#older i obviously have recognized that it's my fucking mental illness so i try to stay healthy but sometimes it's so fucking hard. esp bc

[gentlethorns]

i hate being mentally ill and i especially hate that it's triggered by stress. it's like once things start dogpiling on me my own brain jumps in to join the fun and i'm like ??? stop???

[hosticaaa]

𝕯𝖆𝖇𝖎 ; Fandom stuff.

How do I tell the fandom that Dabi was a useless, weepy, ill adjusted little runt ( AFFECTIONATE ) who wasn't allowed anywhere near Shoto and not a tall, responsible but troubled older brother figure who mother hen'd his younger siblings, especially Shoto, and that Dabi wasn't close to Shoto or particularly close to Fuyumi either but him and Natsu had a toxic codependent sibling thing going on hard core and I'm so sick of the Natsuo erasure and/or Shoto being put in Natsuo's place when that makes no fucking sense w/o pissing off the Horny Dabi simps who cant let go of bad/outdated flavorless wooby fanon characterization. How do I tell the fandom that their portrayal of the Todoroki family dynamic is severely wrong but can be drastically improved by understanding that while Endeavor ( and to a much lesser extent Rei ) were not actually narcissists, the parenting style at the forefront of the family is almost identical to narcissistic parental abuse and looking into this, along with things such as "Narcissistic devaluation" and the "Scapegoat" and the "Golden Child" explains so much that this fandom can't wrap its head around in regard to the extreme emotional / psychological abuse suffered by the Todoroki children without pissing off the Enji simps neck deep in abuse apology cause their fav has fat dilf tits.

Anyway on that subject children who grew up in households that were heavy on the narcissistic parental abuse often fall into "types" with particular traits and heres the Todorokis to a T ( Not including Shoto because his role is very obviously golden child (Masterpiece) and wasn't ever one of the Scapegoats ("failed creations") I mean I could def put him under "Problem Solver" but since he was never actually a scapegoat child its more complex than that for him so heres just my fav little failures ):

Fuyumi - the caretaker

Scapegoated children may provide emotional and/or physical caretaking to one or more parent/stepparent, functioning as a stand-in best friend, spouse, therapist, or nurse. They may be given household responsibilities such as cleaning, cooking, and caring for siblings, while also being targeted with anger and blame for the family's woes. Often intuitive and empathetic, caretaker scapegoats can become powerful healers as adults. But if they continue to prioritize the needs of others over their own they are likely to experience anxiety, poor self-care, resentment, and burnout.

Natsuo - the protector

Children in the protector role step in to defend a parent and/or younger sibling(s) from the dominant narcissist's verbal and/or physical abuse. Such children may be driven to try to protect family members because of their own experience with being scapegoated, or they may become scapegoated in the family system as a result of standing up to the abuse. As adults, children who have confronted the aggression of abusers may become fierce and compassionate advocates for justice and the underprivileged. But they often struggle to recognize their own limits, vulnerability, and need for support.

Toya - the collapsed

Some scapegoated children experience such harsh neglect and abuse, with few sources of support to build resiliency, that they fail to thrive and become mentally unstable, chronically ill, suicidal, institutionalized, homeless, consumed by addiction, and/or incarcerated. As adults, they may experience a trajectory of low functioning, repeated crises, or collapse that ends tragically in early death by illness, addiction, suicide, or violence. Kids who are "different" in some way, such as queer or neuro-atypical, are often targets of extreme scapegoating, both within their family and society at large.

[sketchy-the-changeling]

Do you enjoy being miserable? I’ve been hearing a lot about how many people apparently find misery to be comfortable lately, but how anybody could come to that conclusion is just completely baffling to me personally. So I just figured that I’d ask around about it, to see if I’m in the minority with how that I find misery VERY uncomfortable to say the least, and certainly don’t take any type of comfort from being miserable at all.

I think you may be thinking of the adage "Misery is comfortable; it's why so many people prefer it. Happiness takes effort."

It's not that these people ENJOY being miserable, per-se. That's why the adage uses the word "prefer". Preference and Enjoyment are two different things. They don't enjoy the misery. They're complacent in it. They know it's going to take effort to be happy, and many people don't want to put in that effort, whether it's because they find said effort to be too much work, or because the brief, fleeting relief they get from venting to/trauma dumping on the people around them (even if they didn't consent) is too intoxicating to let go, or whatever else.

So everything I wrote so far probably answers the question you asked at the very beginning, but to be clear: No, I do not enjoy being miserable, and as I've gotten older, my patience for people that wallow in misery has gotten thinner and thinner. It's why I'm of the opinion that having venting channels in Discord servers is an astronomically god-awful idea.

Obviously, if someone is miserable due to factors beyond their control, like systemic poverty, homelessness, mental illness, etc etc, that's completely different. I'm talking about people for whom there are actionable solutions to their problems, but they refuse to take them.

I'll give a personal example below, but it's rather lengthy, and the original question has already been answered, so I'll just put a break here and HOPE that Tumblr doesn't fuck it up.

Example: I'm in a Discord server run by an artist mutual of mine. Said server happens to have a venting channel, so you already know where this is going. One member of the server was an aspiring writer, and would often go to the venting channel to express frustrations with how he can't make progress on any story he writes.

It didn't matter what ANYONE said. So many of us offered solutions to the various roadblocks he was having, and none of them worked. It wasn't because he attempted our advice and failed, but rather he just preferred to complain about the problem he was having rather than actually doing anything to fix it. It was the equivalent of someone sinking in quicksand, and just folding their arms rather than grabbing the dozen or so ropes that people are offering to them.

Once I recognized this was a pattern, I spoke to the server owner privately and said that this needed to be dealt with, because he was becoming a nuisance to other server members and he was just gonna keep doing it if there were no consequences. She didn't do anything, and the guy kept going, and more and more people just stopped bothering to try helping him, but then this behavior spilled out into other channels, and several of us, myself included, went to the sever owner privately about this. Again. Several Times. After dragging her feet on it for months, she finally started allowing mods to time him out when he acted like this, and when that proved to not be enough for him to stop, the server owner FINALLY made the decision to boot him.

Mind you, my stance on people that act like this was already solidified beforehand. This situation just reinforced that stance.

Protect your peace, y'all.

[philsmeatylegss]

aaa sorry hopefully you're okay with people responding to your rambles (your most recent one that talks about suicide). just wanted to say i'm very very proud of you for healing and i can relate to your post.

hopefully you are okay with me sharing this story but im a young phannie, im 15, and i found them when i was 11 which was a few months before quarantine hit. extremely long story short, for me 11-13 years old were the scariest years of my life and i don't think anything will ever come close to that again (thank god). that's when i used to rely heavily on dan and phil videos (mostly phil). like i just have so many memories of like i don't know, being on a road trip with my family and being completely out of my mind but i would turn on an amazingphil video or a song that amazingphil mentioned and desperately try to immerse myself into that rather than my thoughts. now that i'm 15 (which is like. unbelievable honestly) i see their content on my feed but i rarely ever engage anymore, and when i do it feels like making my inner child happy. it's weird to think that something i held very close to me and that kept me above water for so long belongs in the past now along with really deep trauma. even if i ever get back into binging phil's videos (i probably will because man he is so nostalgic to watch and i just love him) i'm sure i will never engage with them the way i used to, because i'm simply not the same person. it's sad and also really euphoric and healing at the same time to watch yourself let go. anyways that's my 3am rant lol (i have yet to lose younger me's sleep schedule) thank you for listening and please have a wonderful day/night ❤️

I literally relate so hard to this and it’s really comforting to hear similar stories to mine. I fucking hate when people dismiss mental illness if the person is <14. Ages 12-14 were truly the most terrifying years of my life where I truly believed I would not be able to keep living. I’m very thankful I was surrounded by people who took it seriously so I was able to get help early on. But it’s so important to recognize the little things that also got us through. I know there’s a lot of people who roll their eyes when you say this musician or content creator or actor or whatever saved my life and that’s because people take it too literal. I do credit dan and phil and twenty one pilots with saving my life. Obviously, it wasn’t just that. It was years of therapy and medication and healing, but their content, what they brought into my life, was something I needed to hold on to. It gave me motivation. It was a distraction from pain that wasn’t harmful to myself. I connected with people who I truly felt understood me. And that’s something I needed during that period of my life. Now that I’m older and developed a personality and I’m so far from where I was, I don’t need to be obsessive because I don’t need a constant healthy distraction to get me through life. I can just be a regular fan. And still enjoy that little rush of joy I get when they upload. It’s such a unique experience that, though I am so sad people can relate to, is so important and interesting to discuss. I often joke about being suicidal and really mentally ill at a really young age and I know a lot of others do too. And that’s okay, but it truly is important to congratulate yourself for still sticking around. Even if you are still depressed or unhealthy. And it’s okay to have motivations like being a fan to keep you happy and to keep you going. It’s also okay if you’re getting older and you want to let go a little bit. You don’t have to completely abandon it. I know I’m so fucking far from abandoning dnp and 21p. But it’s okay to not be as obsessive as you were. It’s a sign you’ve grown up. You’ve healed. I appreciate so much what dnp and 21p did for me and I still remain a loyal fan, but it’s okay for me to let go because I can live without needing them. Being suicidal at such a young age is a very specific, tragic experience that you can only understand if you went through it. That’s why it’s hard to discuss topics like this without sounding batshit crazy. But I’m glad some of us are here talking about it.

[scarlet-letter-s-for-soft]

I thought like this when I was younger, and I still hear it constantly in dating/self-help advice videos. I don't mean to imply this concept is immature by any means; we're all allowed to set our own boundaries and decide what we want in our relationships (of all kinds). "A boundary is the distance I can love you and me at the same time" has so much truth to it. Sometimes that boundary is at the edge of an un-crossable chasm and two people just aren't good for each other. But the older I get, the more I think we all do ourselves a disservice when we take such a hard line with cutting people off. Here's a few things I've learned along the way:

People show love in different ways and if you never talk to them about how they give and recieve love, you might assume they're giving nothing back to you. Love languages as a framework isn't wildly helpful, but the overall idea is. I thought for most of my life that my dad didn't love me, that I was wrong or too needy or too much somehow. I'm emotional and receive love in words and my stiff upper lip British father showed it in actions. Picking me up at all hours from the airport or from a party that got scary with zero judgement. Getting me Gatorade and Pepto Bismol and making me milkshakes when I was sick. Always answering my stressed or sad text messages with "love, support, and understanding" because I told him I needed ... love, support, and understanding. He was trying. He was showing me love in his way and did his best to adapt to mine. And I'm so glad we talked about it long before he passed or I would have gone the rest of my life assuming he didn’t care about me how I cared about him.

We all go through seasons of life where we just can't fucking show up. No matter how badly we want to. We get sick. We get injured. We get fired or laid off. We have to become a caretaker for a child or a family member. We're having a really shitty mental health day or week or month or year. We have chronic illnesses flare up. We have ADHD and sometimes forget to plan things or message people back for a long time. We’re tapped in a capitalist hellscape. Etc. Or on the other side - we get our dream job. We fall in love. We travel or move somewhere we've always wanted to. We have babies and adopt pets and find communities to belong to. We finally get back into that creative hobby we've been waiting to have the energy for again. Sometimes you just can't, for whatever reason. And in building relationships that last years and years, you learn very quickly that they're going to go through all kinds of cycles of change. So are you. Communication is key, obviously. But we all do that differently, too. It's always worth it to be vulnerable and reach out and see where the disconnect is.

When you enforce such rigid standards for the people in your life, you unknowingly enforce those same standards with yourself. It's a sword that cuts both ways. If you think loving someone means showing up regardless of the harm it causes you, then you're going to be really hard on yourself when you don't have the energy to show up like that. "I'll take care of me for you and you take care of you for me" feels really unnatural when you're raised as a people-pleaser. But it's crucial to know how to self-soothe, how to put your oxygen mask on first. How to question (lovingly) your expectations of others and to ask if they're fair. How to recognize your beliefs around love and relationships and check if having 'high standards' is a way to reinforce those beliefs when real, messy humans fail to meet impossible standards. We're told that true friends and lovers will show up for you no matter what. But the true friends and lovers are the people willing to try, willing to be honest, and willing to show up even at their lowest. Patience, kindness, and empathy aren't weaknesses. You aren't disrespecting yourself by asking for what you need, talking with the people in your life about how you can best show up for each other, and forgiving when either of you inevitably mess up.

We all deserve healthy, loving, and supportive relationships. Growing up I thought it would be as simple as “if they wanted to, they would.” But life ain’t that simple and we’re all doing our best.

Get used to the messy discomfort of building something real and long-lasting rather than clinging to the idea of what a perfect relationship looks like.

Create room in your relationships for life to happen and for humans to be human. They last longer and you'll find a lot more peace and happiness along the way. 💕

Normalize seeing someone's lack of effort as their lack of interest in you regardless of what they tell you. Giving you all of the right words, but none of the right actions is called manipulation. If a person wants to be with you, they prove it. Period.

[lovecanyon]

I CANOT COMMENT ON UR POST BUT YES WRITE ABT THEIR BACKSTORY TOGETHER

EUPHORIA!HARRY'S BACKSTORY

A/N: italics represent rue narrating! normal font is flashbacks!

(MASTERLIST) (EUPHORIA AU MASTERLIST)

-

Harry was someone that did not live a normal life. He constantly was moving around because of his addict parents, never stayed somewhere longer than a year.

His life changed for the better when he got dropped off by his mother at this random house he didn't know, being only six at the time.

Marie, Fez's grandmother loved Harry like her own. She hated the fact that his parents just abandoned him with a woman they didn't know. But she knew him living with her than his addict parents would be better for him, mentally and physically.

A few weeks later after Harry got dropped off another child got left at their place. Ashtray.

"Hi. I'm Harry." A six year old Harry waves to the baby that was on the floor.

"Sup." Fez who was a few years older than Harry nods at the baby who was staring at them.

When Marie had fell ill, Fez dropped out of school but he forced Harry to stay. The reason why Fez did not allow Harry to drop out was because he knew Harry had potential.

He had a chance of getting out of the type of life he was born in. 

Freshman year was when Harry kind of changed. He turned into one of those jock pricks after befriending no other than Nate Jacobs.

Him and Nate were very close at some point. It was baffling to me how the Jacobs could change someone so quick, forming them how he wants them to be.

“Oh shit. Sorry.” Harry apologizes to the person who he had just bumped into.

A sweet voice makes his palms sweaty.

“It’s okay.”

He looks up to see a blonde girl smiling at him.

“I-I’m Cassie.”

"I’m Har—“

“Cass hurry the fuck up. We’re going to be late for tryouts.” A black haired girl groans cutting off Harry. When he turns around he faces two girls but one in particular gets his attention.

A pair of doe eyes looking at him curiously makes him wanna fall to his knees.

"Oh, I forgot." Cassie mumbles holding her books closer to her chest.

"Wait who's this?"

"I'm Harry." Harry speaks up looking at the girl that was stood behind her friend. She gave him a little smile which makes him slightly blush.

"I'm Maddy and this is my best friend Y/N."

Call him crazy but he knew it was love at first sight. She was the most flawless, perfect girl he had ever laid eyes on.

Harry was truly in love with her.

He had lost his virginity to her the summer going into sophomore year.

Some girls would have laughed in his face if they found out he was a virgin but she didn't care that he didn't have any experience, she loved him no matter what.

“Are you for sure ready because I don’t want to pressure—“

Harry cuts Y/N off with a peck to her lips.

“I trust you Y/N.” Harry whispers leaning his forehead against hers.

That night was one of Harry���s best memories. He remembers her lying on his chest talking about what she wanted to do with her life.

She had even included him in her future plans.

Harry had dropped out of football after he and Nate got into a big brawl during practice over him dating his sister.

Somehow McKay had found out from one of Y/N’s friends that she was dating Harry. Their relationship was huge secret, not a lot of people knew about it at that time.

“You fucking bitch.”

In a flash Harry gets tackled to the ground. When he sees the number on the jersey he recognizes it as Nate’s number.

“What the fuck man.” Harry grunts trying to push Nate off of him.

A bunch of shouts from players and the coach makes Nate loosen his grip on Harry. Swiftly he punches Nate when he sees he’s distracted.

Harry knew Nate was hurt but he could’ve just talked to him instead of knocking him to the ground.

The coach had obviously taken the Jacobs side and kicked Harry off the team. He didn’t care though because now he could go out in public with his girlfriend, Y/N.

"Fuck him." Ashtray scoffs shaking his head. "He's only like that because of his bitch dad." He grumbles rolling his eyes.

Harry laughs and places down a sandwich in front of Ash. "I know you're hungry. Eat up."

The boy gives his brother a large smile before taking a huge bite out of the sandwich.

“Wanna tell me about your girlfriend now?”

Fez and Ashtray adored Y/N.

She was a light in their dark lives, always cracking jokes to brighten up their moods. Constantly making dinner for them along with regularly bringing sweets for Ashtray.

Y/N didn't have a problem with them being drug dealers but when her boyfriend would sneak through her window with bloodied knuckles she would get scared.

What if something happened to them?

-

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @needyghosts @peterparkerbae @deadass1011 @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @drphilssoulmate @ivegotparticulartaste @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @academiaghosts @evanjh @samaraaaaa @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @hrryscherrys @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @newyorker14 @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @galacticharrys @eunoiamaa @kaitieskidmore1 @mexicosuitrry @filmsbyameilia @twilightrry @cherryfragrancx @ssuziess @milkiane

[ourloveisforthelovely]

Fresh Start 3

Harry Potter AU

Characters: Sirius Black x Reader

Link to Chapter 

Rating: M 

_____

The next morning, you stood in line waiting to purchase a pre-made cake to take to the Weasley’s. The last thing that you really wanted to do at the moment was cook! When your eyes opened that morning, you were ready to throw your guts up.

“I’m going to kill Sirius when he gets home. That’s it! He’s a dead man.”

You muttered under your breath as another wave of nausea washed over you. Harry, meanwhile, decided to start pulling on the buttons of the tweed coat you were wearing. You mentally thanked the toddler for any kind of distraction that he had to offer you. The less that you had to think about being pregnant in addition to Sirius out there without the knowledge that he was about to be a father the better off you were!

“Easy, love.”

You whispered to your nephew as the clerk finished up. The clerk gave you a small smile before handing you the bag.

Walking out of the store, you let your mind go back to the previous thoughts. How in the hell were you going to tell Sirius about the baby? Were you just going to blurt it out or should you butter him up then drop the news? Molly’s idea seemed to be the best and healthiest.

“Sit him down, just the two of you, and tell him. Sirius loves you. I know the time isn’t ideal with everything going on but the two of you can do it. The two of you have been together since you were kids...now you’re having kids.”

You smiled at the thought. Molly always knew what to say at the worst times!

“Y/n?”

A voice and someone touching your arm quickly pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see none other than Regulus Black standing behind you.

“Regulus, what do you want?”

You snapped before tightening your hold on Harry. If the man thought that he was going to get Harry, he had another thing coming. You didn’t mind hexing Sirius’ younger brother!

The younger man shook his head and held his hands up.

“I haven’t come to harm you. I need to talk to you... it's important.”

“I’m busy.”

You replied coldly. Regulus gave you that displeased expression that you had seen on Sirius’ face many times.

“Too busy to talk to an old friend? Like it or not, Y/n, we were friends. You were kind to me when the rest of my brother’s merry gang of men were cruel to me. Can’t you spare me a moment, for old times sake?”

You scowled at the man before adjusting Harry in your arms.

“Fine. What can I do for you?”

Regulus motioned to a small table at a cafe.

“Come sit down.”

You slowly followed and did as you were told. Looking at Regulus broke your heart. He was right. The two of you were friends. You were the only one out of your friends that was nice to the boy. The boy...that’s what he was to you. He would always be Sirius’ younger brother. He was the perfect son in his parent’s eyes. Their pure blood mania was almost too insane to deal with.

“I see you got your nephew.”

You nodded.

“Indeed. Some of you stupid death eater friends killed my brother and sister-in-lae. Just an FYI, when I get my hands on Pettigrew...it won’t be pretty.”

Regulus frowned. He knew that you would be furious over James and Lily being killed. Regulus could have cared less. He had always blamed James for turning Sirius away from the family...more particularly him. James seemed to be the brother that Sirius always wanted. When he made friends with James, Regulus was no longer wanted or needed.

“It won’t make any difference.”

You tilted your head, totally confused by his insolent attitude.

“What do you mean?”

Regulus leaned back as the waitress put two cups of coffee in front of you. He waited until she was gone before speaking again. The last thing that he wanted was for little ears who didn’t belong overhearing the conversation.

“This whole stupid war. Nothing is going to be fixed with all of the fighting. Too many people are dying for the wrong reasons.”

You kept your eyes on Regulus curiously. This was coming from the boy who was so proud to sign up to be a death eater! He was making mommy and daddy Black proud. Now he was saying that none of this mattered!

Before you could make a comment, your stomach rolled at the smell of the beverage in front of you. Holding your breath, you tried to keep your mind on Regulus’ words.

“Then what are the right reasons?”

“Not what we are seeing.”

He replied simply. You sat blinking. Regulus knew that you were getting confused and annoyed

“Regulus, whose side are you on?”

His grey eyes rolled to yours. The smirk that he gave you reminded you too much of his brother!

“I can’t say. So how are you?”

You took another deep breath, trying to keep a grip on your stomach. It was taking all you had not to get violently ill on Regulus’ obviously expensive shoes.

“Fine.”

“You’re awfully pale.”

“I’m not feeling well.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow as you scooted the coffee away from you. He decided to go out on a limb. Hopefully, he was wrong but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case.

“How far are you?”

Your head snapped up and what color was in your face drained out.

“Excuse me?”

Regulus smirked. He had spent enough time with Malfoy’s while Narcissa was pregnant to recognize a pregnant woman from a mile away!

“You’re pregnant aren’t you? Does my brother know?”

When you didn’t respond Regulus sighed. He ran a hand through his short hair (another habit he obviously got from his older brother).

“You are going to have to tell him. Sirius will figure it out and angry for being left in the dark. I didn’t know the two of you were back together.”

You rolled your eyes.

“We aren’t. Not yet at least...and I know exactly how Sirius is. I have been with him since we were 15.”

Regulus was clearly conflicted.

“Do you need anything? If my brother isn’t taking care of you at least let me.”

You shook your head. This was getting out of control and fast!

“Regulus, he doesn’t know! When he finds out, Sirius will do what he’s supposed to. I appreciate your concern. Sirius will be a wondering father! He’s great with Harry.”

Regulus’ grim expression didn’t soften. He knew Sirius would be a good father. Sirius would be 100% better than their own father.

“I won’t know. Y/n, you know that Sirius won’t let me see the baby. We are both not welcomed in each other’s lives. You can get a hold of me if you need anything.”

Regulus slowly got up and disappeared. He had forgotten the entire reason that had wanted to talk to you. Now his mind was as twisted as a pretzel.

The conversation with Regulus troubled you most of the afternoon. Arriving at Molly’s you tried to push the conversation from your mind. Molly opened the door with her usual giddy smile.

“Y/n, darling! It's so good to see you! Here let me have Harry. I’ll put him in the other room with Ron.”

Harry didn’t fight Molly, taking him before looking back to you. Molly kissed his forehead eagerly.

“Don’t worry, little one. She isn’t going anywhere.”

You gave your nephew a little wave before looking around the room. There was no sign of Sirius. You felt a little disappointed Sirius was typically one of the first ones back but tonight not so much.

“He’s not here yet.”

You looked over your shoulder and was relieved to hear Remus’ voice. Turning, you quickly wrapped your arms around your best friend.

“How are you feeling?”

Remus asked. You sighed.

“I feel horrible. I have been throwing up all morning and I really think that I am starting to show.”

You ran your hand down your still flat stomach. Remus grinned.

“I think you are just imagining that. You look nice.”

You couldn't help smiling. Remus Lupin always knew what to say at the right time! That was one thing that you were thankful for!

Your attention went to the fresh cuts on his face and neck. The full moon. You had forgotten all about the full moon! Here Remus was worrying over you when he was going through his own hell that hit every month.

“How about you?”

You asked gently. Remus frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know what I mean, Remus.”

“I look worse than I feel.”

You pressed your lips together and wrapped your hand around his.

“Come by the house later. I have some stuff that I can put on you.”

“You’re too good to me, Y/n”

Remus knew it was too light of a comment for everything that you actually did for him. You took care of him when you didn’t have to.

“That’s called being a best friend. Just like you sat with me while I did 12 pregnancy tests.”

You said with a smile. Remus shrugged with a grin.

The door opening and closing pulled your attention from Remus. Sirius stood taking off his coat. You glanced at Remus.

“Well, time to face the music.”

You took a deep breath before going to where Sirius stood cuddling Harry. His grey eyes rolled to you before smiling. You stood on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Sirius was completely shocked by the act. He had half expected you to not even pay attention to him.

“Hello, stranger.”

Sirius said with a smirk. When you blushed, Sirius was slightly surprised. He half expected you to tell him to stop his flirting.

“I should say the same to you. Can we talk?”

Sirius nodded. He was more than happy to talk! For six weeks he had been stewing over the fact that the two of you had slept together then you were too good to face him!

Walking into Molly and Arthur’s room, you waited until Sirius closed the door. He automatically went from normal Sirius Black to “I am fucking pissed and you’re going to hear about it.”

“So you sleep with me then will not talk to me for six weeks. Is that how we are?”

“Sirius, I’m sorry. You know that I had to pick up Harry. This isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sirius rolled his eyes before lighting a cigarette.

“Let me guess. You’re pregnant.”

The comment was totally sarcastic. When you burst into tears, Sirius quickly put the cigarette out.

“Y/n!”

He said your name a little higher pitched than he meant to.

“I am.”

You said in a barely audible whisper. Sirius was dead silent. His eyes were wide in shock. This had to be the worst time ever to be having a baby! He stood motionless. His eyes were locked on you going from your face to your stomach.

“Sirius, say something.”

“Are you sure?”

He managed to choke out. You gave him the world’s biggest bitch face. What kind of question was that?

“It isn’t hard to pee on a stick! I took 12. Ask Remus if you don’t believe me.”

Sirius immediately looked annoyed.

“So you couldn’t call the father of the child but you could call another man?”

He knew that it was a cruel comment but the jealous side of his brain had roared back with a vengeance.

“Sirius, you were on a job! I couldn’t just get a hold of you and be like hey I may or may not be pregnant. Want to come home while I find out?”

Sirius stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes, you could! Why don’t you just go have a baby with Remus? I’m sure he would be a better boyfriend than me too.”

Your mouth dropped. This WAS not the reaction that you had expected!

“Funny, I don’t want him as my boyfriend. I was hoping that would be your job! Stop acting like your family! You’re better than that.”

Sirius’ mouth dropped. He stared at you for a moment before appeatating out of the room.

An hour later, Sirius sat with a half-empty bottle of fire whiskey in front of him as he lay on the bed. He had been pouting from the moment that he arrived home. Was his comment about Remus out of line? Yes, it was. Sirius knew that there was nothing between Remus and yourself. He had been a jealous shit over the fact that you would go to Remus over him. Maybe it wasn’t jealousy but hurt.

“If you hadn’t treated her like crap, in the beginning, Y/n would have come to you...like she did with anything else.”

The voice in Sirius’ head was right! When the two of you were in school, if something was wrong Sirius fixed it. If you had a problem, he was the first person that you went to (which of course unless it was sexual in nature, James was taking care of the problem too.)

“Do you think that you handled that appropriately?”

Sirius jumped up to see Remus standing in the doorway. His friend looked pretty annoyed...and he had a good reason.

“Probably not.”

Sirius muttered as he stood up. He slightly staggered from all of the booze that he had just downed.

“Y/n is very upset and all you have to say is probably not? Sirius, I love Y/n dearly. She is one of my best friends. I, however, have no romantic interest in her! Y/n has made it very obvious since we were teenagers that you were the one that she wanted. She wanted the rebel bad boy, not the shy bookworm.”

Sirius’ grey eyes rolled to his friend before siling.

“Sorry, Moony.”

When Remus smiled, Sirius knew that all was forgiven.

“You should go talk to her.”

Remus said. Sirius looked up as his smile faded.

“What am I going to do, Remus? We are having a baby at the worst time ever. I’m no good as a boyfriend. Tonight’s behavior showed that. I’m supposed to get her pregnant when we are trying for a baby not during some drunken one night stand.”

Remus sat down. He knew that this was going to be one hell of a conversation.

“Maybe it's what the two of you need? Have you thought about that? Both of you were looking for a sign that your love was meant to be. I know that you don’t think it is a good time...that is probably what makes it the right time.You are doing splendidly with Harry. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Sirius smiled at the mention of Harry’s name. He had to admit that watching you care for the baby made the man in him go crazy.

“What if I can’t take care of them? What if I fuck up again?”

Remus shook his head.

“You will fuck up again but that is where Y/n and yourself will show how strong you are as a couple. Sirius, she was the girl that essentially tamed you. You love her madly. You can care for Y/n and the kids properly. You have the ability.”

Sirius sighed.

“My family’s name and money will take care of them...the things that I hate.”

Remus put a hand on his friend’s back. His poor friend was definitely on the self-hatred train for the evening.

“It will be you. Sure, those things are helpful. Sirius, you are not your family. You can raise Harry and the baby differently. Besides, it isn’t like your mom and dad will be jumping to come into the picture.”

Sirius smirked. Remus was definitely right there! He hadn’t heard a peep from his parents in years.

“Remus, can you go get Y/n?”

Remus nodded and opened the door. You stood on the other side, obviously hearing the whole conversation. Remus grinned before stepping out of the room.

“I’ll just get Harry down for the night.”

Once Remus was out of the picture, Sirius held out his hand to you. You could tell by looking at him that he was half-drunk but you didn’t care. At least, he would be willing to listen. You smiled at the thought of Sirius being a needy drunk.

Wrapping your hand around his, you didn’t fight Sirius when he pulled you into his arms. The hug was exactly what the two of you needed!

“Y/n, I am really sorry. I was a big jerk. I guess I was...am scared.”

There it was! The emotion that you needed to see! You didn’t want Sirius to keep all of this locked up inside himself!

“And you think that I’m not? Sirius, I am really scared! I was worried that you would never want to be with me once that you found out.”

Sirius was clearly stunned by that comment. How could he not want to be with you? He had been desperate to get you back since the day you walked out on him! Maybe he wasn’t vocalizing his desperation enough?

“Y/n, I’m not some idiot! Look, I know that I treated you badly for a while and I am eternally sorry for that. I want to fix what happened between us. I want to make you happy.”

For the first time in months, that cold angry side of yourself had vanished! You stood up enough to pull him into a kiss. Sirius was motionless at first but quickly wrapped his arms around you to deepen the kiss.

“I want to make you happy too.”

You said against his mouth.

“Would you still marry me? I don’t want people talking and the way things are…”

You slowly pulled away as Sirius’ voice cracked. The way things are...that sentence alone was very telling. A lot of other people were eloping at crazy rates. You figured the thought of possibly being killed the next day was enough to scare anyone into wanting to do wild things.

Your mind immediately went to James and Lily. James wouldn't be there to give you away. Lily wouldn't be able to help you fuss over dresses.

“I would. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

Sirius reached into his pocket and slowly slid your engagement ring back on your finger.

“You kept my ring?”

Sirius nodded as he pressed a kiss to your ring finger.

“It's been in my pocket since you left.”

His eyes looked pained when he said the word left. You quickly reached up and put your hands on either side of his face.

“I’m not leaving again!”

Sirius was relieved to hear that! The promise that he wouldn't be alone again was everything that he wanted to hear!

(Meanwhile)

Regulus walked into 12 Grimmauld Place in a huff. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone at the moment!

“My son is that you?”

Regulus groaned at hearing his mother’s voice. He knew that he might as well face her and get it over with.

“Yes, mum. It's me.”

Regulus walked into the living room where his mother sat sipping a glass of wine. Her cold eyes were focused on a book that she was reading. The woman couldn't even be bothered to look at her “favorite” son.

“Is all well?”

She asked. Regulus shrugged.

“Do you remember Y/n Potter?”

Walburga slammed the book and glared up angrily! She didn’t want to hear your name!

“The whore is a blood traitor. What about her?”

Regulus fought back a groan. He didn't want to get in a fight with Walburga that night.

“That would be her. Y/n is pregnant. She’s having Sirius’ baby.”

Walburga instantly looked like someone shoved a handful of lemon drops in her mouth.

“Don’t say his name in this house! You’re telling me that Sirius is having a child with her?”

Regulus nodded as he poured a glass of whiskey.

“That is exactly what is happening. Like it or not mum, the child will be part of this family. At least you won’t have ugly grandchildren. Y/n is lovely and Sirius...well you’ve met him.”

Walburga stood up and walked to the window. She was dead silent for a few moments before turning quickly.

“Maybe I should pay the happy couple a visit.”

_______

@cardboardbenmazzello

@brokencasbutt67-writer

@authoressskr

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@summer-novak

@emiwrites3reads

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[coinofstone]

4x03 The Wicked Day

We're only three minutes into this episode and Arthur's giving Merlin a universally recognized chin-tip of recognition while he is willingly being tied to an upright spinning wooden board, with his arms secured above his head and his legs slightly spread. Yea, there's absolutely no reason for that to make anyone think of Arthur being fastened to a St Andrew's cross, none at all.

Also what is with this show having other ppl shove food in Arthur's mouth

All the knights are clapping and laughing but Percival's looking at the spinning wooden rig like he's having some Thoughts™️

Merlin escorting a drunk Arthur back to his room, where Arthur proceeds to begin undressing himself, is a scene played for comedy - 'haha Arthur's drunk and walking around with his pants down' - but literally all I see is domesticity.

I love drunk!Arthur but I also like Uther with the long hair.

I really like the fight scene with Uther and the baddie, not just bcuz Tony looks good - but because it is giving Uther a bit more agency back. They've never been clear on what his deal is. Gaius has a line in the first episode that makes it sound like depression. Arthur has a line that makes it sound like Alzheimers. Uther's on-screen behavior could go either way, or could be a little of both. I don't really think it's supposed to be definitive. The swordfight, I think, is entirely keeping with both theories. He was asleep when Arthur entered the room, he would've been exhausted after the exertion of attending a feast with such lively entertainment (considering he spends his days staring out a window, that's a big effort for him). The fighting would've woken him up, and even if he were experiencing sundowning, his sword skills would've been ingrained in him since youth, muscle memory like. And there's always the whole, 'super parent' thing, the surge of adrenaline from seeing your kid in danger leading to extraordinary feats. Regardless, it's an improvement over the despondency in the last few episodes where his character was mostly reduced to scenery.

I love Merlin but he's a fucking idiot.

Fair warning, this is probably going to be an unpopular opinion. Merlin is being a self serving manipulative little shit by encouraging Arthur to use magic to heal Uther, presenting himself as a sorcerer to do so, and then claiming his 'price' for healing Uther is, essentially, freedom and equality for all magic users. First of all, as a FRIEND, Merlin should be aware of Arthur's state of mind. Arthur's lived his entire life wondering about his mother who died giving birth to him. Merlin knows how big of a thing it is for him, if it weren't he wouldn't have nearly killed Uther in S2 when he discovered her life was the price for his. NOW, he's just watched his father get stabbed in the heart while saving Arthur's life, on his birthday.

I don't care how much you dislike Arthur, you cannot deny the trauma here. There's no way Arthur doesn't live with a degree of melancholy surrounding his birthday, knowing that it's also the anniversary of his mother's death; and you can't tell me that hasn't been amplified exponentially since he learned the truth from Morgause and confronted his father. Whether he believed Merlin's last minute save that Morgause had been lying and that she conjured an illusion to fool Arthur, is immaterial. You can't un-ring a bell. In his heart he'll always question, he'll always carry the weight of knowing that there's a chance his own life came at the cost of his mother's. And there is no way this doesn't come bubbling up at his birthday every year. They even attempted to show him being 'grumpy' at the start of the episode, Merlin is enthralled by the entertainment that's shown up for his celebration, Arthur would really rather not deal with it. It's not because he's not easily entertained, it's because his birthday isn't something he particularly feels like celebrating. Add to that, now, in the evening after his birthday feast, he's incapacitated by a sedative in his drink and he gets attacked by an assassin. His father saves his life and gets stabbed in the process, a mortal wound. Arthur shouldn't have even been in Uther's chambers! If he hadn't been, Uther wouldn't have been near the fight - he wasn't the target, Arthur was. This is a huge trauma for Arthur, his father paying the price for Arthur's life with his own on the anniversary of his mother unwittingly doing the same thing! Major, massive trauma! Psychological disaster! Merlin, as Arthur's friend, should know that.

I'm not saying Merlin was wrong to go all dragoon again - wanting to conceal his identity so he doesn't reveal his magic is understandable. Merlin's willingness to use magic to save Uther is also ... expected, if not entirely understandable. He's saved Uther many times, this time is only special in Uther wasn't attacked by magic and Arthur asked him directly for assistance with getting someone to use magic to help him. That's a big first.

My problem is with Merlin trying to demand a price from Arthur at all. Even as dragoon. Obviously, I want equality for magical ppl in Camelot. Obviously, I understand Merlin wanting the same. But it does not make sense for Merlin to look at his friend, who is in pain, who is desperate, who is acting unlike himself, and say 'this is exactly the right time to make him promise me to end the war on magic.' He could've said, 'I will do this, but remember this when you are king. Remember when you saw magic used for good.' and that would've been fine. But the fact that he extracted a price from Arthur, in exchange for helping Uther, the fact that he made it a transactional agreement: that's Merlin taking advantage of Arthur in his weakest moment, full stop. And that's entirely out of character for Merlin. It very much comes across as like, 'I've got him right where I want him' which is THE most antithetical thing POSSIBLE to Merlin & Arthur's relationship.

And yes, for all my ranting I do understand that this was part of a plot point to pit Arthur further against magic, to cement his belief in his father's hardline stance against it, to prevent the show from having to prematurely address the issue because Merlin no longer has a reason to hide. It was intended to keep the conflict going, so that they could continue the series with that narrative, and I understand that. Buuuut the same exact end could've been achieved without Merlin eliciting a promise from Arthur when he's clearly under duress.

And speaking of things that don't make sense, why would Gaius hide the enchanted necklace he found on Uther from Arthur? Surely he would want Arthur to know that his attempt had been deliberately thwarted?

Commentary by Alice and Colin

Bit confused by Alice's comments about Uther. She says she didn't think it was a mental illness, but more like he's 'worn out'. She also says Tony had nailed it and that they'd both had experience dealing with older relatives. I don't really understand what she's trying to say at all. Anyway, she wanted him to have an excellent sword fight scene and I think she's succeeded in that.

It's Colin's first time seeing the episode cut so they aren't doing a whole lot of talking unlike 4x01 where Alice and Katie just talked throughout the entire thing.

Alice says there's a drinking game on the internet - drink every time someone gets blasted back by magic. Colin legit said

The end bit where Arthur and Merlin are talking in Arthur's chambers, Colin says it's like what Merlin thought might've been his best chance has become his worst nightmare.

Alice is so proud of the shot of Arthur coming out of the room where Uther's body is laid out with the rising sun in the background streaming through the window, giving him Apollo vibes.

That final moment of Arthur being crowned king. Colin was clearly genuinely impressed with it and told Alice so, she said she was really very lucky to be given that scene to do.

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! and PSA

*waves* hi everyone! so uh, I’ve kind of had a bit of a surge in followers recently, and I thought I would make a bit of a PSA/intro post with a bit more targeted info than my about page.

anyways, I’m cyan! statistically speaking, you are probably here for one of the following reasons:

my fic

my meta

my gifs

my translation

all of the above

this is pretty much an mdzs blog on main these days, but I also rb a lot of other misc things because I have never been good at keeping my interests separate. it’s also my personal blog, so expect some of that? i am very all or nothing ahaha. my opinions change very quickly as I process new information, so like, something I said last week or yesterday might be different now! I’ve seen several people going through some of my older posts, and I’m just like oh dear, I said a lot of things six months ago that I no longer vibe with. /o\ please keep that in mind as you go diving in my blog!

i don’t have a BYF or DNI policy, but I reserve the right to block anyone for any reason because this is a personal blog first and foremost, and I do need to be better about setting my boundaries and curating my own online space! on that same token, you are free to follow, unfollow, block, whatever, even if we’re mutuals. <3

you’re free to come talk to me in my inbox or dms, but please be aware that there’s a very high chance I will never get back to you /o\ it isn’t personal!! I am just very mentally ill and have many difficulties with keeping up social interactions or talking to people.

in the interest of trying to be more open about myself, my brain, and what that means for me in an online/fandom space, I’m gonna do a boatload of mental health talk under the cut (or, if you’re looking at this on my blog proper or somewhere where the cut doesn’t display, it starts right after this paragraph), including mentions of self-harm/thoughts of specific self-harm etc, just so you are warned! I’ve been thinking recently that it’s good to try and take steps towards being more open about my issues, both for my own sake and others’. It’s long, because one of the fun things about my mental illness is that I am hyperverbal ahahaha (if that... wasn’t already obvious orz)

so if you’ve read pfmmpd, you can kind of get a sense of what I’m working with. a lot of how i wrote lwj was drawn directly from shit happening in my own brain, but like? dial that up from the specific issues that lwj had in that fic and apply it unilaterally across the board to almost anything you can think of.

I hesitate to describe my OCD as debilitating, but only because my specific cocktail of compulsions and anxieties and triggers push me to be hyperachieving and hyperfunctional. I consider myself pretty fortunate (?) in that regard. on paper, you could never tell how absolutely batshit my internal landscape is! which is very good for me practically in that I can hold down a job, keep scholarships, graduate with honors, have good prospects for my future, hold onto relationships (usually yikes) etc. but the fact of the matter is, I’m like. oh boy.

to give you a peek, here’s a non-exhaustive list of things that have triggered me to varying degrees of severity within the last like, week or so:

my dog

a chinese folk song

my mother reading a chinese haiku to me written by a young gay man

a chinese reader of my fic lovingly and gently giving me a history lesson on china and on mdzs while praising me

stepping on a piece of snow that didn’t collapse in the precise way i expected it to

writing meta

reading meta

ruminating on my triggers (honestly, I played myself)

seeing a twitter thread going around tumblr with decent information but the OP is someone who was exceedingly cruel to a good friend of mine

visiting my grandmother’s grave

deciding to visit my grandmother’s grave

discussing the concept of cuddling my partner whom i love and have been with for four years

self-harming (truly the height of irony, being triggered into self-harm and then getting triggered by the result of the self-harm hahahahahaha)

dropping off a package

trying to explain queer-coding to my parents

talking about stressors in my life related to covid19

having a very pleasant conversation with a person i admire

editing my translation

the fact that the “close” button on my accessibility sidebar on the translation website is the wrong color

choosing between eating all the shiitake mushrooms in my soup and purposefully giving myself a bad reaction or throwing one out and wasting food

thinking about playing a fun game with my partner and a mutual friend

my mom asking me to take a photo of some tea for her

my mom asking my opinion on a photo she was photoshopping

animal crossing

writing this fucking post HAHAHAHA

like!! it goes on!! endlessly! obviously, these triggers are not simply “bad” things. the chinese folk song and the haiku were both really beautiful and i love them! but I did spend a good amount of time curled up on my floor in the dark sobbing as i played the song on repeat. the haiku was one of the last straws that ended up with me screaming and crying and hurting myself. the snow??? like wtf the snow thing. I stepped on the snow and it felt wrong and my brain just started screaming SMASH YOUR KNEECAP. ???? (I didn’t, for the record, and I would never.) I love my partner very much! I love my friends very much, and my mother, and my grandmother etc. my triggers are infinite, unpredictable, and bizarre.

I’m saying all of this because I want to be clear that MDZS/CQL fandom specifically triggers me on a daily basis, sometimes very very badly. this is just a fact! it is no one’s fault! I have decided it is worth it for me to stay anyways. it is impossible for me to request people tag for certain things because I myself have no idea what my triggers are until I encounter them. It’s like a fun mystery boss encounter! sometimes it’s low level and i’m well-equipped to handle it. other times it’s a one-hit KO. We just don’t know! there are lots of very cool content creators in this fandom that I can’t follow because it would make my dash that much more high stakes. the original source canon material triggers me! all the events leading up to Lotus Cove massacre? I was shaking at work for three hours after consuming it for the first time.

Meta specifically is something I know a lot of people like me for, but it’s 100% the most triggering activity I participate in for this fandom. like, that suibian meta post I wrote that’s currently going around? Probably took me four or five hours of concentrated effort to write because I was compulsively panicking and rewriting and editing and panicking more and qualifying and editing and qualifying some more and then debating whether I should post it or not and then fighting with myself about my wording and then immediately regretting it and then every time someone commented on it (regardless of positive or negative!) my anxiety spiked. I started a reply to a response on that post and had to stop after a few minutes because I was already starting to trigger myself over it.

this is actually a pretty good outcome when it comes to meta! I recognized that I was hurting myself before I got any further, and I only spent like, five hours on it! it was good exposure therapy for me! the bad outcome is. well. bad, as you might imagine lmao.

I like writing meta. I like talking to people about it too! I like participating in fandom, I like writing, I like translating, I like all of these things. they’re just also really hard for me! there’s a couple meta requests sitting in my inbox right now that I want to get to, but it might take me like. a long time because of. you know! *gestures* Everything takes me a long time. that first chapter of the translation took me literally five months from beginning the project to posting a final edited version. It’s just over 1k words. D8

I try really hard to be chill and kind in public and I largely think I succeed on the kind part (I hope!). If you thought I had even an ounce of chill before this, perhaps I have disabused of that notion entirely now lmao. I’m not saying this for pity, but like? just so we all know what we’re dealing with here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt when I don’t engage with them or feel snubbed if I never reply to them. and also like, hey, if someone relates it’s like hooray, high fave, solidarity! we’re not alone in this world! or maybe this will help someone understand OCD a little better! I don’t know. I hope this post is a positive thing. BUT! I’ve spent three hours on it already, and i’m definitely starting to compulsively spiral, so instead of going back and editing it over and over, I’m just going to post it. thank you everyone for your understanding! I hope you enjoy your time on my blog! (*´▽`*)

[askthewitchlady]

Ajin: Demi-human (season 1) Review

THIS REVIEW WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS

Oh my goodness was this a slog to get through, Three days people, it took me three days to get through 13 episodes Because OMG  Setting aside the fact this is some of the ugliest 2d to 3d rig work I have ever seen, I have never seen a show have some much going on with out achieving anything.  Ok ok ok let me start this properly.

In the world there are being known as Ajin, these Demi-human beings are rare with only three known cases in Japan, the Ajin are capable of resurrecting from fatal wounds making them Semi-immortal, they also have the ability to summon being known as ‘black ghosts’ which can be used for all sorts of things.  There is unfortunately no way of knowing if a person is an Aijin until they suffer some for of mortal injury at that point their body will regenerate and they will live this is the case for Kei Nagai, a high school student studying to be a doctor.  While the government of Japan have led people to believe that Ajin are kept in protective custody it is learned that not only are they but most other countries use Aijin as test subjects for medicines and weapons, including life fire testing, because of their regenerative abilities.

Story time

17 years ago during a war in an unnamed African nation the first Ajin was discovered.  Reffered to as a soldier of god because he could not be killed the soldier was immobilized and claimed as property of the US government.

Now Kei Nagai is an apathetic highschool student studying to be a doctor on his mothers demand. While to his ‘friends’ he seems like a cheerful if easily taken advantage of boy the truth is he is apathetic and cut off from the people around him seeing only the value they have to him personally.  While walking to school he and his friends note another boy their age Kaito sitting outside a convenience store they comment on how weird he is and question if Kei is his friend after Kaito waves to him, Kei denies this and they walk on.

At school the subject of Ajins is brought up because of their value in the medical feild, one of Keis friends shows another classmate a video of Inhumane testing on an Ajin subject.  The boy also asks his teacher if the truth about the high reward for an Ajins capture is true.  For some reason this startles Kei and his reaction draws attention so he asks if Ajin aren’t really human.  His teacher says they are not.

Reminiscing he vaguely remembered the death of a childhood pet, after burying it while trying to console his sister he wonders about death and witness’ something strange.  curious about the memory he decides to visit his sister in the hospital and tries to ask her about what she remebers but she refuses to discuss it being outright hostile to him.

still lost in thought and wondering about Ajin as well as flicking through Study cards Kei misses the stop light and begins to cross the street before being hit full on by a truck.  the truck drags his body quiet a ways as it skids to a halt and his friends are horrified by what they’ve witnessed, the driver is shaken and climbs out desperate to say that it was Keis fault when to their shock Kei crawls out from under the truck dazed t first he is confused about what happened before quickly realizing and becoming upset he insists he’s human and begs for his friends to believe him however he realizes they only see him as a way to make money by turning him in.  in terror Kei screams unintentinally releasing his voice, another unique trait of Ajin that causes a temporary paralasis in those who hear it, before fleeing the scene.

a little later Yu Tosaki and his body guard and assistant Izumi Shimomura of the Ajin control branch of the government arrive to question Keis friends and his mother. As this is going on it is revealed that Kei has fled to a local Shrine and then into the woods beyond, desperatly thinking who might help him he remebers Kaito who had been a childhood friend but whome he’d been told not to be around anymore by his mother.  Desperate and worried Kai Might also want to turn him in but feeling alone Kei calls Kaito and the other boy is ready to help his friend filling a duffle bag with supplies and heading out, knocking out a poliece officer who had found Kei Kaito offers his old friend a hand up and they flee the area on a motorcycle.

The Bad

Despite how much I’ve written that happened in the first episode.  it not actually a lot.  theres a lot of nothing in this show and thats a major problem.  I a not against quiet moments, for example Hiyao Miyazaki is very well know for his long silent scenes, but even these scenes serve to tell story in one way or another, I get the feeling either the writer or director of this show wants to emulate that but the quiet scene in the show just don’t accomplish anything.  theres also a sense of ‘artistic padding’  where things are added for the art of it,  I don’t know if someone in the production team had higher aspirations or if they where just desperate to cover the ugly modles but it doesn’t work.

The episodes feel long but almost nothing happens. or a lot happens but none of it matters or is memorable.  The motivations of the antagonist make no sense,  and while I have a theory of who he truely is I won’t say untill I do my reviw on season 2 (Which won’t be for a while because this was so hard to sit through)

Kei himself is a terrible protagonist, there are moment whre you think he’ll get better, but he really doesn’t in fact I thought the show was going to pull some kind of switch and make the story focus on the friend Kaito who seems to really genuinely still care about Kei even though they hadn’t been friends for years and who insists even if Kei is an Ajin, he’s still Kaitos friend so that’s all that matters.  But Kei leavs Kaito after only a couple episodes

It’s clear that there is something not right with kei from the get go, the first time we see his phone all his friend are listed not by name but number literally ‘friend 1′  ‘friend 2′  and so on, and as the show goes on theres an impression that the creators where trying to make Kei a Psychopath.  I’m not talking Ax wielding movie psycho but a clinical psychopath, no empathy no connection to the people around him, a general callous nature and his willingness to use then abandon anyone who might have value.  I’m not a fan of using mental illness as a way of making people ‘other’  mental illness is demonized enough, and frankly it’s hard to empathize with a protagonist who openly admits they don’t care about anyone.

There aren’t any real stand out characters either,  they all feel like cut outs,  you have you deceptively friendly antagonist, you have your to serious government agent, and his body guard who obviously has a crush on him, you have the best friend, you have the friendly granny.

It’s just all been done before and better.

Now about episode 8 a character name Ko Nakano is introduced and for a moment I thought Oh the shows just going to give us a new protagonist... NOPE!  he get capture by Kei who keeps him locked in an old shipping truck for the rest of the season,  Fuck that noise.  honestly Kei gets less and less likeable as the show goes on.  He abjectly refuses to get involved with trying to stop the antagonist, Sato’s, terrorist plot even saying openly he doesn’t care what happens to other because he’s found a nice place where he can live a quiet normal life.  Kei had in fact been taken in by a kindly older woman who convinced the villagers kei was her grandson from tokyo who had gotten into trouble and was staying with her.

That being said.... There’s a couple good things

The elderly woman is quiet charming, she doesn’t care about the Ajin or what ever other trouble Kei seems to be in she just sees a young man who helped her after she fell and lets him stay.  If not for another villager recognizing his picture on the news and reporting him to claim the rumoured reward Kei clearly would have been happy to stay in that little village forever and just live a quiet life.

The opening theme song is pretty good.  the CG is frustrating in that in the opening they show shots of characters as they looked in the manga and those drawings are amazing, This would have looked so much better 2d Animated.

The black ghosts are kind of neat.

theres a couple interesting fights with the Ajin, since they recover almost instantly from death they’ll actually kill themselves in combat to resurrect with out their injuries or to even escape grapple or escape the effects of tranquillizers, so that’s neat

I haven’t got much here guys I’m sorry I’m trying but this just, I feel like there might have been something good under all the thick thick thick padding.

Final Thoughts?

I don’t recommend it, even for one watch it’s just a slog, it’s not enjoyable it’s not even a good time killer because it feels like it drags.

Everything from plot point to characters to scene have been done before in better shows, and the aesthetic is just Ugly, terrible CG modles with awkward round movements to avoid collision issues clearly, and the backgrounds look like someone took photos and then put them through the photoshop watercolor filter.

There’s nothing worth reccomending about it, I know Netflix has stuff way better then this so go watch that because this so Not worth your time.

[weepylucifer]

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 7

Peter has a moment. David is just going to go ahead and assume the game is afoot. Thomas has calmed down a bit, but that’s not going to last.

The West End address Guleed had given me turned out to be a theatre house, and not one of the more impressive ones. Posters up front were advertising a musical that I could vaguely remember watching a movie version of once, many years ago on a slow night.

I squeezed the Jag into one of the few remaining parking spaces next to an array of squad cars from Belgravia. It didn’t seem like a good idea to take Mellenby in with me, but although we were relatively close, I still didn’t have time to drop him off back at the Folly, and my suggestion for him to wait in the car had about zero effect. He simply latched on to me as I entered the building.

We were barely past the ticket console and the first team of forensic suits when we were waylaid by Seawoll in all his glory. I wondered what about this fresh corpse necessitated DCI Seawoll being there, then it occurred to me that this was the first notable Falcon-related case that had cropped up since Lesley had shot Chorley and, for all intents and purposes, vanished. If there was even the slightest possibility of her involvement, that meant all hands on deck.

I gave him a nod, and tried to scope out the mood. “Sir.”

“Grant.” He didn’t go out of his way to give me a smile, but his scowl lessened slightly around the corners. Once upon a time, he would now have started bemoaning the necessity of my presence, but he just said, “We’ve got the body backstage, Sahra said it might be something for you. She got Thomas to come in, might already be around here somewhere.”

“Great.” If Nightingale was at the scene, it seemed like the consequences for Jag theft would be imminent and carried out embarrassingly in public. “I’ll go have a look.”

Seawoll had now spotted Mellenby behind me. “And who’s this?”

“He’s...” Nightingale’s boyfriend. “He’s a Falcon-specialist consultant affiliated with the SAU,” I said, pulling this completely out of my bum.

Seawoll looked at me and raised an eyebrow, communicating without words that he wasn’t buying this for a second. “And where did you dig him up?” he asked.

“Enchanted cave,” Mellenby said, stepping around me and insinuating himself into the conversation. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

Seawoll gave him a level glare. He had almost a whole head on Mellenby. “You know, I told Thomas about a thousand times, I don’t love you lot bringing civilians to my fucking crime scenes.”

Mellenby parried with a grin. “A civilian? No one has called me that in quite a while.” He profferred a hand for a handshake. “David Mellenby, Lieutenant First Grade.” He stared right back into Seawoll’s eyes. Next to the bulk of Seawoll, he looked like a bantam rooster. But his gaze held the weight of a world war.

Veteran, I thought again.

With a sort of grunt, Seawoll caved and shook the offered hand. “DCI Seawoll, Belgravia. You’re one of Nightingale’s, then?”

David nodded. “First and foremost.”

Seawoll rolled his eyes a bit.

“Sir, are we looking at a potential situation here with Lesley?” I asked, thinking it high time this conversation got back on track. There was a body somewhere here for me to look at, and vestigia faded awfully fast.

“Eh.” Seawoll made a vague hand gesture. “We can’t dismiss the possibility at this point. But not every weird-bollocks-related crime in London can be Lesley.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to check?”

“Precisely. Now, Sahra can take you out back.”

Like the ninja she was most likely training to become, Guleed materialized at his elbow. She gave me a grin and a nod, and glanced curiously at David.

“You’re magical,” David told her as soon as Seawoll left us to it.

“Thanks,” Guleed replied. “I have a boyfriend.”

David clapped his hands and smiled beatifically. “Such a coincidence. I have one of those too. Even around here, I’m told.” He grew serious again. He got that look in his eyes that said clipboard and that I was beginning to recognize. “I mean to say, you’re magical but not Folly. Who’s training you?”

Guleed looked from him to me. “Who’s that?”

“Nightingale’s boyfriend,” I said. This was Guleed, after all. And I didn’t miss the split-second of David flinching and then perking up and smiling brightly when he remembered it was okay now to openly be Nightingale’s boyfriend.

Guleed raised an eyebrow. “Is that so.”

“I have been with Thomas for a hundred years,” David proclaimed. And of course he would. Of course he’d count the years he’d spent in a magical coma, with Nightingale believing he was dead.

Guleed’s eyebrows threatened to disappear within her hijab.

“He really has,” I explained. “Holdover from his war... stuff.”

“And is this one also magically not growing older?”

Huh. I hadn’t had time to consider that before. “We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.”

“I definitely plan to research this phenomenon in depth,” David said eagerly. “Thomas and his reverse-aging, that is. The way that’s been neglected is a travesty. There’s been no evidence so far pointing us towards the theory that I myself might also be affected, but who knows? I won’t be able to tell until I discover the cause of this... affliction.”

It would be sad, I supposed, in a karmic way, the two of them getting this second chance, and then one of them starting to age past the other. But the world didn’t run on karma. Perhaps if David indeed found a cause and a way to explain it all... but that had to wait for now.

I nudged David’s side. “Can’t wait to get the clipboard out on your boyfriend, can you?”

He sputtered, blushing a bit, obviously not being used to being so publicly teased, but also delighted by it.

“I don’t appreciate that kind of talk,” said a voice in our backs, “nor the bandying about of the term ‘boyfriend’.”

Nightingale had arrived on stage.

Quite literally on stage, too, and this time he had even lowered himself to putting a proper forensic suit on.

In crass dissonance to his words, he reached past me for David and gave him an almost absentminded kiss on the forehead. “Hello, love.”

Guleed stared. Mellenby lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Thomas!” he breathed.

Nightingale gave him that lopsided Captain-of-the-rugby-team grin (which, I would learn later, was very different from his Captain-in-the-war-effort grin). “Welcome to the 21st century,” he said, patting David on the back. David was glowing. “Oh, don’t cream yourself.”

My jaw joined Guleed’s on the floor.

Nightingale turned to me. “You are in a world of trouble,” he announced. “Both of you.”

“What, and no kiss for me, sir?”

I had no idea where that had come from. I wanted to unsay it about as soon as it left my mouth. More than that, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

Nightingale, to his credit, only shook his head a little. David in my periphery looked... amused and entertained, and was maybe mentally putting me back on a list.

“We’ll talk about your absconding with my car at a later point. Right now, it seems high time we took a look at our victim.”

----

The victim had been found in a room we were told housed the theatre’s props, all cluttered shelves and musty cupboards full of... things. There were heaps of prop swords, cases stuffed with plastic jewelry, set furnishings piled up in corners. Forensics had already been through, and left their little stickers and varied evidence of their work everywhere. The victim was a white woman, I put her in her mid- to late fifties. She was a tall, slightly corpulent lady of forbidding hairstyle (it was short, wavy, stiff with spray and completely aubergine), dressed in a sort of flowing black blouse sporting a variety of frills and tassles. The cause of death seemed mundane enough: she had taken a blow to the back of the head with a blunt object.

I got to my knees and bent down to inspect her. The vestigia took a few seconds to hit, and they were flighty, scrambled impressions. I felt the sensation of something... convex, and glass, and nice to hold in your hand, and then a piercing sting of... desire, of greed, a consuming need to own something, so manifest and physical that it felt like an actual stab to my stomach.

I looked up. “Something... round. Made of glass, like a snowglobe? And there’s this... greedy feeling.”

Nightingale and David both nodded.

“Yes,” David said quietly. “I can feel them from here.”

“David’s always been good with vestigia,” Nightingale said. “Better than me.”

“Because I listen harder.” It carried the tone of an oft-repeated inside joke. But Mellenby had paled again and was looking faintly ill, trying to cast his eyes anywhere but at the body.

“Um, sir,” I muttered at Nightingale and discreetly inclined my head in David’s direction.

“Yes. Quite.” Nightingale gave me a nod - thank you for bringing this to my attention - and turned to David. “First corpse since Ettersberg, eh?”

David shuddered. The colour was draining from his face even faster now. “Please, don’t name that place!”

“Avoiding the name won’t help with anything. And you really shouldn’t be in here. Why did they let you in here in the first place? Come, let me escort you out.” Nightingale put a hand on David’s back and gently led him to the door. Looking back at me, he asked, “Will you be alright here?”

“Yep.” I nodded. Beyond the initial vestigia check, there wasn’t much I could do with this corpse, anyhow, and I assumed it would quite swiftly be turned over to the tender mercies of Dr. Walid. I had another look around the room, but there was nothing to spot that would have been missed by your regular forensic tech.

There was no trace of the object that would have been used to deal the blow.

----

Our victim’s name was Deirdre Maxwell, 54 years of age, and she had been in charge of the props department at the theatre at which she was murdered.

At the time of the murder, as was later found once Dr. Walid had determined the exact time of Ms. Maxwell’s death, as it had been late in the evening and long past rehearsal had ended, only five people had been in the house with her.

There was Howard Sheen, the theatre director. Ajinder Singh, the night porter and watchman. Darja Polunowskaja, the cleaning lady, Derrick Johnson, the janitor, and Cora Watley, an actress.

I went over their alibis as soon as we got back to the Folly and Nightingale had stopped sternly lecturing us about the Jag theft. The director had been in his office at the time of the murder, busy with bookkeeping. The actress had been in her dressing room going over her script one last time before going home, she claimed. The cleaning lady and janitor claimed to have been at their jobs in entirely different parts of the building, and the night watchman had spent most of the night in his cubby hole observing the front door. None of these alibis were good.

The front door had been under watch by the night guard and had not been entered by anyone up to the time of Ms. Maxwell’s death. None of the windows or skylights showed signs of forced entry or magical tampering. There were back and maintenance doors, each outfitted with a CCTV camera. Guess who had to sort through all the camera footage? That’s right, me, next to the metric ton of Latin homework Nightingale had seen fit to punish me with for letting David elope with the Jag.

The footage, once I was through with it, showed a great load of nothing. Nobody had entered or exited the theatre all evening until all present within the building at the time had gone home, except, of course, for Ms. Maxwell. Unless someone had gotten in in some way that we couldn’t of yet determine - a slim possibility - that narrowed our list of suspects down to the original five.

“A locked-room mystery,” David called it. He was hovering nearby as I sifted through the camera footage in the tech cave, superficially leafing through a new issue of Nat Geo he had badgered Nightingale into getting on the way home, in reality watching me. “I’m assuming you’re going to interview all five of them?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Nightingale reminded him. “Civilian.” A corner of his mouth quirked up as he said it, but still the message was clear. David had no place in the investigation.

“Don’t be like that, Thomas,” David pouted. “Who doesn’t love a good whodunnit?”

“This is a police matter, it’s not for you to play detective,” Nightingale said. “Besides which, the matter of ‘who done it’,” I could hear the scathingly sarcastic air quotes, “will most likely end up being handled by the colleagues at Belgravia. Our concern will be the whereabouts of the magical object.”

Mundane murderer, magical murder weapon, that was Nightingale’s theory. I for one thought it much too early to judge that, seeing as the murder weapon had inconveniently vanished.

But before that could even be determined, it was up to us to get the lowdown on Ms. Deirdre Maxwell.

----

We went to her flat first thing the next morning. The door was opened by a dejected-looking man in his late twenties or early thirties who turned out to be the victim’s son, and introduced himself as “Hey, I’m Logan.”

He was a white man with short, mousy brown hair, dressed in jeans and a dark-gray fleece jacket over a black t-shirt, probably random clothes he’d just thrown on this morning. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep the previous night. He wasn’t looking to be the type who cried and emoted messily all over the place, I noted, but perhaps that would simply come later, once the immediate shock died down. Right now, he looked... dazed, I suppose. A common reaction in the face of sudden, jarring tragedy.

I was assuming Belgravia had already sent someone over the previous day to help him get over the worst of it, but it couldn’t hurt to play up that role. It wasn’t anything I was stellar at, but unfortunately the last several years had equipped me with some experience in the matter. Didn’t mean any of that ever got any easier.

“How are you holding up?” Nightingale inquired. I hadn’t thought he’d volunteer himself to step up for the role of supportive cop, but I was glad he did.

“Like pure shite,” Logan Maxwell stated soberly. “But thanks for asking, guv.”

“We’re going to have to take a quick look around the flat,” I said.

“Why?” Logan Maxwell wondered. “My mother’s been murdered. Shouldn’t you be out looking for the killer? Surely there’s nothing in here for you to find?”

“This is pure procedure,” Nightingale told him. “We’ll be in and out of here within a minute, I’m sure. And of course a highly capable team of investigative forces is looking into finding our perpetrator as we speak. May we step into the kitchen and just have a short talk about all this?”

Ushering Mr. Maxwell on, almost herding him really, into his mother’s kitchen, Nightingale looked round at me and, with the slightest shift of his eyes, ordered me to search the other rooms. I nodded quietly and got to it.

Apart from the kitchen, there were three more rooms branching off the tiny, cramped hallway. A small bathroom (nothing at all special), Ms. Maxwell’s bedroom, a living room and what I assumed had been Logan Maxwell’s room once, but it became fairly obvious that he didn’t permanently live here any longer. Through the thin walls, I could hear Logan ask, “Do you mind if I just...?” to which Nightingale replied, “Oh, by all means, no, let me join you. I recently started again myself.” A lighter clicked twice, and soon I could smell smoke.

The living room was gaudy, chintz and little horrible knick-knacks everywhere. Not the fussy-old-lady sort, not porcelain dolls, you understand, but dream catchers, silk shawls, supposedly healing crystals and the like. It wasn’t anything I thought I had to worry about. Many people felt the need to spruce up their lives with a touch of magic, but most ended up completely off base. A light affinity for crystals wouldn’t do to explain Ms. Maxwell’s falling victim to a magical crime. Above the small TV, there was a cluttered bookshelf mounted to the wall, filled with romance novels and mediocre fantasy and some books that might have belonged to Logan as a kid.

“What is it that you do, Mr. Maxwell?” Nightingale asked politely one room over.

“I’m in insurance, actually, um, just started,” Logan Maxwell replied. There was a strained chuckle. “May I interest you in life insurance, guv?”

I heard Nightingale make a small, understated noise of genuine amusement. “You shan’t make a good living off of me in that respect.”

It seemed a common enough story. The quirky, hippie single mom and the son who rebelled by turning out as mundane and bougie as humanly possible. Perhaps this one’s grades hadn’t been sufficiently impressive for law school. I moved on to the bedroom.

“I’m not a grief counselor, no,” I heard Nightingale say as I opened drawers and found nothing at all of interest. “Merely someone of great personal experience with loss.”

“Good,” Maxwell replied. “I don’t want to be counselled. At least... not right now. The people from the murder team offered, but... I just need to... sit down and let it really sink in.”

“I understand all too well,” Nightingale said.

I opened up the door to what I assumed led into the second bedroom.

There was a little surprise there for me.

“If I may, Mr. Maxwell. Did your mother perchance do anything... unusual, strange, lately?”

“I told the other coppers, no. Not more unusual than always, I mean... I don’t know. Nothing comes to mind, really.”

I could practically see Nightingale’s immaculate, raised eyebrow. “Is that to say your mother did unusual things regularly?”

“Eh. She has this... had this... this dumb hobby of hers. She always... I mean, it’s just this thing she’d do on the weekends. It’s nothing.”

I examined everything and made my way back into the kitchen. Maxwell was seated at the kitchen table, an overflowing ashtray in front of him. Nightingale, cigarette clenched between his teeth, was making tea.

“Um, sir?”

----

“A fortune teller,” Nightingale surmised.

We were looking at the setup in what had once been the second bedroom. Apparently, once Logan Maxwell had moved out, Deirdre Maxwell had remodeled his childhood bedroom to house her fortune-telling operation. There was a small table covered in a large, purple velvet shawl, and a deck of cards and other paraphernalia on that table. There was a ouija board mounted to a wall, another bookshelf on the opposite wall, this one filled with a different kind of literature. Tarot, spirit healing, seances, palm reading, something called ‘green witchcraft’.

She had apparently recorded herself for the benefit of online customers, seeing as there was a laptop and camera rig positioned in a strategic angle to the purple coffee table.

And something... something was missing. I had never been in this room before, but there was a thought nagging at the back of my mind that something that should be here, that I’d expect to be here, was... missing.

“Yeah,” Logan Maxwell said sheepishly, “that was her thing. The Mysterious Madame Delilah. Load of bollocks.”

“You don’t think there might’ve been something to it?” I asked. I stole a glance at Nightingale, who ever-so-lightly made a so-so hand gesture.

“Nah,” Logan Maxwell said. “She always was on about some nonsense like that. Sure, people paid her for it, but... truth be told, I was embarrassed. The Mysterious Madame Delilah,” he repeated. “I don’t think she ever made any actual magic up in here.”

I ambled through the small room, examining the shelf once more, touching a chunky rose quartz, running my fingertips over the purple cloth that covered the table. And then it struck me: the smooth feeling of something under my hand, like glass, and a stab of desire.

Same vestigia, I mouthed at Nightingale.

Now I saw his raised eyebrow in action.

----

“I never met a fortune teller who wasn’t completely bogus,” he told me later, when we were walking back to the Jag. “Besides which, she had none of the literature on actual magic at her disposal. But if the last several years have taught me anything, it’s that there are... more than enough things I don’t know.”

I shrugged. “People come by magic in all sorts of ways.”

“Perhaps so,” he granted.

He had made a cup of tea for Mr. Maxwell, I thought. He had left his card with the man, “in case there’s ever anything out of the ordinary that occurs to you regarding the circumstances of your mother’s death”. He had smoked with him and apparently gotten chummy enough to be mistaken for a grief counselor. That was new, and it had started happening fairly recently, maybe, I suspected, as recently as David’s return. He seemed different, too. Something in his face, in the way he walked. Imperceptible to someone who didn’t know him well, but he seemed... more present, somehow. More involved with the world around him. Like something was waking up, or thawing out, that had been numb and silent for at least as long as I knew him.

The men’s emotional and psychological needs, Mellenby said within my short-term memory, all fell under Thomas’s purview.

Just then, another thought clicked into place, and I knew what I’d been missing, up in the flat earlier.

“No crystal ball,” I said.

“Pardon?” Nightingale asked.

“There was no crystal ball. What fortune teller doesn’t have a crystal ball? And the object we’re looking for is likely something round, smooth, made of glass. I’m sure you can deal a bit of a blow with a thing like that.”

Nightingale gave me a slight smile. “A thought worth keeping in mind,” he said in that tone of his that really meant well done, and he gave me an appreciative sort of look, and I felt... well, I felt looked at. No one looks at you like Nightingale sometimes.

Just then, his phone rang.

He took it from his pocket and, peering at the screen, I could see it said ‘David’, and just that. If I’d been expecting heart emojis, I was cruelly let down.

“Aww,” I said, “it’s the boyfriend.”

“I told you his status is pending,” Nightingale told me sternly. “He’s not presently my boyfriend.” He accepted the call. “Hello, darling.”

If I’d had a drink just then, I would have spat it.

“Mh,” Nightingale said, in reply to something on David’s side. “Yes. You can tell Molly that I’ll definitely be home for dinner. I can make no such promises regarding Peter. Unless...?”

He gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head. I was going to have dinner at Bev’s. What with there being a new case now, things were bound to get busy for me, and I wanted to spend as much time with Bev as I could.

“Ah,” Nightingale said. “Apparently not. Well, I’ll be seeing you shortly. What? Oh. Yes, yes, I love you too, David, goodbye.”

He hung up and gave me a token annoyed look. There was no real force behind it. “Well, that was David.”

I grinned at him. “Cute,” I said. “Did you two make up?”

Nightingale shook his head. “Not in the slightest. What makes you think that?”

I gestured a bit awkwardly. “Well... just now, you said...”

“It was a statement of fact. I am angry at David - inordinately furious, really, at David - but that doesn’t mean I don’t also love him. My anger and my regard for him can coexist.”

That seemed weird to me, but also... so simple. He wasn’t having a big crisis about that part of things at the very least. Nightingale was frighteningly straightforward sometimes, and ready to accept all manner of things. And then I saw how he was trying very hard not to smile as he pocketed his phone, and how he kept looking around the place as we walked to the parking lot where we’d left the Jag with a kind of wonder, like he was seeing London with new eyes - and liking what he saw. And I thought, yeah, they’ll be alright.

And I felt... weird about that.

Not because I still felt horrified by the gay sex thing.

At least I dearly hoped so.

There was something else...

I didn’t know what.

But just then, for a split-second, I had felt almost... annoyed by David calling, because Nightingale and I had been having a moment here goddamn it, and these moments of the two of us just doing something together without there being immediate combat had grown sparse of late, what with Lesley and Chorley. And I’d thought, oh sure, it’s his boyfriend, in an acidic tone that took me aback. I’d wanted... I don’t know. To have Nightingale to myself, maybe, for a few minutes before I’d get permanently busy with Bev and... well... and all that.

“Oh god, I’m having a child,” I said out loud.

“I’m sure you’ll make a splendid parent,” Nightingale said, almost absentmindedly. His eyes were far away, probably resting on some distant, David-related memory. “Don’t forget to apply for paternal leave.”

Apparently his new emotional approachability only extended so far.

----

By the time we got back to the Folly, Guleed had sent me the initial witness testimonials, but I would have to go talk to them all again anyway to check for magic. I decided to start right there at the theatre.

Rehearsals were already in full swing again when I walked in - I found that morbid but the show must go on, I suppose. I swung by Mr. Johnson in the janitorial office first. He was rather helpful in establishing a timeline for the evening: he made a round of the building before going home at about 8 pm, during which he crossed the night watchman, Mr. Singh. Apart from that, he was either in his office or performing maintenance duties in and around the building as-needed. Ms. Maxwell had died at about seven thirty. And sure, Guleed had already asked about this stuff, and included it in her e-mail to me, but it never hurt to ask again. At least one of the people here was holding something back, and sometimes people maintaining a lie got confused.

The cleaning lady reminded me of Varvara, but that was probably just her Russianness and didn’t necessarily have to mean something. While she had all sorts of delightful opinions on the actors, technicians, director, owner of the theatre and about everyone else working here, none of it was precisely helpful. “The place is going to the dumps,” she opined. “I have been cleaning here for five years and haven’t looked at a pay raise in three.”

I expressed my sympathies and, in a lowered voice, she told me, “I hear next year they’re going to put... the Scottish play on.”

Not quite knowing what to do with that, I nodded and left her to her work.

Mr. Sheen, the director didn’t have much time for me, seeing as he was supervising the rehearsal. When I asked him to confirm the cleaning lady’s account of whether the establishment was struggling financially, he said something to the effect of, “Well, we’ve always muddled through. It’s an uncertain business, with the audience, predicting what will land is always a gamble.” When asked about Ms. Maxwell, he said it was a pity, and that she’d been a dependable employee, and not much more.

He seemed stressed, concerned. The opening night of their musical was soon. Perhaps people weren’t going to patronize an establishment where someone had been murdered, he said, like that was the most important thing here. When I went to interview the actress in her dressing room, she said “I play the character of Janet” before telling me her actual name. These people were weird, and not a type of weird I was privy to.

But let’s tell it in order. I knocked, went into the actress’s dressing room, and found none other than David Mellenby there drinking tea with her. They were seated next to the vanity that held all her stage makeup, drinking from mismatched cups, the actress thumbing through her role book as they talked, as though this was commonplace, as though David was even remotely supposed to be here.

“Hello,” he said when he saw me, his face lighting up in a genuine smile. “This is Constable Grant, he’s very capable at his job,” he introduced me to the actress, all gallantry and outdated manners and breezing blithely past the fact that I had no bloody idea why he was here and it was likely to make my day substantially more complicated.

“And what... on earth... are you doing here?” I asked him.

“I thought it interesting to return here,” David said mildly, sipping green tea from a mug that bore the classic “You Don’t Have To Be Mad To Work Here, But It Helps!” slogan.

I took a deep breath, about ready to tell him that he absolutely should not have come, that he was in no way affiliated with this investigation, and that Nightingale would blow his fuse if he heard, and... I didn’t. I snapped my mouth shut again. Discussing this in front of one of the suspects would make both of us look bad, and that wasn’t something I was prepared to deal with.

So I simply also took a seat on the last free chair. “Alright,” I said.”Great. Now, I’d like to ask a few questions, just quickly.”

“I’ve been asked many questions by many policemen already,” the actress said. She had a quiet, melodic voice. “And they kind of need me at rehearsal.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” I replied. “And then I’m sure we’ll all be out of your hair for now.”

The actress sighed. She was a thin white girl, late twenties I thought, who’d recently dyed her hair blonde, maybe for the role. Combined with her dark clothes, it had the effect of making her look a bit disfavorably pallid and drawn. “I guess go ahead.”

I got out my notebook and a ballpoint pen and tossed them at David. if he was going to hang around, he might as well take notes.

“How long have you been an actress here, Ms...?” There. Nice and general.

“I’m engaged for the year,” she replied. “I play the role of Janet. It’s the female lead.”

“Impressive,” I said, because she really seemed to want me to. “And your name was...?”

“Cora Watley, um, Cora Jane Watley.” She shifted a bit in her seat, clasping her tea cup with both hands. “But I already told PC Guleed, and then DCI Nightingale.”

This gave me pause, because I’d had no idea that Nightingale had been through here, but then David caught my eye and stealthily held up... Nightingale’s warrant card, and wiggled it at me by way of explanantion.

Un-fucking-believable.

“I... okay.” I nodded at David, trying to send him a glare that silently communicated that we’d need to address this later. “As I said, Ms. Watley, just one or two more questions for the records.”

“What kinds of questions?” the actress asked. She seemed nervous, but trying to appear unflappable, but everyone here, down to the cleaning lady, seemed high-strung, what with their opening night coming up and the murder (and, yes, very much in that order of importance). Besides which, being a suspect in a criminal investigation is bound to unnerve most people. But did her nerves look like those of a guilty person, or simply like someone hoping not to get caught in the crossfire?

“For example, how well did you know Ms. Maxwell?” I asked.

The young woman shrugged. “Not too well. We’ve talked in passing. But she seemed... nice. Not the kind of person you’d murder, I’d think.”

“But she was... not well-liked here?” I tried.

“No, I do think she was. I don’t know, I’ve only been here for a year. But what gives you that idea?”

I took another deep breath. It felt strange, and tasted strange too, like there was greasepaint coating my lips and tongue. Weird. Was that just the air in here? It smelled pervasively of stage makeup. “Well, nobody here I’ve talked to seemed very... affected by the murder. Was Ms. Maxwell unpopular, or did she keep to herself...?”

Ms. Watley laughed. “Oh, she did not keep to herself, no. I’m certain people are affected. It just needs time to settle in, and with opening night so close, the place is a madhouse anyway. Even murder becomes just one more thing.”

I exchanged a look with David, who looked quizzically back. He was tugging at his cuffs again, even harder than usual.

“Would you have noticed if Ms. Maxwell had done anything... unusual, lately?”

“Unusual how?” The actress asked. There was that feeling again, that strange taste on my tongue when I breathed. Now it was accompanied by a sensation like scratchy cloth on my skin, and a glare of too-warm light from overhead. Were these vestigia? But then what was emanating them? “She had that weird hobby, I don’t know. Something about occultism, not really my thing at all. Do you mean that?”

I put on a neutral face that I hoped looked just like the one Nightingale always did. Gosh, but that glaring light was getting annoying. “Do I mean that?”

“It’s about the most unusual thing Deirdre had going on, I guess. I mean, I don’t know. Two months ago she said she was going to make a business of it, selling... palm readings or something to people online. No idea how that’s supposed to work.”

“This might be tangentially related. Did she ever... bring that hobby of hers into work in any way?”

Cora Watley crossed her arms. “What do you mean by that?”

What did I mean by that? It probably wasn’t the most intelligent way to find out about Ms. Maxwell’s fortune telling business and if it had led to her murder. But David being here irritated me, and these sensations or vestigia that I couldn’t place irritated me, and... maybe it was time to get out of here.

I said my bit, gestured to David to follow, and left the dressing room. We stood out in the hallway leading from the dressing rooms back out to the stage, facing each other.

“Why did we leave?” David asked.

“Why do you have Nightingale’s warrant card?” I rounded on him.

“I took the liberty of removing it out of his jacket.” He didn’t look the least bit regretful of this. “I’m confident I’ll be able to replace it before he even notices it’s gone.”

“I’m... pretty sure that’s a crime,” I said.

David shrugged his shoulders. “I thank you for your discretion, then.”

“That’s not how the police works these days,” I said. “That’s not how I work. You can’t wave at me and make me go away. I’m not the help.”

David had looked like he was going to be rebellious, but now he visibly deflated. He averted his eyes, picking at his sleeve. “I am dearly sorry,” he admitted.

I sighed, willing my irritation to simmer down. “Just what are you doing?” I asked, more calmly. “Nightingale said you are to stay away from the investigation. He was very clear, and he was right. People don’t play detective and crack the code, normally.”

He lifted his chin, suddenly again defiant. “Thomas is not my Captain anymore. Where does he get off, anyway, thinking I’ll obey his every order?”

Was that what this was? Another way to passive-aggressively carry out their lovers’ spat? I already felt exhausted with this. “Look, the way I see it... Nightingale is coming around. You guys might be okay, why go on pissing him off more?”

Not really wanting to stand around waiting for his answer, I started making my way back out to the stage. David was keeping pace with me. “Ingratiating myself to Thomas is not my entire purpose, you know,” he said. “I am a scientist foremost. I can’t not investigate things. There is a conundrum here, and I must know. Knowledge is not gained by adhering to what others say, or by failing to take risks.”

I was tempted to remind him that this here was a real crime scene, not a Sherlock Holmes story with him in the titular role. What did end up coming out of my mouth was, “I heard that was the exact attitude that led you all to Ettersberg.”

As soon as I’d said it, I knew it might have been a bit too much. As I stepped out on stage where the actors and director had since ended their rehearsal and cleared out, I heard nothing but silence behind me and, then, a long, deep, guttural sigh.

“You’re right,” David said, drawing level with me - he was pressing his hands to his temples. “I’m doing all the same things that I did before. I’m slipping back into the same behaviors. Assuming I know better. How have I not learned from what happened?”

Well, what could I say to that?

“I just get so blinkered sometimes,” David continued. “I don’t know why. And Thomas...”

He sighed once more. “Thomas was always the golden boy with all the natural talent. Coasting by when others struggled. I just want to show him that I also can achieve greatly. That I can stand beside him as his equal, not always one step behind playing catch-up. But Thomas never understood my efforts, my work. My research. And then I found friends at Weimar who were genuinely appreciative of my theories, but they took my work and made... well... of course, I told myself, Thomas couldn’t understand why I felt slighted. Why I felt hurt. But he simply looked at the way things were with clearer eyes. Of course 800 human lives were more important than my hurt.”

I gave him a strained smile. “You know what, it might do a great deal in your favor if you told him what you just told me.”

I took another step onto the stage. This environment was bringing back persistent little wisps of uncomfortable memories of the Punch case. Sure, this stage was a lot smaller and less glamorous than the one at the Royal Opera House. But... still. But surely this wasn’t Punch-related, right? We hadn’t heard of him since the incident with Chorley’s bell. I’d have to ask Les-

No.

No.

What the hell, brain? Really, still? After all this time?

“These... weird vestigia in here,” David said suddenly. “Do you feel them too?”

And I did feel them. For a fleeting moment, I felt in full force the glare of the stage lights, the bead of sweat running into my neck down into the collar of my costume, the theater makeup itchy on my face, the exhilaration coupled with stage fright and before me the murmur of the audience, waiting to be entranced, or disappointed, by me.

I shook my head, and was myself again. “Yeah, it’s like... like an actor, ten seconds before their big scene, or whatever.”

“Hmm.” David tugged at his cuffs again.

“We should get out of here.”

----

“Why did we leave?” David asked again, as we were standing out in the street up front of the theatre again. Why indeed? I had felt... dazed, in there, I’d felt a need to leave the building. I was sure he had felt the same.

“I don’t know. But something was extremely strange about that crime scene.”

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with, so we’re... retreating?”

It had a militaristic air to it, ‘retreating’. He had probably intended that. “Let’s call it regrouping,” I said. “Besides, Nightingale was right. Our concern should be the magical object. Guess I’ll have to find whoever would know about a magical crystal ball around which murders happen.”

That was going to be a needle-in-a-haystack search. The exact kind of busy work everyone wishes they could delegate to someone lower on the chain of command. With the Folly’s command structure being as it was, unfortunately I was the person this type of work was delegated to.

David must have seen my displeasure with the situation, because he said, “You could let me do it.”

Really? Hadn’t we had that conversation about five minutes ago? I told him as such.

“Sure,” he said. “But I don’t have anything else to do. I’m going out of my mind with the amount of nothing I’m contributing. Please.”

So he was determined to keep on learning nothing from his experiences. Not exactly stellar practice. But was that really my problem?

“Look,” I said, “You’ll talk to Nightingale, okay?”

[lionheartslowstart]

Snakes and Roses

I’ve been avoiding writing this post for a long time. (I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot recently.) I’m not sure why. I think maybe because writing it will force me to examine myself in ways I’m not totally comfortable with. I guess we’ll find out. To be clear, I’ve been sitting on this post since April 2nd, 2019, when I wrote a post called “Snakes and Lillies,” which was about Severus Snape and his many complexities. Snape is a character I have always loved and defended, and someone I talk about a lot. It was only a matter of time before I dedicated a blog entry to him. But it wasn’t until I reached the final paragraph where I had the realization of something I think I’ve always known deep down. I wrote, “He probably never knew what it meant to truly be happy.” And that’s when it hit me, one of the big reasons I love Snape so much is because...well, he reminds me of me. I see myself in him. I relate to him in ways that I’ve never related to other fictional characters before.

The reason this realization hit me in that specific moment, is because the idea of never knowing what it is to truly be happy is something I have thought about myself, even said about myself, to a select few. It’s why I was able to drum up that line so quickly in my writing - it was already there, in my subconscious.

I don’t like to think about my childhood. To be frank, I don’t like to think about much of my life before 2016-ish. I prefer to live in the fantasy world of my creation, that my entire life has been a fog and I’ve sort of “come to” as a fully formed adult. Obviously, that’s not a realistic way to live life, especially in terms of overcoming trauma and bettering yourself, so it’s something I’ve been tackling in the last year or so. I could write my entire life story here, but a) that would probably be the longest post I’ve ever written (and some of them are already pretty fucking long), and b) I don’t want to. But I will include some background information, so my readers can see the parallels I’ve drawn, and the deep connection I feel with Mr. Severus Snape.

In some ways, my childhood was very different from Snape's. In other ways, my childhood was incredibly similar. I didn’t grow up poor, and for that, I’m extremely thankful. My parents weren’t abusive, to each other or to me, and I’m extremely thankful for that as well. Obviously, these were two very important aspects of Snape’s origin story. But for me, it’s not so much the cause as it is the effect. I developed severe emotional problems at a very young age, five years old. I was suicidal, I had extreme outbursts, I was that “weird kid” (and then later I was that “fat, weird kid”), I was misunderstood, and I didn’t have the maturity or vocabulary to communicate my feelings and issues to those around me. As a result, despite having an otherwise loving home, I became isolated. I was isolated from my family, who didn't know how to help me, and who I often felt ganged up on me. I was isolated from my peers, who saw a sad little loner and decided the best course of action was to bully and ostracize me (because we all know that “different” equals “bad”). I was isolated from my teachers, who only saw me as a “problem child,” and who often blamed me for things that weren’t my fault, and who concluded that my outbursts were the result of behavioral problems as opposed to being in psychic pain. I was so lonely. I had two friends, but even they avoided me at school, as they had their own friends, and I, of course, was not invited to participate in that group. I spent most of my days alone, thinking my thoughts, concentrating on school, using my imagination, and generally giving off “sad boy energy.” As much as I try to ignore what I consider to be some of the most painful years of my life, I can’t deny that I am largely the person I am today because of my childhood. It’s my own origin story.

Obviously, I’m glossing over a lot here, specifically the details of my emotional problems and outbursts, but I’m sure you get the gist. So, this is something Snape and I had in common. We were both bullied and excluded, albeit for different reasons. We both felt alone and misunderstood. We also both tended to be reprimanded for our own actions, often driven by pain, but watched as others who hurt us went completely unpunished, or even unacknowledged. (For example, when Snape dropped the branch on Petunia, he was yelled at by Lily, but Lily didn’t scold Petunia for her disparaging comments against Snape.) Things also changed for both of us in our teenage years. For Snape, it appears to have changed earlier, around 11. For me, it took a little longer, more like 14. But in both cases, we suddenly found ourselves accepted for the first time in our young lives, treated like equals. As a result of this, we both became slightly haughtier, a bit superior, and on occasion, not very nice. 

This is where things begin to differ between the young Severus and myself, for a number of reasons. The first is that Snape was a follower, I was the leader. For the record, this wasn’t something I realized until I was an adult, but, indeed, I was the leader of my own little group. I was the one who brought everyone together, I was the one that many people looked up to, had feelings for, or wanted to be near. I wish I had appreciated it more at the time. Snape was more of a pack member, at least initially. It’s not clear who the leader was as he grew older. I’m sure Lucious Malfoy was the leader in the beginning, but he was a fifth year when Snape was a first year, so perhaps by his fourth year, Snape took his place. I’m not sure. However, I doubt it, because he was still mercilessly picked on by the Marauders and other classmates, who probably would have feared or respected him more if he had been the leader of the young Death Eaters. This leads to another difference, which is that Snape fell into a group of people who prided themselves on prejudiced ideations, and were in many ways bullies themselves, though Snape continued to be bullied as well. While I’ve certainly been ignorant, I’ve never espoused bigoted beliefs. I would also assert that I was never a bully per se, but I definitely spoke down to people and probably could have been much less selfish and bitchy than I was.

I mentioned earlier on that I often defend Snape, which is true. I have certainly had Snape-related conflicts with people, some more intense than others. About a year ago, around the time I posted “Snakes and Lillies” actually, I got into a heavy debate with a friend of a friend who maintained that Snape was a bad person who shouldn’t be celebrated in any capacity. No matter what I said, he remained unconvinced, and I walked away from that encounter feeling sour and angry. But why? Because it felt like a personal attack on my character. Everything my acquaintance said about Snape landed like he was saying it about me. I know he didn’t intention it that way, I’m sure he didn't even realize that’s how I was interpreting it. But when people tell me they think Snape is irredeemable, it feels like they’re saying I’M irredeemable.

Our lives may have gone on different paths, but I maintain that Severus Snape and I have the same, or very similar, core. We both grew up with a lot of pain and isolation. We both became embittered because of our respective childhoods, and that bitterness continued to follow us throughout our lives. We both experience a petty and vindictive pleasure when we are able to inflict suffering on those who have hurt us (though I’m sure he and I have very different ideas on who deserves it and who doesn't, as well as what levels of revenge are acceptable). We also both have the capacity for an incredibly deep and never-ending love, though most people never ever get to see it. We both have goodness in us that is often overlooked or minimized by others, who are too eager to see the bad things about us. And above all, as I said in my previous Snape-related post, neither of us has ever experienced a true and fulfilling happiness in our lives.

Of course, there is still hope for me, as I’m only in my mid-twenties, and have been doing a tremendous amount of work on myself, as well as in the interest of improving my life. Unfortunately, Snape did not have that opportunity, as his life was cut short in the midst of his mission. However, he was only in his late-thirties, and, had he been able to live, I like to believe he would have been able to begin the process of healing as well.

I’m finding it difficult to articulate why I feel so close to Severus Snape beyond what I’ve said already. Probably because they are feelings that are difficult for me to access. Snape was incredibly flawed, and so am I. Snape was incredibly broken, and so am I. Snape was, in my opinion, redeemable and overall a good person despite many of his questionable actions, which were largely the result of a miserable life. I feel similarly about myself.

I wonder how Snape’s life would have been different if the Harry Potter series took place today, in a climate where trauma and mental illness are more accepted, normalized, and discussed. Would he have been held accountable for his misdirected anger towards his students? Would he have been able to get the help he needed earlier on? What if he, as an adult, was shown more compassion and love? And I already know that many people might then ask, “What about Lily?” Yes, Lily showed Snape compassion and love. Lily cared deeply for Severus, and he was her best friend throughout her entire childhood. But when we are children, especially children who are in the midst of trauma, we don’t always recognize what love looks or feels like. This is something I relate to as well. There have been times when I was faced with real love, but due to the trauma I was still experiencing or working through, I did not truly see or appreciate it at the time. Sometimes, time needs to pass for us to be able to grow, mature, and make it through the trauma. We need to get to a place where we are able to look back and appreciate what we had, and to be able to heal and fully experience love in the present. Maybe, if someone had given Snape more affection and empathy as an adult, he would have been able to heal.

All I know is I find myself wishing I could reach through the pages of my books, or through my television screen, so I can wrap my arms around him and tell him he’s worthy of love, and there’s still time for him to heal and find happiness. Because, that’s what I’ve always wished people had done for me.

[fascinationsublime]

So...

Watching the end of Voltron and rewatching season 6 (part 1 + 2) of Teen Wolf lead me to notice some things:

1. The show starts off much more lighthearted than the later seasons are. -Teen Wolf starts out kind of Twilight-esque. -Voltron was intended to be a kids show -The amount of violence and horror in Teen Wolf in the later seasons is not something found in dumb teen movies -Voltron in the later seasons attempts to address (I’m not saying they do a good job) the mature themes of loss, the horrors of war, mental illness (Keith is maybe suicidal, Lance is dealing with low self esteem, Shiro has PTSD) and sacrifice (Allura obviously but also almost Keith)

2. The plot gets convoluted and there’s too many villains. -Alpha Pack, Theo and the Dread Doctors, Evil Stiles, The Wild Hunt -Who is the main bad guy after Zarkon dies? -While watching Teen Wolf I feel like I should have a list of who leaves and where they go. Did they die or did they just fuck off to Europe I don’t remember

3. QUEER BAITING -I have nothing to say...Jeremy I trusted you!! We had a bonding moment my ass -Honestly Tyler and Dylan were literally on a ship. They were literally cuddling on a ship. Are you telling me that’s not queer baiting? I’m so angry NEXT

4. Kinda representation but not really. UGH you thought I was done? I’m not done.

-I will concede that Teen Wolf does a better job of this but to be fair Teen Wolf is supposed to exist in a world without homophobia. SO! What is Jackson’s sexuality? How the fuck did Jackson and Ethan become a couple? What was up with Liam and Theo in the elevator (also in the last season in general)? Is Stiles Bi? He never answered that woman’s (Katlin’s?) question. Does Derek have to shove Stiles up against walls? -I don’t even have questions to ask because there’s basically no representation. Adam could have been Shiro’s roommate. You wouldn’t even have to change anything. We literally know nothing about the man Shiro ends up marrying and everything we do get is in the last 30 seconds like they slapped it on to keep us from rioting

And the most frustrating part is we know at least some of the animators and directors and creators aren’t afraid of LGBT representation because these are the people who worked on legend of Korra and these are the people that said the show exists in a world without homophobia UGH ANYWAY!

5. For very different shows they have very similar endings. You kinda know where the characters are going in life but there’s still questions unanswered. -What is Theo doing in the tunnels? Scott’s voiceover says he’s an ally but last we saw we didn’t trust him also he was homeless so where is he living? Is he going to stay in Beacon Hills? I’m probably the only one who cares what Theo is doing so let’s move on. Alec. He’s joining the pack so? Is he moving to Beacon Hills? Where’s he gonna live? Are we just trusting Liam with strange werewolves that we adopt? Did Malia ever go to Paris? Did Scott go to college? And is Stiles in the FBI? Or is Monroe more important? Are Lydia and Stiles dating? Is Derek going to move back to Beacon Hills? Is Derek ever going to have a permanent residence? What happened to Danny? That’s not even really about the ending he just disappeared and I have questions! -We never get reunion hugs and I’m mad about it. Lance’s homesickness is a major topic and we never get to see him run slow-mo into his mother’s arms. Ridiculous. Lance just mourns his girlfriend forever? Are you kidding me they were dating for like 5 minutes. What is Coran doing? What about Romelle? And Keith is...alone? Forever? Idk I’ll be honest it was hard to read the postcards through ALL OF MY TEARS ABOUT KLANCE NOT BEING CANON

let’s talk about that

If you haven’t already, put those shipper goggles on because we’re going to talk about Sterek and Klance!

So...Derek and Keith are kinda the same person...and Stiles and Lance are kinda the same person...They got us twice! With the same ship! In all seriousness though I know that Derek and Keith, and Stiles and Lance are not the same people but they’re pretty similar and we’re here to talk about similarities.

D/K: brooding, good in a fight, does not talk about emotions

S/L: will not stop talking, probs bi with a crush on D/K and relentlessly flirts with the girl of their dreams that they have no chance with

And if you look at the course of their relationships they’re basically identical:

Starts off good. S/L knows D/K. (Stiles tells Scott Dereks whole background and Lance can recognize Keith by the back of his head at night with 100% confidence and accuracy) S/L almost immediately accuses D/K of something (Derek of murder and Keith of always trying to one up Lance) Definitely some sexual tension.

A brief interlude for some moments: Bonding Moment™️. We did it. We are a good team. Hey Lance I got your lion back. Leave the math to Pidge. Hey man we all miss Shiro. Pool Scene. (I meant pool scene in reference to Sterek but klance has one too. You see what I mean??) I think you two make a pretty good pair (everyone say thanks Matt). Start the car or I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth. Sourwolf (yeah we’re gonna take that and run)

Literally save each other’s lives. Would probably die for the other.

Then one of them fucks off (and I scream “WHERE IS D/K I LOVE HIM” for the next 20 episodes)

S/L gets the girl that they’ve been pining over for forever who previously showed literally no interest in him

And then they have a reunion and you think maybe cause the keep having meaningful interactions but NO

Stiles does a spit take when he sees shirtless Derek running through the woods and then he says he got a little excited. Lance checks the hell out of Keith when he comes back 2 years older. Idk what’s real about the FBI op scene (I assume something in between probably closer to Derek’s version) but Stiles went on a dangerous op to save Derek’s ass and then I assume they drove back to Beacon Hills together in Stiles’ shitty Jeep (someone please give me a road trip fic). Keith and Lance have that rooftop scene. They literally watch the sunset together.

So yeah...I don’t know what to do with this information I have found. But it’s interesting.

[thefeelingofdetachment]

Meth Heads

I was drunk on for too long, and high on pills; but they weren't doing anything for me any more, so I had an urge to get higher. I tried black tar heroin before, and it basically made me feel better than opiate pills. I did these drugs, because I don't feel mentally ill while on them. I also feel social, and charming. In the back of my head I realized I was making poor decisions; however I've been suicidal for a long time, so if I fuck up, and die - I really didn't care. I decided to call my homeless friend James, who just came back from living in Mexico. He was smoking meth in Mexico with his gf who he was abusing. He told me she was a "bitch" who wouldn't allow him to watch too much television, and complained that he didn't work whenever when arrived home from work. In anger he would lock her outside, and laugh maniacally, telling her to wait outside until morning. James receives social security disability for schizophrenia. He had good tastes in music, and video games, so I thought I could relate to him. I also have schizophrenia, so I thought that could possibly be another relation. I was completely wrong. In order to find black tar I had too get on a bus, and meet him in downtown Sacramento. I took a bunch of gabapentin in order to have confidence outside, because I rarely go outside, and get nervous in public often. As I was waiting for the bus young teenagers approached me and asked me for cigarettes. Teenagers in my neighborhood often ask older people in their 20s to buy them cigarettes, or black and mild/swishers in order to smoke blunts. I told them to "fuck off." As I sat on the bus I felt nervous, so I sat in the very back observing everyone. There were some students staring at their phones, and another guy yelling on his phone about something. For some reason in poor neighborhoods, people yelling on their phones is a common occurrence, so I just ignored it. The pills started to kick on when I got off the bus. I took a lite rail to James' location. the lite rail was mostly black people with headphones, which relaxed me, because I knew nobody would try to have a conversation with me. When I arrived. I smile, and walked around with James. I asked him "If we can't get tar, do you know if we can get some crystal?" He said, "Yeah fsho." We ended up talking to several sketchy people about finding drugs. Mostly homeless people who smelled bad - with bad teeth. I really didn't feel nervous, because I was high as fuck, and kind of felt sympathetic, because I knew they were as crazy as I was. I just had a home. One black guy thought I was selling meth, so he kept following us, and smiling, asking "You got that good clear, nigga?" I said, "nah man, we ain't sellin' we're lookin," but he kept following us. James sort of just laughed maniacally, as he usually does, and asked if he could get a burger. We went to a burger place, and ate. The man stopped following us after that. At the burger place we discussed how people are fucked up, and avoid you if you have a mental illness. I thought this was true, but people were probably just avoiding us, because we were crazy, and on drugs. After eating I was getting disappointed that we couldn't find any drugs. We found out from one person we could get tar at a motel but it was in a sketchy hotel full of prostitutes and meth heads, and we just wanted to get it without having to knock on doors. I realized My dog was still at home, and might need to piss or shit. We went to take the lite rail, but there was a bomb threat, and it no trains were available. We took an uber to my place. We told the uber driver that there was a bomb threat. He didn't say anything. He was probably pissed that he just picked up two looking-homeless dudes who smelled like weed, cigarettes, and alcohol. We didn't tip him. At my place James and I decided to play Donkey Kong Country for Super Nintendo. One of my favorite things to do in life is to play video games with friends. It takes me back to when I was a child, and before traumatic things occurred. He fell asleep while playing. The next day James went to the liquor store. I took some more pills. He came back, and said, "Hey I found a dude who can give us some tar and dope," so I gave him some money, content that I was going to feel euphoric once again. James left, but came back with a shirtless homeless dude. "He wants to smoke it with us, can he come in?" but before I can say anything they both walked into my apartment. I felt like denying it, but I was high, irrational, suicidal, and wanted to feel good instead of constantly depressed. I was obviously not making the best decisions. Once the homeless man entered my home He said, "Thank you for having me in your home. That's a blessing." Then he started to speak in Hawaiian. I recognized it, because I am part Hawaiian. I told him "Hey, my grandmother was Hawaiian, and Japanese." He replied. "I'm Hawaiian, and Japanese - that means we're brothers - my names is Keiko." We started to smoke crystal, and once I took a hit, Immediately felt my whole body turn numb, and euphoria rising. I proclaimed out loud. "Wooooooo I feel good." Keiko laughed, and so did James with his maniac laugh. He insisted on smoking more, even though I felt like I was done. Keiko started talking about how God lives through him, and God is everywhere and everything. I didn't believe in what he was saying, because I couldn't imagine God living through us while smoking crystal in a trashy apartment. He then started talking about jail, and how scary it was. He took out a long screwdriver, saying he needs to protect himself while homeless. We smoked more, and I started feeling incredibly stupid and forgetful. He told us that he texted a guy, and that we could get tar, so he ordered me to follow him outside to get it. He took his bike, and rode off. I took my bike, and started to ride, but fell several times, because I was fucked up; so I ran to catch up with him. I reached the street, and couldn't see him anywhere. So I just stood their gazing at different locations. I smiled at a woman, and she frowned at me. I finally saw Keiko on his bike coming back, so I followed him when we reached my apartment. He was incredibly pissed. "Never look fucking suspicious outside while looking for drugs. Why the fuck were you looking around? Do you not fucking trust me?" I frowned, and was tired from running. "Why the fuck do you look like that? You don't fucking trust me. I'll fucking take your money, and drugs, and fucking leave you guys behind. The dealer said never buy tar near your own home you fucking idiot." I should have told him to just leave, because he was obviously paranoid, and crazy, but I exclaimed. "I'm sorry. I'm just new to this, and was looking for you. I thought you wanted me to come with you to the deal, because you said go outside. I trust you. I would have just stayed inside, and waited, if I knew that you wanted me to just chill." This didn't seem to convince him, but I told him, "Hey let's smoke more." and this seemed to calm him down. He kept yelling at me inside, so James started to yell at him, saying that I'm new to this, and is always alone, never hanging out with people. He finally calmed down after smoking a cigarette, and another hit of crystal. He told me Hawaiian people wouldn't like me, because I don't make eye contact, and I'm not social. I told him "I'm social on drugs." He kept giving me more, even though I knew I had enough. I suddenly started to feel happy, and child-like. I asked him. "Have you ever been married?" He became angry, and responded. "What? Are you fucking gay?" I said, "No, I'm not gay." He said. "I'm pretty sure you're fucking gay." I replied honestly, and said, "I was bicurious once, and fucked a thai dude, but I've been with a lot of women." He sort of misunderstood, and said, "If you're bisexual, then suck this dick." I told him, "I don't suck dick. I think it's degrading." He replied "I'm pretty sure you want to suck my dick." At this point I wanted him to leave, but realized he had a weapon, and that would be problematic. We smoked more, and he kept talking about women, and pussy. He suggested to bring some prostitutes over. I was so high out of my mind that I was okay with it. I said, "no white women." then he replied again, "Are you fucking gay?" irritably, and I said, "no I just dislike them." He took out his phone, and showed me a picture of his hard dick, then asked, "Do you want to suck this dick?" I just looked at it disinterested, then took out a phone, and showed him my dick, which was significantly bigger. He suddenly was less confident after showing him the picture. He decided to show me how throw punches. I threw punches, but kept missing his open hands, because I was too high. He made me smoke more, and I started feeling insane/happy/paranoid/confident simultaneously. I gave him some weed, and he said, "Since I'm giving you tar and shit, I'm taking a bunch of this weed for the dealer." He dumped my jar out and took it. I wanted to protest, but once again realized I'm too high to defend myself, and he has a weapon. He then suggested a massage. We went into my room, and he told me take off your shirt. I lied down on the floor, and he started to massage me. He actually got rid of a lot of knots, but I was afraid he was going to rape me. This whole time James was just in the living room staring at his phone, playing a video game, and laughing maniacally. "My turn." I started to massage him for a few minutes, but I said, "This is really fucking weird, and making me uncomfortable." He complied, and stopped. So he started to watch porn on my computer. I showed him some of my favorite porn actresses, but then I realized this might make him horny, so I went to back to the living room, where James was sitting doing nothing. We smoked more, and I knew I was high out of my mind, because I started shaking uncontrollably. I realized I lost my weed pipe, and started looking for it everywhere. Making a mess of the whole apartment. Keiko yelled at me saying, "You're fucking tweakin. I didn't steal your pipe." I wasn't thinking he did, but I started to think he did, since he said that. "Why are you shaking so much? You don't fucking trust me.?" James yelled, "because you gave him too much fucking meth," and started laughing. I told Keiko he can have food, and basketball shorts, and this seemed to calm him. He showed me the food he cooked. Japanese noodles, and a full can of Spam. he ate the whole thing, then said, "because you're a fuck up, you don't deserve these good drugs." So he took a bunch of the tar, and went to the bathroom to shoot up most of it. While he was in the bathroom I grabbed my ps4, and the rest of the heroin, and hid it somewhere, but forgot where I hid it. Once he was out of the bathroom, he told me, "I'm leaving to get some bitches. Fuck you guys." but then he whispered to me, "Can you fuck me with your big dick?" I stopped shaking,and calmly replied, "No." He left. Once he left I started complaining to James how I wanted to just do drugs with him, and get no on else involved. James said. "I thought you liked him. Especially when I heard porn playing." I told him I was just playing along. James just laughed, then I realized he was also laughing when Keiko wanted me to suck his dick. I started looking for the heroin, and ps4 to calm down, but I yelled "I think he stole the heroin and my ps4!" James said "Oh wtf fuck that guy" I kept looking, and made a mess of the apartment. I found the tar, and smoked it with James to calm down. I calmed down after smoking, but then became incredibly nauseous. My dad arrived home from his vacation, and saw the apartment a complete mess. He called my name, and saw that I was high out of my mind. He looked like he was going to cry, and instead of yelling he just said, "please don't do this again." He used to smoke meth, so he was actually sympathetic to my situation. I was in bed for six straight days sick. Mostly dry-heaving, and throwing up bile. My father kicked James out of the apartment, and told him to never come back. This event really affected me. It was pretty much my fault, because of being incredibly stupid. I'm paranoid, and anxious of men now. I bought pepper spray, and barricaded my front window, just in case he came back to steal something. I found my pipe and ps4 a month later. The only thing he stole was weed, and money I now have nightmares of smoking meth with new, crazy people, and when I awake I'm sweating, and feel like I'm still high on it. Sometimes I still want to smoke those drugs to feel euphoria from the ptsd due to those drugs, which is ironic. The only thing I learned is that I somehow brought hell into my home, and that morality may be real because I was so afraid. The nihilist in me has slowly died.

[koiandjelly]

So Fila’s actual past isn’t very detailed, because she’s not a main OC, and I haven’t spent a ton of time actually thinking about her as a character lol. 98% of my Creativity goes to my original content characters, cuz someday when I finish actually crafting my worlds, I’m gonna write a book. I’m aiming for the lofty goals of making a full, fleshed out, intricate— just fuckin’... a whole ass Multiverse system comparable to the Lore content of Tolkien’s works, or The Elder Scrolls— gah fuck y’know what, I’m changing this post from being about my Fantasy Life OC to being about my creation baby, the effort of about 6 years (I am 20 years old, and although I didn’t know it at the time I started, I was 14 when I made the shitty Fire Emblem Manakete rip-off race that I’m gonna actually now talk about, because holy fuck this ain’t gonna fit in a parenthesis “btw have some info” bubble)

A’ight so I have a hard time keeping track of time, especially in a large scale across years. Apparently it’s related to being severely depressed without medication (communication error on my part, my parents are very lovely and helped me ASAP when I spilled the beans) while also having moderate to severe ADD. So, ya know, keep in mind that I was yet another terribly depressed 8th grader when I talk about my creation’s early days. I wouldn’t experience that time of my life for any sort of payment ever. It was goddamn miserable, because when I was midway through the age of 14, not only did the aforementioned depression spring up, but I also realized I was bisexual (And I live in the infamous state of Alabama, for reference. Don’t fear for me though, I was too unnoticeable to be bullied if anyone did know, and my wonderful mother, whom I love and cherish with all of my heart, is one of the few Christians that actually... like... do what their own God tells em to. That is, Jesus. I’m an atheist and have a general discomfort about the idea of super powerful entities actually existing irl, but I do agree with the stuff I’ve heard and remember from a decade ago in Church about Jesus. Good guy. But yeah my mom not only accepted me and reassured me when I came out, but she’s gone even further and is of the opinion/fact that lgbt folks are, really, good and normal and that God created them, so she really genuinely just... loves and accepts me. There’s no “I love you despite of this” in the equation and I am so grateful. But again. I digress)

Pause after that sidetrack, to recap, all of my medical issues began to emerge about 6 months before I turned 15. Including what I hate most, the emergence of my Fibromyalgia and Sjogren’s Syndrome, and for an added kick to the flesh, an undifferentiated connective tissue disorder. Meaning, as what I understand it to be, a nameless chimaera of many symptoms in a way that the disorder either is it’s own thing, or just can’t easily be recognized as any one disorder. And I had anxiety. If I recall correctly on *that*, forgive me cuz it’s been a while since it’s been diagnosed/brought up in a significant way, I have or had either general anxiety *and* social anxiety, or just lightweight versions of both, or something, but at the time I was horribly shy and I couldn’t even talk to the teacher after class about schoolwork, even though I tried rationalizing it to hell and back that I shouldn’t be scared— as you’ll guess, shit didn’t work out til I got medicine for it, because no amount of logic and rational thought will change the fact that I was struggling because of a literal disorder, an error of the brain, and as with that walking with two shattered femurs ain’t gonna work, trying to talk when the talk machine broke... ain’t going to goddamn work.

God. I am rambling a lot. But anyway, shit fucking sucked as a teen for me, because I got that wombo combo, prepare for trouble, make it double, precision strike at my existence as a person during fucking already difficult puberty— I am rambling. It’s 4:55am as of this sentence lmao. I had a nasty cocktail of both mental illness and physical disorders pop up once puberty hit me, so I, through many events starting from loving to draw as a toddler, to play pretend stories of heartbreak, betrayal, and death as best an 8 year old could understand via playing with Polly Pockets, and all the creative power I inherited from my Dad, plus the motivation borne through a need to escape, I started making my own characters.

So, to return to the present state of my creations, which will now be referred to as Bounding Beyond the Stars, or BBtS, I’m gonna get some things out of the way. Just to clarify, yeah? I have created my worlds in a way that is specifically meant to stand apart from the irl universe as we know it. I’m certainly not a knowledgeable researcher with any level of comprehension on Spacial law and quantum physics and shit like that. So hey, if something ever seems... like, off, or wrong? Unless it’s pretty obviously wrong in the “hey you just googled how a thing works, and misunderstood it, and made a detail based on a failure to understand stuff and that’s dumb in a catastrophic way that even a high school level viewer would notice...” kind of mistake, then hey, shoot me a message. But if some sort of universal rule seems fucky in the way that it doesn’t make sense, but isn’t a catastrophic structural error... well, Imma use that sentence to start a better one. For an example of a catastrophic error, perhaps... this: “This planet has no seasons cuz of its shape and axis! And it is also like twice as big as Earth!” That would be catastrophic alone because anyone with a grasp on planetary gravity or something, may go and think “if it’s that big, gravity’s gonna be way more intense”. And you’d be right! Which is why I usually account for those things with... *Magic*.

Before I split this post for Length reasons, and I’m sorry the majority of this was me rambling about how my general experience with life sucked from ages 14-17, I’mma state something very important about all my creations.

Magic, which will be explained in depth at a later point, is a fundamental, essential, and omnipresent force of not just any one universe in my Multiversal Trio. It is a key piece of Reality itself, as magic is the flow of many multiples of millions of unique and mysterious energies, concepts, and laws existing anywhere that Is.

To end this post, I’m going to put a quick summary and explanation why I’m rambling about any of this: The rant about my age and circumstances at the start are relevant because it’s necessary context for the tone and type of writing my creations are built upon. The foundations of BBtS are borne from a sometimes angsty, sometimes genuinely upset 14 year old who found escape in the art of Creation. There have been many, many, many heavy edits, rewrites, scrapped info and ideas, and even more info built upon it. It used to be pretty pointlessly edgy in a lot of ways, and redundant in grimdark, morphing into *grimderp* plot devices and character traits. The way it’s written today, I like to think the lore of my many high fantasy-alien societies, and all its denizens and creators and whatever else, are still written to be dark, be dangerous, even angsty... but more skillfully so, with the sort of nuance a 14 year old wouldn’t really even begin to understand. Cuz I still like high stakes stories with real consequences and character deaths when appropriate. And I enjoy characters who have tragic pasts, but now that I’m older and I’ve seen and read about and done so much more— I can write that stuff *better*. And more over, what I’m most satisfied with, is that I’m more in touch with myself as a person, and I’ve evolved many of my personal beliefs and ideals and all the things of the world I can have opinions on. But most of all, I’ve reached a point where I have consumed enough content from others to where I have figured out how to write something that should be interesting, and maybe a bit new, because I put a looot of Damn focus on identifying, and understanding, writing structure, cliches, plot holes to avoid, character traits to handle differently, and just generally making something that’ll appeal to both me, and my audience, should I get that far.

[thegodthief]

No Favour To Return

I am breaking my self-imposed exile from Tumblr because I had responded to a Tumblrite on my main blog and felt led to repost it here now in case the intentionally anonymized Tumblrite is still present and wants my response.

“This is probably not helpful, because I’m much younger than you and not part of any community to speak of but: I have been quietly following you since I made a tumblr to follow people with because I was in a cult in my teens and something no one ever talks about is the ANGER and the HURT and the way that it just KEEPS GOING even as I keep going– the way that it so overtly breaks you and so subtly continues to break even years later– but you. You talk about it. And that– that is a light for me. Not because of ‘it gets better’ or anything hopefully trite like that, but because it /doesn’t/, you just live with it better and worse and your writing sets it out so plain– trauma is trauma, and even in the older pagan/polytheist circles I’ve found, no one likes to just face up to the scars. You do, though, and write it so well– I don’t know. It helps, and I can’t say that I can return the favour at all– but it helps. So. Thank you. I am sorry you hurt so much.“

My response: 

That was a message sent to my Tumblr blog quite some time ago. I never answered it publicly there because I didn’t want to expose the sender to undue harassment.

It’s funny how whenever I brought up the abuses I experienced in the Christian cults that the responses would mostly lie at two extremes. Either there would be an avalanche of people declaring that my abuses are why Christianity needed to be crushed, wiped out, and made illegal, and in doing so, be completely blind to the fact that they are continuing the very same thoughtcrime punishments that my abusers did but with a different name. To them Christianity was a virus that required purging even if it meant destroying the youngest and most vulnerable of hosts.

Or there would be a large number of professed Christians who would drown my inbox with messages of love and sympathy while doing their damndest best to make sure I did not identify them with my abusers. But they didn’t realize that in making sure that they stood on the neck of those who hurt me, they were also stepping on the neck of their victims who believed them or could not escape them at the time.

Both groups, in making sure I knew that they were not like those evil people over there, also made sure I knew that to them, I was responsible for what was done to me because of my beliefs at the time. They didn’t come right out and say it in those clear words, but they made it clear that anyone who yielded to the abusers, deserved the abuse.

There is still a vicious judgement from those who have never been hurt in this way when the question of “Why didn’t you run?” is finally spoken. I have had one baptised, redeemed, washed in the Blood™, gentle soul of a Christian tell me to my face that it was obvious that the only reason I remained in the cults for so long, was because I obviously had to have enjoyed being exorcised beaten, because she wouldn’t tolerate even a rude word spoken in her presence.

Those of us who have been prey, have been taught how to recognize a predator. And many in the various religious, spiritual, occult, and/or metaphysical circles have that predatorial aura to them even though they will declare to their own people how welcoming and safe they are. Folks like me who have come through don’t want to trade one master for another, but we are not given space to find out how to master our own lives, much less how to learn how to navigate our freedom.

I have rage the depths of which I am only now beginning to understand in the literal decade since my apostasy. It took stepping back and looking at not only the cults themselves I was involved in, but the actual cultural fabric of my country, my socio-economic class, and the racial entanglements that made me vulnerable in the first place.

But so many people don’t want to look at how all those pieces interconnect to create snares and shackles that are hard to avoid and harder to escape. It is so much easier to point to the Person Who Got Away™ and blame them for being hurt. It is so much easier to say that their community would not have allowed this than recognize that their community would not have accepted the runner because the runner is the wrong ethnicity, age, gender, excuse.

It is so much easier to tell the Person Who Got Away™ that because they don’t know, they can’t help, and because they can’t help, they won’t try to help. And it’s not like you were really hurt, because no one knows that the mask you wear is glued to your face by your dried tears and snot.

After I declared myself apostate, every year I avoided everything possible during the Christmas Season until last year. My family thought I was being surly. My coworkers thought I was being a bitch. How do you explain to people that the church body you believed in and supported had told you that you were too demonically tainted to participate in church body Christmas celebrations, so either stay away or better yet, allow yourself to be locked in this small room with a bible and a chair so you can study away the demons that would otherwise ruin Christmas for everyone else, and because of that, any group gathered for doing something Christmasy sends you into a panic attack because you are expecting to be asked to lock yourself away again? (Or that because of that anxiety, you are not comfortable in any public celebratory group, and you’re leaving so no one sees you crying?)

You don’t.

You make excuses like how you made excuses for the bruises, the cracked rib, the lack of spending money, your unavailability to your unapproved friends, your subservience to anyone with a loud enough voice.

You continue keeping the abusers safe.

That is how the abuse keeps going even though it has been years since I was in the same space as them. It’s just easier to let people think that you’re just “odd”, rather than you’re dealing with PTSD.

Last year, when Christmas season began (prior to Halloween, what the hell!), I stopped hiding. When people asked why I wasn’t at the numerous (formal and informal) work related parties, I had only four words to tell them. “That’s not my thing.” Because of my work, I have many clients who feel they are entitled to more personal information about me and would ask if I was brought up “that way” or if something happened.

“Don’t worry about it.” If they persisted, my answer would be more blunt. “That is not for discussion.” I may not be declaring what was done to me, but I’m not making excuses, either.

I am as I am and I will not adjust myself to make you comfortable because you want to continue believing that your personal value system of choice has never been used for harm.

I will tend to my scars and make myself comfortable as best as I can in the environments I am in now.

And that makes people who don’t have those scars uncomfortable.

So here I am, a decade into my apostasy, and involved in Christianish things like saints, and angels, and prayer, and the like. I have had people drop ugly messages in my inbox about obviously not being able to function like a “normal human” because I’m apparently going back to my abusers. There have been declarations that I deserve whatever pain comes from my actions, because if I hadn’t learned before how evil Christianity was before, then I’ll never learn.

Something something dog vomit something.

And ya know what… that is fucking abusive. That I’m choosing to walk out this part of my recovery from the cults by making the active and aware choice to investigate and explore other ways Christianity can present itself is seen as a sign of mental illness requiring physical restraint is abusive. Those of you who say/type that are no different, and no better, than the people who tried to literally beat the devil out of me.

I will not hide that some of my wounds are still mending. I will not hide that some of my scars itch at the sounds of certain words. But the fact that I can recite the Pater Noster with a grieving client in my office and grant her five minutes of peace will always triumph over whatever ugliness people with agendas try to carve out of my side.

*deep breaths to let the rage evaporate*

My Dear Reader, I don’t know if you now follow this blog or if you are still only viewing what is on Tumblr, but I hope, and pray, that comfort, healing, rest, and solace reaches you. That you are able to find how to clean your wounds and soothe your scars in ways that don’t damage you further. That you have found a path to come out of the pain still etched in your memories so you can create new memories with new sensations. And that however you come through, whether through kink and/or abstinence, silence and/or exposure, stillness and/or creativity, abandonment of what you grew up in and/or discovery of something else to mature in, that you come through on your terms, to your health, and for your recovery.

If you still feel indebted to me and want to return the favour, do this: Live however you damn well feel like living, and we’ll call it good.

I grant permission and encouragement to any and all who wish to reblog and/or repost the above words with the condition that I, Kerian Nox, am not removed as author. I understand how Tumblr ignores posts with external links, so you may link back to this one as your source if necessary.

*resumes exile*

Go all now in peace.