmoil is here. It seems that you focus on the turmoil and miss seeing the openings and opportunities for change.

Another thing that INFPs should always be vigilant about is a shaky relationship to reality and/or being unable to tackle problems in a realistic way (i.e. poor Ne and Te development). Reality contains everything, including the good and the bad, so it’s no use to try to pretend that one or the other doesn’t exist. You will always make better decisions by taking BOTH the good and the bad into consideration. Some INFPs get stuck in trying to wish away the bad, and some drown in the bad and disconnect from everything good. 

Just as a child picks up a mix of psychological issues from their parents, as a member of society, your identity is forged through your relationship to your society's (problematic) history. I don't see how a "great migration" is any solution. Don’t forget that technology has made our world significantly smaller, so it’s a lot harder to distance from these problems. As long as you carry the scars of your home, no matter where you go, unresolved pain will continue to haunt you and hurt you. There is historical evidence that utopian thinking never leads to anything resembling a utopia. Utopian thinking is what people resort to when they are incapable of confronting the problems of reality. When it comes to human psychology, there is no way to wipe the slate completely clean without confronting and addressing the mistakes and sins of the past - this is what social unrest is meant to achieve. To believe that you can/should “start from scratch” is often a sign of Te grip in INFPs, as they want to violently wipe out the accumulated burdens of Si loop. 

Perhaps there are benefits for you, as an individual, to move away, as you might find happiness in a different sort of life. But what happens when the advocates give up and walk off? At the societal level, good people moving away only leaves the bad actors to wreak havoc on the poor and innocent. Certainly, some individuals do move away and successfully build a better life for themselves. However, some people move away only to discover that they miss home dearly, and they end up roaming aimlessly, lonely, miserable, bitter, or disappointed. What separates the two groups? You will find a better life when you know exactly what you're looking for and you're realistic about whether the new place will meet those terms and conditions. You will NOT find a better life if you're merely running away from unhappiness, fueled by wishful thinking that the grass is greener "anywhere but here". It's up to you to be honest about what's happening with you.

[physcoticfrog]

I had done a drabble with my friend, so uhh here you go.

Keiji Akaashi x reader

Warnings: uhh (major?) Character death, angst angst ANGST

Live for him

---

It had been years since the outbreak. You’d lost track of days, time, what year. The only person you had come across, however, did. You looked over at his makeshift calendar. It was easy to read because his handwriting was so beautiful and perfect. Apparently it had been 4 years. “Are there any other stores we haven’t gone to yet that still have good food?” You asked him.

“I don’t know. As far as I can tell, the closest one is about a 45 minute walk to there.” He stated. You had let out a loud groan.

“Oh come onnn there has to be some that are close than that”.

He rolled his eyes, “(y/n) we’ve been over this. The one that’s nearest to us is already out of unexpired food.”

“Whatever”. You stated. After talking it through, you guys went to the store. You were already extremely tired from the walk because of the lack of water. “Wait what do we need?” You asked Akaashi for the hundredth time. He didn’t answer you and just started walking around the store. “Or ignore me.. that works too.” On the way back, though, you were attacked.

All of the morphed, barely even human anymore, creatures had started trying to get to you two. They were attracted to human flesh. That virus had changed basically everyone, and it killed those whose bodies couldn’t support it. As far as you and Akaashi knew, you two were the only ones left in the world. There was no communication or anything. It was surreal. However, right now you had to focus on the task at hand. You pulled out your pistol, and also made you knife easier to grab.

Akaashi on the other hand, had a bow and arrow in his hand. That was always how it worked. You would handle close combat, he would handle the ones that were at a distance. The sounds of growling, gunshots, and arrows cutting through the air surrounded you two. And as soon as no more were in sight, you both picked up the grocery bags and made a run for it. After running for so long, you both slowly walked through the door heaving and as soon as Akaashi locked the door, you both were in your rooms ready to pass out. Sleep, however, doesn’t come so easy.

You had to deal with the constant growling of those creatures, which you and Akaashi just decided to call zombies. You two had to learn all you could about these zombies. What they ate, when and if they slept, what happens when they don’t get food, the physical build and weaknesses. If they didn’t have their fill of food they would end up eating each other. The weakest always goes.

You ended up having to just try and fake sleep until your mind decided to agree with your body. When you woke up, you didn’t immediately get up. You were thinking about what you dreamt about. It was about you and Akaashi. Being able to dance in the rain under the moonlight, without a worry. There wasn’t a smell of rot, you didn’t have to be scared. It was how the world used to be.

But why Akaashi? You weren’t in any sort of relationship, and you didn’t have feelings for him. Did you?

You forced yourself up and put on the pair of clothes that you washed yesterday. But, after you explored through the house to find Akaashi, he wasn’t anywhere. ‘He probably went out to get something’ you thought to yourself. After what you thought was an hour or so, he came back. You turned around from your spot on the dusty couch to face him.

“Where’d you go?” You asked, tilting your head for emphasis.

“I got you something.” He responded.

“Wellll what’d ya get?” You started tilting your head side to side. And then he threw something at you. “HEY! What was that for” you asked angrily.

“Just look at it.” He said to you. When you looked down you were surprised.

“A chocolate bar? Where’d you find it!?” You asked him, getting up from the couch to walk to him. “I looked in every store. Its a little under six months expired, you had been craving it, weren’t you?”You stared at him dumbfounded. And then you felt a blush overtake your cheeks. Did you actually have feelings for him? Maybe.

“T-Thanks Akaashi.” That made your’s and his eyes widen. You had never stuttered in front of him before. EVER. In the 3 years of you two living together. He just chuckled a little bit. You smiled. You’ve felt romantic feelings for him but never this strong before. Did you… love him?

No. No. NO. That’s all wrong. He’ll become like them. And if you love him, you won’t be able to kill him if need be to save yourself. You cannot love him. Ever. Even if you do, you can never ever admit it. It’ll be over in a second and it’ll just hurt more if you tell him.

----

It had been a week since you came to the realization that you loved him. Time seemed to move so slow without him and so fast with him. It seemed so tranquil, and so peaceful.

While you were on a walk that day, you found an old radio in one of the houses you were trying to search. You played around with the buttons a bit, and then realized it needed batteries. Without thinking too much about it, you went to an old corner store that was right across the street. Once you scanned it and made sure it was safe, you walked in. It was so old, the doors were squeaky and it smelled like old socks. But, walking up to the small counter, you found a pack of batteries. You looked at the ones in the old radio and found they were the same ones.

Walking back out into the safe daylight, you changed the batteries with the screwdriver you keep with you. After changing the batteries, you started messing with the buttons again. Only this time, it actually worked. You shifted through the stations that still played the old music, and walked back, turning it off in order to save the battery life.

“Yo! Akaashi! Come here, I found something.” You yelled out at him. You could hear him grumble as he got out of bed.

“(Y/n) its like 7 in the morning.” He emphasized with a yawn. You rolled your eyes and chuckled.

“Akaashi, we’ve been over this. I don’t care about time. Its stupid to care anymore.”

“Whatever. What is it you wanted to show me?” He asked you.

“Oh! Yeah that.” You said, taking your bag off your shoulder. “I found this old radio from one of the houses down the road near the corner shop. It still works too!” You even turned it on and played some of the songs with a huge grin on your face.

“I’m glad you enjoy it, I really am, but can I go back to bed now?” He stated. Your face dropped.

“Yeah sure, whatever.” You said back. But you really were disappointed. You wanted to go through the stations and see which ones you remember or were the best stations to listen to. But, if he wanted his sleep, it wasn’t really your place to control it.

As night fell, it was a perfectly full and bright moon. It had been a while since you had been outside at night. But, with Akaashi’s help, you two built a fence that was over 6 1/2 feet tall, so it was pretty much safe. So you got up, grabbed the small red radio, and went to Akaashi’s room. You knocked on the wall, “Hey, you wanna go outside with me? Its a full moon and its pretty bright..” You said, messing with the radio.

“Sure.” He stated and put on his shoes. You two walked to the backyard through your back door, and it was so refreshing. It was the perfect temperature, and the moon was bright enough to keep the zombies indoors.

You two sat down, just enjoying each other’s company, while you shifted through the stations. Luckily, you did go through the stations that played, and went for the one that had the best love songs. After a while, you got cold, to the point where you were shivering. So, as you started to stand up, you said “I think I’m going to go inside, its getting cold.”

Akaashi seemed to have other plans. He grabbed your arm as soon as you stood up, and stood up with you. “Don’t go.” He said. “Please.” He said, basically pleading. You nodded and stayed with him, both of you standing up and facing each other. He had one of your arms in one hand, and your left hand was enveloped in his right hand.

A song you had found very familiar started playing. You smiled a bit and giggled, “I used to love this song. It was my favorite.” And that’s when Akaashi realized. He loved this. He loved seeing your smile, hearing your laugh, seeing the way your features had glown in the moonlight. He loved.. you. He started swaying to the beat of the song, shifting his left hand than was on your arm to your waist. You looked up at him, seeing his beautiful eyes looking down at you with pure adoration.

--

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked him. He just shook his head and smiled. You had gotten comfy, and played your head down to rest and closed your eyes. You were humming the words gently. Once the song was over, you looked up at him. “Akaashi…” You thought through your next words carefully. “Keiji.. I love you. More than I think words can even express.” You told him. You felt his grip on your waist tighten.

“I.. I love you too. But you know I can’t.” Sadness was laced through his voice. But even though you could tell he didn’t want to hurt you, you still had tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. “(Y/n).. please don’t cry..” He said, and you rain from the back door to the front, and walked out into the road, still crying.

You were in the road when he came up to you. “Hey.. It’s ok. I promise. I love you. I really do. Ok? I just don’t you to have to go through the pain when I have to go.” You looked at him, confusion evident on your face.

“You say that as if you’re gonna die right now.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Even though he did. He got bitten. The day you guys were attacked, one bit him before you pried it off of him and killed it. But, if he knew anything, it was how to prolong his life even more without dying. He wanted to be there for you. “(Y/n) I need you to promise me something.” You nodded your head, signaling him to continue. “I need you to kill me if I ever do become one. I can’t have you die with me. Please.” He told you. This caused you to cry more.

“I can’t live without you. Akaashi we are the only ones alive right now. I need you.” You told him. He nodded his head.

“I know. But if I become one of those.. monsters who can’t even feel anything, I can’t have you go down with me. Please, (y/n).. If you love me, please live for me. And I’ll live for you.” You both were now crying, and Akaashi engulfed you in a hug.

You laughed a bit. “Can I call you Keiji now?” You asked, still hugging him. He nodded. He started crying more, because he truly meant what he said. He didn’t want to leave you. He wanted to love you and care for you. “Got the music in you baby tell me why” you whisper sung while holding his head in your lap.

It had been two months now. And his bite was becoming infected. He still was maintaining it though. You two had gone out to buy food again, and it had become a habit to bring your radio with you. Singing in the street was your favorite thing now. And it had become Keiji’s favorite thing to hear. He began to treasure these moments, knowing his time was coming quick. You guys walked into the store, “Keijiii what are we getting?” And like always, he walked off to get the food without answering your question, leaving you standing at the door.

Suddenly though, you heard him scream out in pain. “KEIJI!” You yelled, running frantically around the store to find him. However, when you found him, he had already morphed, baring his now extremely sharp teeth at you. “Keiji..no”. You couldn’t believe it. But you made a promise. You had never intended to keep it, but now was a life or death situation. You had to live. For him at least. You pulled your gun out, aimed, and you were crying. “I love you, Keiji..”. And then you pulled the trigger.

After you had shot him, he immediately fell down, and his body started to morph again. It looked a lot more like him again, and you were crying. You then noticed the song that was playing. You were crying so much, your voice was so shaky. “Got the music in you baby tell me why” you whisper sung while holding his head in your lap. “You’ve been locked in here forever and we just can’t say goodbye” (idk if these are the right lyrics don’t judge me). You skipped the net few lines, just rocking back and forth with Keiji, constantly checking if he’s breathing. “Your lips my lips” you started singing again, more tears rolling down your face. “Apocalypse.” “Your lips my lips.. apocalypse.” “Don’t go Keiji.. please.” You wailed out.

He looked up at you. “I love you. Please..” He took a breath, “Live for me.” He said. He layed there, and you watched the life drain from his eyes.

You cried out, yelled, screamed, anything. And soon, you heard footsteps. You didn’t care though. You wanted Keiji to live. But, someone, a living being found you.

“(Y/n)?” He asked. The voice was so familiar. “Oh my god. Akaashi…” He said. You finally turned your head to look at him. It was Bokuto. You hadn’t seen him since the outbreak started.

“You’re still.. alive?” You asked. He nodded his head.

“We need to go. There are still more alive.” He said. You nodded your head and let him help you up off the floor. And then he took you away. But, its what you need to do to survive. And you need to survive. To live. For him. For Keiji Akaashi.

---

Here it is ajdjsihdjej but uhh yeah. Apocalypse bye cigarettes after sex is the song.

[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch7)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom's memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom's past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

(I'll put the links to chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6 in a reblog!! I also have a version of this fic with all the chapters in one place!!)

Notes: Was that the fastest I've posted a next chapter, without having it written ahead of time? I think it might be!!

It definitely helped that two scenes were directly from the book XD But still, I was shocked by how fast this got done!

By the way, I realized there was something important I should probably have occur in the previous chapter, that I didn't include, so please note something will be added in at some point! I finished this chapter before I edited the last one so it's not there yet XD I'll let you know at the start of the next chapter if I edited it in.

I also realized I did not mention Fawkes hanging out in the office in other chapters XD, so I'll probably have to edit that back in too, haha!

Comments are always extremely appreciated!! And do let me know if you'd like me to add you to a tag list for this fic!!

Chapter 7:

There was the sound of Dumbledore’s chair scraping against the floor as he stood abruptly.

“Now I must apologize.” Though still solid, his voice had lost its pleasantness, now it had an edge. “Severus.” The word was sharp, “I cannot allow you to treat a student this way.”

The two stared at each other, and it was as if they were having a conversation in simple glances. Snape seemed to lose the silent argument, because he sighed and said in a clipped way, not looking at Tom.

“My apologies. I lost my composure.”

When Harry looked at Tom he saw that, behind the adult’s backs, his lips were curving into a smirk.

He wasn’t even really upset, was he? He’d have every right to be upset by a scene such as this, but in the end…he was just happy to see Snape get in trouble.

Harry and Snape had rarely, if ever, been on the same side, and the muting spell, while he admitted was necessary—(number of things flared to his tongue that he was glad he wasn’t capable of saying)—didn’t give him any fondness for him…yet it seemed for a brief moment, they were united. But he wouldn’t say he was the least bit opposed to Snape’s treatment of Riddle.

He had expected Snape to be his usual collected self, even favor Riddle the way he did Malfoy—they’d suspected on more than one occasion he was in league with Voldemort. Seeing the hatred in his eyes for Riddle made Harry take a step back, both physically and mentally.

“Thank you.” Dumbledore sat back down.

Tom said nothing, his eyes fixed on Snape, intent set in them. “You must really hate me.” He said the words like he relished the idea. “What did I do?” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve killed a girl, so there must not be much I can’t do.”

The teachers’ eyes widened, and they looked at each other.

“You didn’t kill her.” Dumbledore cleared his throat.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “I thought Harry here made that rather clear.”

“Harry thought you did. But this is magic of course. I am able to deduce from the information you have given me; it was in fact another force working through you through that diary. Destroying the diary severed your ties with that force, but also cost you your memories.”

Harry wondered what Dumbledore’s aim was. He had killed Ginny, they both confirmed it.

“How would you know this from just a bit of information?” Tom scoffed.

“Because I’ve dealt with such forces on more than one occasion—even this specific one before. This one is a particular nuisance.”

After a moment of silence Dumbledore spoke:

“Professor Snape. Will you kindly take Mr. Riddle to Madam Pomfrey?”

“Sir?”

“Well, the boy has suffered a loss of memory, he ought to stay in the hospital wing until we get all this sorted. There should be a few empty beds now that the petrified students have been cured. “Also…” he interrupted them as they turned to leave, and something sad indeed entering his gaze. “Send the Weasleys to me, will you?”

Harry’s stomach gave a painful jolt at the name.

As the two left—(rather stiffly)—Dumbledore flicked his wand, lifting the muting curse Snape had placed on Harry.

Harry drew in a great gasping breath.

“Thank you, professor.” He heaved.

“Don’t mention it, Harry. I don’t imagine that was very pleasant”

“No.” Harry replied, making faces, just glad to have use of his lips again.

“Did Professor Snape force you to drink the truth serum, Harry?”

“Actually…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I drank it myself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I must say, that was not an answer I was expecting. May I ask if you had a reason?”

“You told me to tell Snape every detail of what happened, but I…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I couldn’t. Every time I tried to say something he’d interrupt, or I couldn’t get it out…it was the only way.”

“I’m sorry you had to resort to such measures, Harry. I only meant that he ought know a good potion of what happened, not every detail. I think, in fact, knowing every detail resurrected old grudges for Severus.” He looked towards the door.

“It’s alright. I won’t say it wasn’t fun to watch. …I’ve never seen Snape like that…Why does Snape have a grudge against Voldemort?”

“It is not not my place to tell you.”

“Like he’d ever tell me.” Harry scoffed, then froze, eyes wide, worried he was about to get in trouble.

Dumbledore gave a small smile, “I can see why precautions were necessary.”

Harry smiled sheepishly.

“But, no,” Dumbledore replied. “I don’t imagine he will.

“I apologize if that was rather difficult to watch. I wanted you to be here. I thought you deserved to hear our conversation.”

“Thanks.”

“Sit down, Harry.” He gestured to the chair in front of him.

He was about to sit down, but paused. He knew it was silly, but he didn’t like the idea of sitting in the chair the young Voldemort had just sat in.

Dumbledore smiled a little. “Sit.”

Slowly he lowered himself into the chair, sitting on as little of it as possible.

“First of all, Harry, I want to thank you.” He stroked the phoenix, witch had fluttered down onto his knee. “You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you.”

“…Fat lot of good it did me.” He didn’t mean to say it aloud.

“Oh, I think it did a great deal of good. Who knows how things would have gone without that. One thing I know would have gone differently is you likely would have had great deal of trouble getting out of the chamber. Fawkes is the one who flew you out, is he not?”

There was a long moment where they sat in silence, before Harry spoke:

“I couldn’t save her.”

Dumbledore looked up.

“I couldn’t save her.” He continued. “She was lying on the floor, helpless, and he was taking her life force. Next thing I knew she was dying, and he was coming back…” his voice became a pained whisper.

“It’s not your fault, Harry.” Dumbledore said earnestly. “More practiced wizards than yourself have been unable to save their friends and family from Voldemort. Her death is not on your hands.”

Harry paused, fidgeting with his hands, looking away.

“I could have killed him. When he came back he was lying on the floor unconscious…I could have…I bet most people would have. But I didn’t…I couldn’t…” he stammered, then looked up. “Why couldn’t I?!”

Dumbledore stood and sat on the desk in front of Harry. “Something people often don’t tell you, is sometimes it takes just as much courage to spare a life than to take it, often more. It may be strange to hear, but, I think it may be a very good thing that you didn’t.”

“How?”

“Let me ask you something…do you think Lord Voldemort deserves a second chance?”

Harry thought a moment; he thought of the of the man who killed his parents. Then the boy that had been before him, the one who had told him he was Voldemort, set the snake loose, and nearly killed him, and did kill—

“Honestly, professor? No, I don’t think so.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s very understandable. Then let me ask you something else…Do you think Tom Riddle deserves a second chance?”

Harry cocked his head to the side. “Sir?”

“Tom Riddle. Or, maybe not even Tom Riddle. I am referring to the boy who was sitting here moments ago. Not the man who killed countless. The boy who currently is nothing more than that.”

He thought harder. The boy sitting there wasn’t the same, not quite, but he still wasn’t exactly kind…. Harry himself had though Tom Riddle an ally in the diary…

“He killed Ginny.”

“Lord Voldemort killed Ginny. The boy sitting before us moments ago did not.”

“I…I don’t know.” Harry wasn’t sure why he was asking him this. “What do you think?”

“I knew Tom Riddle when he was at school. I knew him to be—while charming on the outside—clever, cunning, and manipulative. Many times I have regretted not seeing what was coming, and taking precautions, sooner. If I had seen him here today I might be inclined to say ‘no’ myself. However…the boy who stood before today may not be the same as the one I knew.”

“What do you mean? Because he lost his memory?”

“Perhaps. However…I think coming back using the diary specifically, as well as Ginny’s life force, as opposed to other means, may have had consequences he couldn’t have foreseen.”

“What do you mean sir?”

“We’ll learn in due time. Currently it is nothing more than an untested hypothesis of mine, and I don’t make it a habit of divulging those as fact.”

“So, you met Tom Riddle—before he lost his memory, I mean.” Dumbledore altered the subject. “I imagine he was most interested in you.”

Harry’s thoughts were jumbled, but something that had been nagging at him before this all started, and it presently came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Professor Dumbledore, Riddle said that I…I’m like him. Strange likenesses he said…”

“Did he now?” Said Dumbledore, looking thoughtfully under his thick silver eyebrows at Harry. “And what do you think Harry?”

“I don’t think I’m like him!” Harry said more loudly than he intended. “I mean, I’m—I’m a Gryffindor, I’m…”

But he fell silent, a lurking doubt resurfacing in his mind.

“Professor,” he started again after a moment, “the Sorting Hat told me I’d—I’d have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin’s heir for a while…because I can speak Parseltongue…”

“You can speak Parseltongue, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly, “Because Lord Voldemort—who is the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin—can speak Parseltongue. Unless I’m much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I’m sure…”

“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?” Harry said, thunderstruck.

“It certainly seems so.”

“So I should be in Slytherin.” Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore’s face. “The Sorting Hat could see Slytherins power in me, and it—”

“Put you in Gryffindor.” Said Dumbledore calmly. “Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students; his own very rare gift, Parseltongue, resourcefulness, determination…a certain disregard for the rules,” he added, his mustache quivering again. “Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think.”

“It only put me in Gryffindor,” said Harry in a defeated voice, “Because I asked not to go in Slytherin…”

“Exactly.” Said Dumbledore, beaming once more. “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. Did you not prove that once again today when you chose not to kill him? That took incredible bravery.” Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned. “If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this.”

Dumbledore reached across Professor McGonagall’s desk, picked up the blood-stained silver sword and handed it to Harry. Dully, Harry turned it over, the rubies blazing in the firelight. And then he saw the name engraved just below the hilt.

Godric Gryffindor

“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the Hat, Harry.” Said Dumbledore simply.

For a minute, neither of them spoke.

“Sir?”

“Mm?”

“May I…May I tell Ron and Hermione about all of this? About Tom, about…?” he trailed off.

Dumbledore took off his glasses and cleaned them. “Under most circumstances I would say yes, especially considering Ron’s position, but this one is…rather special. I’m currently of the mind that the less people know Lord Voldemort is back—in any form—the better.

“This situation is both particularly strange, and particularly delicate. You may tell them that Lord Voldemort was working through a diary to control Ginny, and that this lead to her death—that is, of course, what I will be telling the Weasleys…But I believe it is safer for everyone if they do not know he successfully managed to return to the land of the living.”

Harry looked at the ground. The thought of keeping all this to himself was almost more daunting than the fact that it had happened in the first place.

“Harry, where is Ron?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I…left him down in the chamber…I….I don’t think he would have left if I told him he had to.”

Dumbledore’s eyes mirrored his. “Oh dear. Well we’ll certainly have to sort that out won’t we?”

“What should I do, sir?”

Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in Professor McGonnagall’s desk, and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. “What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go back to Gryffindor tower, while I write to Azkaban—we need our game-keeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too,” he added thoughtfully. “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?”

“So…” Harry spoke, his gut twisting, unsure if this was the truth serum speaking, or if pained curiosity was guiding his tongue now, “Hogwarts won’t shut down?”

Dumbledore paused, looking up at him. “I imagine I’ll have to suffer through several unpleasant meetings, but I don’t think they’ll succeed at closing Hogwarts. The threat is gone, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Harry’s voice was small. “Tom Riddle’s still around…I mean, won’t his memory come back eventually? Don’t you think he’ll be the same person when he gets his memory back?”

“You’re not saying you’d like Hogwarts to close, are you?”

“No!” Harry stood. “Of course not! I just…I…If we’re not safe…maybe it’s better…”

The thought of not coming back to Hogwarts, staying with the Dursley’s for the indeterminate future, with the knowledge that Voldemort was walking around as his sixteen your old self…

“The fact that Voldemort is back in this way makes the situation rather unorthodox, but there’s no place safer than Hogwarts. Firstly, if the school closes, I fear that would make things more dangerous on his end, rather than less. There’s no telling what he could do, released out to the world.”

“But he wouldn’t know how to do magic! Wouldn’t that—?”

“He knows magic exists, now. Knowing him, he’d do anything in his power to learn how to master it, and that could make him far more dangerous than simply teaching him. Hogwarts, while a place that will indeed teach him magic, is a place where we can more easily keep an eye on him. Not to mention the fact that Hogwarts, is, I believe, the one place Tom Riddle felt at home in the world. I think being in one of the few environments he truly felt comfortable in, will help nudge him in the right direction, don’t you?”

“The right direction? You really do think he can be reformed.”

“I am not certain. I still need to do the kind of heavy thinking one does when pouring over an unfamiliar restaurant menu in attempts to decide what to order. …But I think trying wouldn’t be remiss to try.”

Harry said nothing, questions, demands, insults, bobbing to the surface of his brain.

“We can and will certainly discuss this more after I myself have done more thinking on my own.” He said earnestly. “But at this particular moment, I don’t think it beneficial for you to continue troubling yourself. Food and sleep, Harry, I think will do you a world of good.”

Harry stayed a moment, sitting in the chair, trying to think of anything else he could ask, but he was tired of even simply thinking at this point. “Yeah, okay,” he sighed softly, before getting up and crossing to the door.

He had just reached for the handle, however, when the door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall.

Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in bandages, was Dobby.

“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face.

The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoy’s shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore.

“So!” he said “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts.”

“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too…Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

“So—have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?”

“We have,” said Dumbledore, with a smile.

“Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Who is it?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.”

He held up the mangled book, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

“I see…” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. “Because if Harry here” —Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look— “and his friend Ron hadn’t discovered this book, why—Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…”

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

“And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then. The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns…Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise.”

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak.

“Very fortunate,” he said stiffly.

And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then punching himself in the head. And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now twisting his ears in punishment.

“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” said Harry.

Lucius Malfoy rounded on him.

“How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he said.

Anger rose in harry at the insult

“Because you gave it to her,” his voice was tempered, “in Flourish and Blotts.

“You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?”

He saw Mr. Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench.

“Prove it,” he hissed.

“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. “Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf.

“We’re going, Dobby!”

He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him—

“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?”

“Certainly, Harry.”

Harry grabbed the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby’s squeals of pain receding around the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor.

He caught up with them at the top of the stairs.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he gasped, skidding to a halt, “I’ve got something for you —”

And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hand.

“What the—?”

Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry.

“You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” he said softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too.”

He turned to go.

“Come, Dobby. I said, come.”

But Dobby didn’t move. He was holding up Harry’s disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as though it were a priceless treasure. “Master has given a sock,” said the elf in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“What’s that?” spat Mr. Malfoy. “What did you say?”

“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby — Dobby is free.”

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf.

“You’ve lost me my servant, boy!” Fury curled around his words as he lunged at harry.

But Dobby shouted, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!”

There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward.

He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger.

“You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now.”

Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight.

“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest window reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!”

“Least I could do, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning. “Just promise never to try and save my life again.”

The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile.

“I’ve just got one question, Dobby,” said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry’s sock with shaking hands. “You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? Well —”

“It was a clue, sir,” said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. “Was giving you a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?”

“Right,” said Harry weakly. “Well…I’d better go.”

Dobby threw his arms around Harry’s middle and hugged him.

“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!” he sobbed. “Farewell, Harry Potter!”

And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared.

He turned to Dumbledore’s office, contemplating returning to ask him a few more questions, but he saw the Weasleys entering the door.

The pit in Harry’s stomach grew teeth.

Where should he go? Ron was still down in the chamber, and he wasn’t sure either of them would want to talk anyways. Hermoine was surely awake by now…and he probably should give her a warm welcome back to awakness.

If she’d awoken yesterday he’d be ecstatic to go talk to her…but, at this particular moment, if he was being entirely honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to her. She’d have a million questions for him, none of which he was particularly inclined to answer at this moment.

It came to him that he didn’t want to talk to much of anyone.

Just when he had that thought he saw Hermoine down the hall. Well, not so much saw her, as glimpsed her, then felt her arm around him.

He was expecting her to happily ask what was going on, and where Ron was, but when she pulled away—(the hug was abnormally long)—he saw tears glinting in her eyes and she said, with the air of someone who doesn’t know what else to say, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

He gave her a quizzical look and she answered his silent question: “Professor Snape told me everything before I left the hospital wing.”

Harry highly doubted he told her everything, but, even so…What was this feeling? Was he actually feeling grateful towards Snape for the second time in the same day?

“I brought you this.” She held up the plate she was holding in her other hand. “I just thought…I wasn’t sure you’d want to go down eat with everyone else.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” and he really meant it, feeling true relief for the first time that day.

“Should we head back to Gryffindor Tower?”

He nodded.

Notes cont: 

Again, that conversation about the sorting hat, and the Lucius scene, are both taken directly from the book (with a couple minimal changes), I certainly am not taking credit for writing them!!!! I just needed both those conversations/scenes to be there more for housekeeping reasons than anything else.

What does Dumbledore call Ron? Is it "Ron" "Ronald" or "Mr Weasley"? I couldn't remember. Also, what does Snape call Dumbledore? He calls him "Headmaster" right? Does that go for both when he's around students, and when he's alone with Dumbledore?

There were a couple places where I was nervous I went a little OOC, but I couldn't think what else to have them say...I hope I was okay?