#one day maybe several years into the future ill look back into this period of my life and either look at it fondly or die of embarrassment

[chiisana-lion]

drawing so much this past week for the rarepair week and looking back at my art this past year and nine months in general really puts it into picture just how indescribably badly those two have festered into my brain like. atp i am pretty sure theyve long surpassed how much ive drawn for a singular specific thing and i dont care to check either because if that is in fact true i might go idk eat a sock about it

[mountaingoatsfirstlineaday]

the mountain goats reached me across genre.

I'm a punk kid from way back, though my music taste has always been eclectic. taylor swift's you belong with me was the first song i ever heard that clicked. I've loved her music for an amount of time that stretches out in both directions from me, past and future. i listened to pop, always leaning towards artists like avril lavigne and p!nk, mostly before age ten. I dabbled in electronica (owl city was my absolute favorite for a long time). like so many disheveled-and-black-sheep sort of kids, i discovered the emo trinity in middle school and pledged allegiance to them. since then, I haven't quit listening to punk. sometimes i slip into the indie/lofi territory (phoebe bridgers car seat headrest neko case my beloved) but other than swift, my most constant music companion has been my chemical romance.

i heard the mountain goats first when i was in high school, during the tail end of a period of two years, give or take, that i now consider to be the worst time of my life so far. as many of you guys know by now, it was late at night when rain in soho came on.

and i couldn't help it. i fell in love. slowly, silently. the song passed almost without me checking the title, and at the last moment i thought to. i didn't look up the mountain goats until a couple days later, thanks to my poor memory.

i didn't really understand what it was that appealed to me about the music back then (as a rule i never listen to the album that contains the song i discovered the band through first... i don't have a good explanation for why i do this); the first entire album i listened to was the sunset tree and i was genuinely put off by how different it sounded (something i'm now deeply grateful for... if tst sounded like goths it would be a vastly different listening experience and i like the it the way it is now very much). i'm not a usual folk listener, even on the folk punk side of things, and until a couple years ago i had a severe aversion towards most vocalists who were not classically trained (i have very different opinions on this now lol. blame my mental illness and first vocal teacher). tmg was such a giant step out of my usual zone of beloved music, and yet there was, and still is, something magnetic about them. i cannot help it.

i'm still not super into folk punk. i like ajj occasionally. i appreciate the front bottoms. kimya dawson is always nice. it's unfair to reduce the mountain goats (or any music, for that matter) down to one of their many genres. the very idea of genre shivers under the weight of the gaze of the mountain goats' music. how do you categorize it? something so unique and varied? that shifts like a kaleidoscope when you turn your head? we can call tmg punk: we have before. heretic pride comes to my mind first, especially in the craters on the moon and lovecraft in brooklyn. maybe it's not as much of a stretch as i thought when i started this post.

either way, it was unexpected to me at the time. in hindsight though, the music that the mountain goats makes is the music i had been craving since the very first time i checked an avril lavigne cd out from the library. an everchanging, beautifully violent, and heartburstingly romantic catalogue. stories told with language that suits them, narrators who are emotional and volatile and growing constantly. something rough and ragged and untamed. undefinable.

and when i needed it, i found it.

[lexpressobean]

I've been thinking about these 3 alot...

... and how much they seem to really respect Shino. I know it's a filler, but, like... Why does it seem like Shino has a knack for finding children who have wondered off away from school? Like, he's just taking a walk, making his way around the village or surrounding forest, and then there they are. Kids playing hooky or some shit. And Shino just takes it upon himself to approach them and steer them back to where they should be, while getting them attached to him somehow in the process??

But honestly. If this was just one of many times this had happened, I'd say Shino does this not out of his knack for teaching or having a way with kids. Rather, he developed a way with kids and easily applies that to his teaching because he has a strong desire to simply protect children. And it's not even from some paternal instinct as much as survival, because I think it stems from the developing trauma of losing Torune to Danzo. And I don't think it's all subconscious either.

Like I know the novel and anime frames his desicion to teach as a sort of a new goal in life as the war has ended for a couple years already and a noticable Peace has been achieved by the Blank Period and well... He's an Aburame.

Like, the Aburame are literal living, breathing, walking bioweapons. With no fight to utilize that, what else is there? Well, much like the Nara have the Nara forest and Pharmacology specifically, The Aburame most likely have a historical stake in the area of Konoha, perhaps it was simply in their Ancestral Home. Idk, but they're here to stay, they ain't budging. They're Clan Culture is very Martial and I'd argue Spartan in nature, but otherwise, they do other things too. I think they'd do well as major players in the conservation and research of native species of animals and plants, but definitely insects too. I bet they play a huge part in the general area's ecosystem, especially due to the fact that the Kamizuru clan attacked with a whole clan's worth of non-native Hymenoptera that could very well have become and still are an irritatingly and consistent problem as invasive species tend to be. And as a far as goods go, why not put some of them to use and handle an apiary? Honey is a great good to sell. All of this is great as a clan that no longer needs to fight. But, what about individual members in general, and so Shino?

Well Shino is the Heir of this clan. This Noble Clan. This "ready to throw hands at any moment" clan. It's future is in his hands, so to speak. So I doubt Shino would completely sever his connection to Shinobi life all together. And so, teaching at the Academy would be a great way to keep that connection. Teachers have to know their stuff, after all.

But what if in order to ensure teaching was his calling, Shino did his absolute best to make Jounin ASAP so he could take on a Genin Team. And. And by chance, it ended up being these three?? And they are absolutely STOKED!!! And they also pass Shino's genin test, which... would probably be a feat in it's own right. But they already know Shino, and Shino has bestowed upon them some wisdom they actually took to heart! Yeah, well, in reality they might be just a tad too old to be Shino's first official genin squad, but they were still his squad one point in a sense, right?

Kon Nohara, Tano Ikemoto, and Aoki Kobayashi

I even gave them names help Imagine these three are already chuunin at least and decide they want to pay Shino a visit and even volunteer to help Shino during class time on a collective day off because they admire him so much (T~T)

But even then if not these three kiddos, maybe these three li'l shits lol

Even in times of Peace, Shino's special set of skills seem too useful to waste, and being a Jounin teacher would definitely have been a way he could still go on missions, but also definitely commit to becoming a Sensei at the academy once he was 100% sure and got older. Kurenai became a Jounin/Genin Squad Leader in her late twenties, but in comparison I see Shino doing that more mid-20s. (He needs some time to travel and find his big bug friend and generally live a little?)

Kurenai was a Genjutsu Specialist who manned a Tracker/Sensing based team. This sounds like it was a highly beneficial combination, even if she ended up being somewhat sadistic lol. Asuma was bound to Team 10 by Tradition as InoShikaCho and Sarutobi have that Pact together. Kakashi's team was literally Cherry Picked for him specifically by the 3rd Hokage. And Gai, a Taijutsu Specialist, had a team that Specialized in Taijutsu and Physical Offense.

Of all four teams, Kurenai and Gai were very suited to their teams, Gai in a complimentary way and Kurenai in a Challenging way. In that same vein, I think Shino would imitate Gai. Shino as a Shinobi himself has a general set of skills, but the way he goes about them are very niche. But, he was always very stealthy, and could sneak up on nearly anyone. Gags aside, he could go unnoticed as long as he wanted too, and by the time he was noticed or was ready to attack, he has you quite literally surrounded. Honestly I can see why Search and Destroy would be an Aburame's forte, but when there's no need, a person with a personal skill of high quality stealth could probably man a team with an emphasis on Reconnaissance and/or Surveillance, even Bodyguarding. I feel like Shino would probably put an emphasis on Stealth and Tracking too, utilizing his insects as sort of assistants that keep tabs on his students (Stealth Test) as well as to encourage just enough fear during too much down time in his students to inspire quality training opportunities, so maybe Kurenai rubbed off on Shino more than they all realized haha

(Plus I'm sure his students would be be smart and thoughtful enough to eventually understand what Shino and his bugs are: a complete unit. They realize just how strong and dedicated Sensei really is to be the way he is, and they all learn more in depth about Kikaichu and it's like WOW SENSEI YOU REALLY ARE RISKING BEING EATEN ALIVE EVERY SINGLE DAY, AREN'T YOU? But he's still here, because THAT'S how strong he's become over the years and the confidence to manipulate the Kikaichu while having to think of current chakra level, the most efficient use at any given time, how many he actually needs, how long usage will last, ect. They are high maintenance, man!)

Shino would no doubt produce highly skilled Bodyguards and Masters of Stealth. Maybe the type that would end up being in high demand for the eventual Celebrities that start to pop up as times change, but still very much needed when it comes to Criminal Activity, like in Sora-Ku?

But as time passes and he decided to teach at the Academy, he'd feel very at ease to do so. He'd be happy to be put in charge of all these children, because he would be able to help teach them things they need to know to defend themselves and others in a world where adults like Danzo had and will continue to exist. Maybe while he's at it, he'd use his stance as a Noble Clan Heir and accomplished Shinobi to push for changes in government with Sai's help and with Naruto and Shikamaru's cooperation? Like, the truth does come out, everyone on the Council were actually horrible and had too much power. So HERE are some ideas and REASONS why these ideas should be implemented because Shino's not going to let his brother's life and death be in vain!? HELL no, we WILL make some changes around here. Shino sees his students and just wants a future where no kid ever has to live in fear of being completely taken advantage of by the very system that was supposed to keep them safe and they pledged allegiance to.

I cannot help but think of the quiet but absolute fear little Shino was harboring for the years to come after Torune was taken by that strange man and Father Shibi didn't even attempt to stop him. His own father didn't dare beat the shit out of this strange man who came looking for him, and the only solution for Shino to stay was for Torune to make himself look more desirable as an asset and be taken instead. I bet there was a lot of misplaced resentment there for a while, and talks that just didn't happen. Maybe a classmate doesn't show up to class one day and Shino is IMMEDIATELY stressed out and just... takes it upon himself to look for them after class. And he's relieved when he see they're simply at home with a fever. Shit like that just fucks with Shino, because theres people taking kids and no one is doing anything about it?? And then as Shino grew older he realized exactly what happened and how slimy the machine of Konoha really is and it was never completely Shibi's fault that Torune had to leave. He grows mentally at a faster rate than most of his classmates, and knows more than a kid really needs to know.

Shino doesn't want that for any other child. Shino is the kind of person who hears kids screaming outside of his house and he can't tell if they're playing or being murdered and it's stressful to the point he'll check through his window and he sees them for himself. He get stressed out seeing a kid in public unattended and WANTS to approach them to help if need be but also maybe he's overthinking it and the parents are there somewhere and he'd just end up looking suspicious. Like, that's what I kind of figure for Shino. He's so hyperaware of the power dynamic between kids and adults and seeing a kid so ready to fall victim to that makes Shino feel ill the more he thinks of what could happen. And he wonders if watching the kid in the market until they finally reunite with their parent so he could move on with the rest of his day causes him even a fraction of the the utterly disgusting flurry of nerves and fear that Shibi must have felt all those years ago. It goes along with his desire to spare every single little insect's life he can. It goes a long with the fact he only gets violent unless absolutely necessary. Like he wants to be strong but he doesn't want to go mad with power either, less he becomes the very thing that hurt him and his family in the first place.

Originally Shino wanted to become strong to be able to defend himself because at a very young age adults failed him and Torune. But then that changes to defend not only himself, but others as he grows on a team, and realizes trust is important. And then he figured if there must be adults out there that would hurt a child, it's only logical that he should become one that would only nurture and teach one to be strong as well.

Anyway, yeah. Had some feelings. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[houseboatisland]

Is Elizabeth on your island, and if so how has she adjusted after decades abandoned?

She is! And here's my headcanon for her:

Topham Hatt I, (The Fat Director,) had by 1926 accumulated a small fortune as General Manager of the North Western Railway. Reputed as a workaholic, (or boss-aholic,) Topham had sunk considerable amounts of money into his sprawling Wellsworth estate, Topham Hall. Topham was inspired by the undertaking of his sometime friend Sir Robert Walker, the Baronet of Sand Hutton. Walker's estate utilized war surplus one foot and three inch gauge locomotives to carry distinguished guests, agricultural produce, and coal to and bricks deriving from the nearby brickworks of Claxton.

The resulting pet project, the Topham Hall Railway, is where Elizabeth's story begins.

The T.H.R. was laid to what had essentially become the Sudrian "standard narrow gauge," of two feet and three inches. The line started from its Exchange Siding with Wellsworth Station, and made several crossings through the streets of that town's suburbs, before reaching the estate grounds. Hall Station brought passengers within a stone's throw of the mansion itself. Moving on, the line dove into the woods through a magical tree tunnel, with a spur at its opening for the engine and carriage shed. Crossing a brook over a three-span wooden trestle bridge, another station and a few sidings known as "Orchard Station" served the fruit and vegetable orchard. Another mile or so, and the railway stopped again for "Bowler's Station," where the Hatts and any guests could detrain for the estate's cricket pavilion.

Another half a mile, and the railway terminated at the Wellsworth Brickworks. This had been a puny operation before the THR linked up with it, employing only three men or so. After the railway's arrival, it expanded to employ a few dozen, and three more kilns were added. Throughout the Great Depression, Topham kept the Brickworks open and its employees onboard out of his own pocket, even as the bricks accumulated unsold. This was far more humanitarian than his treatment of NWR employees and three of his engines!

The railway had one locomotive, a royal purple Kerr Stuart 'Tattoo' class, named "Little Barford," technically a brother of the Mid Sodor Railway's No. 4, "Stuart." Little Barford arrived also with several v-tipper wagons, a dozen ex-War Department bogie wagons, four-wheel trucks and two ambulance vans. The ambulance vans were thoroughly rebuilt by the estate's woodshop to become an elaborate passenger coach, and a "Dining Car," which was quite identical save for the fewer seats and teeny gas cooker. The passenger coach saw constant use, but the Dining Car mostly sat in the siding at Bowler's Station as it cooked. The line was so short, it never could've done more than boil an egg while moving to timetable!

Capping off this complement of rolling stock was one Sentinel DG4 "Overtype" Steam Lorry, quickly named Elizabeth, after the Duchess of York's newborn daughter. Elizabeth was absolutely coveted by Topham, though he wasn’t exactly a steady hand at the wheel. Elizabeth was kept polished to perfection, even when her work involved carting such grubby loads as soil, clay, and coal. She was in every respect a "father's princess," but she worked dutifully and loved Little Barford like a twin brother. She also learned from her Victorian old master her favorite catchphrase, "We are/are not amused!" depending on the context.

The Second World War began in September 1939, and this national shift in priorities turned Elizabeth’s devil-may-care youth on its head. The Wellsworth Brickworks shuttered as many of its men volunteered or were called up, and housing construction all but ended. Little Barford was kept on at the Hall as the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries set to increase production on Topham Hall’s farms. Elizabeth on the other hand was, for the first time, moved away from her only home. As the civilian petrol rationing situation tightened, and private motoring was eventually banned, Elizabeth was suddenly very valuable as a coal-fired road vehicle.

She was commandeered and relocated to Tidmouth Harbour, working night and day as a dockside lorry. This was a very stressful period for her, for she was utterly friendless and out of her element. Although Sodor was never bombed, the routine blackout drills and stories of other ports destroyed, such as Liverpool, took their toll on her mentally. At some point however, she "bucked up." Elizabeth realized she was no longer an aristocrat's toy. For all she knew, Topham had probably forgotten her. As the military lorries she came face to face with daily were almost all of the internal-combustion type, who was to say that when, if ever the war was over, that he'd want her back if he remembered her?

In these circumstances, Elizabeth adopted her more familiar, stiff-upper lip personality. There was no time for polish or quaint little rides to the cricket pavilion, there was a war on! She became grubby, and liked to be grubby. She worked like the devil, and loved that even more. Her posh accent never left her, but she was now in every respect out to be a working girl. Elizabeth would never admit it to herself, but this huge change of self owed much to her upset at being removed from her only home. Did she legitimately like being a working lorry, rather than an estate owner's princess? Certainly she did. Was it an easy and completely voluntary change of character? Of course not. But it was done, and Elizabeth spent many nights assuring herself that it was the right path, the only path to have taken.

1945, the end of the war. Everyone was so jubilant. Elizabeth was cleaned and polished like a crown jewel, decked out with flags and bunting, and allowed to participate in the Tidmouth Victory Parade. In several colour newswreels of the event, you can spot her amid the cascade of tickertape and throngs of soldiers, nurses, longshoremen, civilians, tanks and lorries. It was no doubt a fun day for her, but now she thought a great deal about the future.

The war, which had been everything to her for six years, was over. Soldiers were being demobilized and coming home. Industries were retooling for the postwar world, to make consumer goods rather than several airplanes an hour. The Attlee Government, in conjunction with the devolved Sudrian Parliament established in 1946, had a grand vision for The Mainland and Sodor, where the welfare state for the long-suffering people and machines was vastly expanded, their jobs would be increasingly unionized and their bosses answerable to them, rather than the other way around.

Despite the historically harsh winter into the New Year of 1947, Sudrian workers, bouncing back much quicker than their Mainland counterparts, were delighted with PM Attlee's "New Jerusalem." Tidmouth Harbour was still very busy, as Sodor's biggest gate in and out for the world, and Elizabeth kept calm and carried on as time marched on. She was much busier than she had first feared, and that winter was her time to shine as so many petrol lorries were out of commission with "head colds." Elizabeth convinced herself, somehow, that these thousands and thousands of war surplus petrol lorries wouldn't take over. If so many had taken ill in these conditions, maybe Sodor, or even the whole world, would consider turning back the clock and restoring steam to the roads completely.

She feared and resented petrol lorries something terrible. When the petrol ration which had enabled her life all this time, was finally ended, she was heartbroken. Every worry she had seemed to come to pass all at once. First, the Tidmouth Harbour Authority decided it would be much cheaper to stack its fleet with war surplus lorries, and she was out of a job. Her next owner, a furniture mover, didn't keep her long, and neither did the next, a man who planned to fit her out as a bus and ran out of money.

By 1956, when the now-knighted Sir Topham Hatt I had died, Elizabeth had already been accumulating dust in a shed for two years. She never saw her last owner, who by now had failed to pay rent on her storage. Anopha Quarry, who owned the tumbledown little shack, seized her to make up the difference, but never once came to inspect the lorry who was now their property. Eventually, the Quarry forgot about her too.

It wasn't until 1961, when a little blue puffer deputizing for Toby on the Quarry Tramway carelessly had a coupling rod failure, that she reemerged. She made a heartstopping journey down the line for the necessary spare rod, pins, oilpot and tools in Ffarquhar Sheds, where she stirred up quite a scene, before an even more uncomfortable journey back. Elizabeth's Sentinel heritage thankfully preserved her for the whole ordeal, when Thomas' Driver, then at her wheel, worried that she'd explode and take him with her.

Back into the shed she went after this good deed, for how long, if ever to come out again, she didn't know. Until of course, that same night, a man very like her old Master, named Bertram just like his son whom she had given so many rides through the orchards and to cricket games, came to make a visit...

You can guess the rest :3

Sir Bertram Topham Hatt I was reunited with his childhood friend, and his father's favorite lorry. He immediately sent for her with his own money to be restored, and at once moved her back to Topham Hall, where she was herself reunited with the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had, Little Barford, who this whole time had been working as well as ever, and wondered why no one had ever gone to look for Elizabeth despite all his questions. It had been assumed, wrongly, that Elizabeth had perished on war service. That's how the Tidmouth Harbour Authority wrote it, after they pocketed her sale money! (Sir Bertram was LIVID not to get his hands on the now deceased Harbourmaster responsible.)

Elizabeth is now back to her childhood home hauling farm produce and any visitor willing to get dirty, for she still insists on carrying a bit of grime as a testament to her labours. The Wellsworth Brickworks has reopened, on a much smaller scale, as a "living museum," and Elizabeth takes great joy in carrying clay and coal again. Her, Little Barford, and Sir Bertram are now tighter than they've ever been, and Sir Bertram is the only man allowed to polish her. He's a much more sedated force at the wheel than his father, she notes, and quite often!

We ARE amused to see her <3

[songofsaraneth]

Ok now that I have time/space to breathe again, I wanted to do a writeup on the unusual reaction I had to the second Covid vaccine dose. I debated posting this, because I don't want to go against the "I was vaccinated and it's fine!" encouragement train. And I 1000% encourage EVERYONE to get vaccinated if possible. But I have not seen much documentation of the averse symptom I got, except in some case studies I specifically looked up so details below. Big TMI/gross warning however. 

Mostly I'm posting this because I had to do SO much self-advocating/arguing with the Dr at my urgent care clinic, and if you're not as read up on weird medical issues as I am, you might not be comfortable doing that. But IANAD, just describing my experience and what I read, which ended up being very long because it was awful and I have a lot to complain about I guess, sorry.

Basically: for me the vaccine triggered an inflammation response, which in itself is normal. The usual muscle aches/joint pain/slight fever. It also triggered an outbreak of ulcers in my soft tissues. Basically, a bunch of canker sores in my mouth/throat. I am already prone to getting these when I get sick or stressed out, so no biggie, annoying and painful but I could handle them. Canker sores are distinct from cold sores in that they form inside the mouth as crater spots, usually around the size of a pencil eraser (though can be bigger or smaller), and will develop a white film across the crater as they develop and start to heal.

An unfortunate fact I have learned: the mouth is not the only exposed “soft tissue” of the body. this group also includes genitals.

So 2 days after the vaccine I noticed a "burning sensation"/rawness downstairs, which turned into a sharp pain, especially when going to the bathroom. I obviously knew this was abnormal and because of what was happening in my mouth, had a pretty firm idea of what was happening, but was ready to brace myself through the healing process. However by day 5 I had 8 red, crater-like sores on the tissue of my vulva. Essentially they are open wounds, and urine is an acid, so you can imagine the hell that using the bathroom had become. Even just sitting hurt.

As someone healthcare-averse, even I knew this was untenable, and went to Urgent Care for the first time in my adult life. I told the NP what was going on, how they matched the canker sores (NOT cold sores) in my mouth in onset/form--and she immediately, without even looking, diagnosed me with herpes.

Lots of people have herpes or other STIs, and that's fine. I know I do not have any, and wanted to pursue treatment for what I was sure they were--Non-sexually acquired genital ulceration (NSGU). I had even found three case studies of COVID patients who had developed them. I had spent several harrowing hours on google images making sure that the sores I had did not match any STI I may have magically acquired during a year of social distancing. I even brought up multiple case studies, including a woman who had them as a Covid reaction in a neighboring state. Didn’t matter. She looked at them and went “Yikes! Herpes!” and prescribed me: 

1) an antiviral, which I said I did not think would do anything because the trigger for this was a vaccine not an illness. She said it was probably a herpes flare up already in my system. I reiterated that I have had similar sores in my mouth since childhood and that all my past doctors and dentists agreed it was not viral but something related to an immune response. She said the antivirals should clear them up in a few days.

2) a topical 5% lidocaine ointment, aka an oral grade numbing gel, which was essentially what I was after anyway.

I would have preferred a steroid course to the antiviral, but agreed to start taking them until she got the results of the bloodwork I needed to come in the next day for. I asked how many days after taking them I would expect to see a difference/if she would reevaluate treatment if they didn’t have an effect in a certain amount of time, and she said if they hadn’t cleared up by Monday then she’d look into other causes (spoiler, they did nothing in that 4 day span). to her credit, when she saw me pick up my bike helmet (because my car had been at the mechanic for a month by then), she was properly horrified that i was having to bike everywhere with this situation and printed off some coupons/called all the prescriptions into the grocery store pharmacy next door instead of the CVS my insurance likes a mile away.

So eventually I got home and took my pill & went to put on the ointment so I could use the bathroom for the first time in 8 hours. I’ll spare you the details but suffice to say I had an extremely, overwhelmingly painful 10 minutes of application. Like absolutely awful burning feeling. However once that faded, I was indeed actually numb, and so I figured it was worth it. Got my bloodwork done on Friday (biking there & home again). On Saturday, I thought that you know, maybe a prescription anesthetic shouldn’t be doing that or at least have some sort of warning? And read the details on the jar.

Good things about lidocaine: it is a powerful numbing agent and lasts pretty well for an hour or two.

Bad things about lidocaine: you cannot get oral grade lidocaine without added mint flavoring.

I happen to be EXTREMELY sensitive to mint. Like I still can’t handle breath mints or mouthwash, and used bubblegum flavored toothpaste until I was 14 and found a brand with half as much mint flavoring as is typical. Even if you’re not, mint has no business being anywhere near genital tissue. Even on an average person that could cause awful burning. to make a long saga shorter I had a very frustrating back-and-forth with urgent care involving many rerouted phone trees, visit in person, unhelpful receptionists, and attempts to find over-the-counter alternatives. All were fruitless so I just  suffered all weekend until the urgent care Nurse Practitioner called me back on Monday and was suitably apologetic/outraged about the mint thing, and looked up every OTC product that might work as a substitute, since she couldn’t find any prescription level without mint. On Tuesday she called back again having found this:

It’s 4%, so just below prescription strength, while not oral grade, it’s actually fine for soft tissues as long as not fully ingested/internally applied. And most importantly, ABSOLUTELY NO ADDED FLAVORINGS. there is also a spray version that comes in a bottle, which under no circumstances should you try because it uses alcohol as a propellant and I had a very bad 5 minutes after testing that one. But the cream one is fine and brings blessed numbness in around 5 minutes with only minimal contact pain--they are still open wounds after all. 

I use this for the next 7 days. By this point the sores have gotten worse and larger, and then started to heal and shrink again. Mouth canker sores go through a similar ~2 week process, so this is about what I expected.

Finally the results of my bloodwork came back, and I was negative for all STIs. The NP was dumbfounded and apologized, and agreed to look up more information/treatment options for cases like this in the future. I’m not surprised her reaction was to assume herpes as it IS very common, but I’m sure other women experience NSGU’s and receive improper treatment. If you look them up, they’re even mentioned as being predominantly a problem for “young or prepubescent women” which, reading between the lines--it’s not that these become less likely if you’re older or sexually active. Doctors just make assumptions and don’t always look past the easy answers.

So if you or someone you know ends up with these--from the Covid vaccine or as a complication of upper respiratory infections in general (as they ARE an immune response and can just Happen to you)--here is what works as treatment. If you can see a doctor you trust, still do that. But if they don’t listen or if for some reason you can’t seek treatment, here is the course of action I recommend: 

Pick up that over-the-counter Pain Relief+Lidocaine NON MINTY numbing cream ASAP. Sores go from “annoying” to “excruciating” in only 3 days, so it’s best to get in person or with rush shipping. Sit in front of a mirror and gently apply with a q-tip, and wait 5 minutes for the medicine to take effect.

Pat gently dry with toilet paper, don’t make wiping motions. If you don’t feel clean enough, pat more with a wet washcloth and rinse it out, or hope in the shoer for 5 min just to rinse.

There may be pus or reside from the ointment that doesn’t go away with just rinsing. Every 2 days I made a half-strength bath of epsom salts, NUMBED FULLY, and then took a 10 minute bath to fully cleanse the area. the salt will sting terribly if you wait any longer, so I recommend standing and rinsing after this time.

The vulva is more exposed to air than the mouth. this may cause the sores to crack/bleed as they dry out. to avoid this, after using the restroom and cleaning yourself, you can apply a thick coating of Aquaphor on top of the sores. It will need to be rinsed off before you apply more numbing cream however, so if that is too many steps I recommend just using the Aquaphor overnight.

You may think its ok to get up in the middle of the night to pee without the numbing cream bc you have to go really bad and just once will be fine but it is NOT you will REGRET IT.

Unfortunately if you have sores on both sides you may develop what is known as “kissing sores”, aka sores directly opposite each other that touch when the area is not spread open. this means that after an extended period of time (overnight), the sores will try to heal into each other and opening the area back up painfully rips the tissue apart. INStEAD of ripping them apart, take a washclosh, run it under warm water, and do a hot/warm compress on the area. this will loosen the sores back up and separate them painlessly.

This is not exclusive to people with a vulva, they can also happen on scrotal/anal tissue. However it does seem to much more frequently affect people with typical XX sex organs. 

If you develop these, PLEASE fill out an averse reaction form or your country’s equivalent. Also, I’m so sorry and if you need emotional support or have questions please feel free to get in touch.

Most likely, these will not happen to you--the vast majority of vaccinated people have not had this as a side effect. But it IS popping up more and more, and it is good to know about it in advance so you can be prepared to deal with and treat it without as much anxiety and all the hoops I had to jump through to get good care. Overall I’m still glad to be vaccinated, but if I had known this was a side effect, as someone already prone to canker sores I would have waited to vaccinate until my car was fixed a week later a the very least :|

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

[popculturebuffet]

New X-Men Xtrospective Part 3: Imperial (NXM #121-126)

To me all you happy people! And welcome back to my X-Citing look at Morrison’s Masterwork on Marvel’s Merry Mutants!  Part One is HERE, Part Two is HERE if you feel like it. 

If not... to catch you up on last time....

All Caught up? Good. Join me under the cut as our heroes head into this old woman’s hedd to see what’s wrong and fight off an alien army while horribly ill. 

Silent, Psychic Rescue in Process:

So we pick up not long after we left off: Thanks to Beast waking up from his bat induced coma, the X-Men now know Charles is trapped in Cassandra’s body and she pulled a Freaky Friday on him, with marginally less bullets. 

And thus we get this issue. This one was part of Nuff Said, an incredibly clever theme month by Marvel and one I wish they’d try and do again at some point in some form. 

The gimmick was simple but amazing: Every issue would be mostly silent, with at most some dialouge at the start and finish to bookend it. So far i’ve only read two issues of this, this one and the X-Statix one, but it is a genuinely great idea. I do think forcing it on the entire line was a bit much, but as I said I do wish they’d do this again just make it optional: have some books opt in or do some annuals with the theme. It’s just a fun break from the usual and with this issue resulted in one of the best single issues of x-men period. 

Naturally given the name, which is cleverly displayed on a sign the x-men have because of course they do, it’s exaclty that: Emma and Jean after readying themselves (Jean kisses Scott goodbye and Emma downs a bottle of jack because why not do an alchol before doing delecate mental surgery), head in. 

Inside they find horrific old lady head doors, stone ol dlady heads around a tower that shoot lasers, and said doors also bite and puke weird goop because it’s Grant Morrison. This is his chance to just go full balls out weird.. and given last time involved skin flake golemns.. and this isn’t even the weirdest he’s done. As mentioned last time he once had a supervillian run for president using a super LSD Bike that made everyone high. 

And just to prove he can reach that level of weirndess we find charles alone, naked and with an overenlarged brain.. before he transitions Jean to a field of sperm. 

Yeah... but this DOES have a point.. as it turns out it’s a meaphorical transition into his gestation as a baby.. and how he had a twin. Yeah turns out Cassandra was not lying he did try to kill her.. but as you can probably tell by the fact she’s a genocidal sociopath, she lied by omission to screw with Hank: In the womb she tried strangling Charles to death with his own umbilical cord..only for him to use baby’s first psonic blast to send her reeling and his mom tumbling down the stairs and well.. you can probably guess the rest. Yeah.. Cassandra’s entire origin story is concentrated 

And I love it. The sheer audacity is nice and everything but what makes it really work for me is the simple concept: An evil version of charles, one almost born at the same time whose every bit as evil as he is good.. granted there’s a TON of Morally Grey in Charles Xavier ESPECIALLY post decimation and even more so now with Krakoa. But he’s sitll at his heart a well meaning person, while Cassandra at her heart is a racist genocidal nightmare. She is pure evil, with enough personality to not make her boring.. and more importanlty all the power charles has but NONE of his restraint. Part of what makes Charles noble is he only uses his powers when necessary. Cassandra.. has no such restraint and will happily mentally snap necks all day. 

So with this our heroine’s leave and we end on the iconic line “Professor Xavier killed his twin sister in the womb. We Really ought to talk. 

This issue is an utter classic. It finally explains Cassandra a bit while still leaving a ton of questions, Frank Quitely is at his best here, and he and morrison are incrediby good at non verbal storyteling. The result is surreal, unsettling and awesome. Check it out. Seriously seek this one out it’s worth the trip. It’s so famous it was homaged with a spirtual sequel in the recent Giant Size X-Men one shots. It’s excellent stuff

Imperial:

So with our first issue we open with things going terrible on that flag ship Cassandra took off on with Lilandra, empress of the Shiar and Xavier’s space wife. She’s revealed herself, is ravaging the ship and mind rapes a the helmsman into crashing it, so with no other options Lilandra sends Smasher, not the one from the avengers run earlier version, to earth to send a warning to the X-Men. 

At the School things are actually going well for a second. In an intresting move the school is changing things up with no officla timetable.. which I think means there’s no rigid class schedule and you can just do them as you please or as necessary for your power. The plan’s the same, they just want to learn from each other in building mutant society and the future. It’s ideas like this that are the bedrock of the current run and were sadly never fully realized here.. but I don’t blame this run for that. Morrison had 2-3 years and it was cut short early, leading to a rather disapointing ending we’ll get to. They never had a chance to really dig in because they were kicked out by morons and then their whole grand design was undone until Hickman un-undid it in 2019. And even then some of this like the idea of mutant culture and what not hasn’t been picked up on yet. I do mean YET, as given the sheer NUMBER of x books touching on all sorts of subjects, it’s only a matter of if not when. 

As for who’s behind this it’s a combination of Jean and Charles: Jean is using charles notes and is going at full tilt. Scott is concerned though.. both about her since she went Phoenix and Logan told him about it and because these plans may alarm the humans. ON the former Jean just brushes him off which is not right.. given what happened with the phoenix force copy of jean, which granted had her personality, memories and powers and Jean later got a set of her memories so it might as well of been and only MAYBE the genocide is something Jean wouldn’t of done under the same circumstances, he’s understandably concerned. He lost her to it last time and it did weird shit to poor Rachel, who hif you don’t know is their daughter from an alternate timeline... because the Summer’s family tree is a WAKING NIGHTMARE. Thankfully I don’t have to untangle it because there’s a handy chart right here to do it for me that was recently released in X-Men Legends, a new series featuring legendary x creators telling stories in the cracks... and given we’re getitng storys by the simosons and peter motherfucking david, yeah good stuff.

And why yes there are more than one clone in this tree and several alternate timelines. , not to mention several clones and a sexy cat lady, it’s complicated is understnading it and i’m not sure what properly states it honestly. Also if your wondering about Adam there he’s the genetic son of Cyclops mom and the ma Shiar empreror who killed her for not sleeping with him through. Again it’s complicate REALLY feels like understatement. 

Point is he DOES have a right to be worried about the thing that lead to her being cocooned for a while and left their daughter in the future at the time of this... just in case you needed a reminder after that wonderful clusterfuck of a chart up above athe x-men are really fucking weird. 

So Jean brushing that off is not okay. She does however call him out on the second one and rightfully so: This isn’t some dominate the humans manifesto: this is simply changing the course of the future and how they teach their students to create a better one instead of adhering to human norms to try and appease “the republicans’, as jean puts it.. which has only gotten MORE RELEVANT, 20 years on: Attempts to appease the norms of society and things “just because that’s how it’s been” have never been a good thing. It’s why the very writer of this comic took several decades to properly identify themselves as non binary because people were too stuck int heir ways to try and see if there really were just two genders. Fighting against the grain, finding new ways to express things that have always been there... it’s what humanity needs to do and certainly what comes after us would need to do. i’ts how we get better as a race. If something’s not working we change it, quickly or slowly. And given Scott’s huge amount of emotoinal repression lately.. I can see why she’d see the former complaint as just him being a dick as opposed to the genuine concern it is. 

Short Version: Jean Grey is fucking awesome and while he’d be the last to write her for decades, no one did it better than Grant and no one has since.  Hopefully Gerry Duggan can clear that bar. 

After this fight we get a fuller verson of what happened both at the end of issue 120 and in the big reveal last issue: Turns out Hank awoke because Charles piloted his body like a truck and needed it revealed fast. Hank’s regained control of his body and facilities by now, but in a twist of irony he helpfully points out, had Cassandra not gone a needlessly cruel and sociopathic tangent and had Beak beat Beast into a coma, Charles wouldn’t of had a body. 

As for Charles in cass’ body he’s now in a tub of goo created by it. 

It acts as a shield as well as melding him with Cerebra so he can talk to jean telepathically as his thoughts are very weak.

Thanks to this and her psychic Jaunt, Jean now knows just what the hell cassandra is: She really is Charles twin sister. As for how the hell she surivied outside of the womb and how Charles never knew, she created herself a clone body using his cells and didn’t fully manifest till now. And while she has plenty of intellegence, at an emotional level she’s fully convinced, much like an infant that only she and charles are real and thus destroying him means gaining domance over her world. So in short she’s both utterly insane and now has an interstellar empire at her fingertips. 

And the news SOMEHOW get sworse: She booby trapped her body and charles only has days before he’s vegatable, having put every psychological disease possible in there, and she’s probably responsible for their colds and the u-men. So in short their pretty scrwed but at the very least Charles plans to try to flip things, use the fact their now public (a clear tactic to weaken them) to share his manefesto, his last will and testiment if you would. 

Scott meanwhile figures since their sick a healer might be a good idea and goes solo to fetch Xorn... who just sorta disappeared after the annual and didn’t return till his arc. 

We get an utterly touching scene after this: With Logan staying on his hobbit like toes in case of another attack, Jean goes to talk to hank. Hank is still throughly traumatized from the attack, fearing Cassandra is right and he’ll just keep devlovling until he ends up in a metamoprhisis type situation. I mean it’s not ALL bad hank,.. I mean going through that guarantees a musical about you. 

But Jean reassures him: It’s okay to be afraid of her, they all are.. but as she puts it...

It’s a really powerful inspiring scene... and really afirms how well Morrison writes Jean from the previous arc onward. She’s confident, powerful.. but also caring and compassionate. Here hank’s at his lowest, disparing that this might get worse.. and she reaffirms that htis evolution is an upgrade.. he may not be the same.. but that’s okay. He’s better. It really speaks to the core message of the X-Men as a whole and why they’ve stuck around all this time: It’s not just okay your diffrent.. it’s WONDERFUL. Your wonderful for being you. Whatever meataphor you read into it, it’s at it’s core a message that no matter who hunts you or trys to shame you for what you are, they are wrong and you are wonderful. And you are not alone... your people are out there.. and they will go through hell to protect you. It’s moments like this that remind me despite the bad parts, the accidnetal transphobic metaphor last time, a subplot with Hank coming up, the affair storyline and Planet X, just.. Planet X.. this run is special to me for a reason. It has heart, character and truly gets how the x-men should work, what makes them great... while making something NEW AND FRESH from it’s bones. Pushing envelopes, chanigng things for good and shaking things the hell up after far too much stagnation. It’s just pure good comicy goodness and i’m proud to finally be talking about it after having always wanted to. 

So as we end the issue Scott grabs Xorn, whose been at a budist temple all this time, and Smasher arrives to warn earth... but his warning missed his intended target. 

Well at least he got to Hellcow’s coven.. maybe she can call in Man Eating Cow and the Chick Fill A Super Cows.. thought hey might not help. Their parent company IS pretty homophobic.. I doubt their high on mutants either. 

Testament Emma and Jean talk over things how i’ts going etc, with Emma unsuprisingly annoyed with most of the students and Jean optimsitc.

But Emma soon has bigger issues to deal with: TEEN ANGST!

Yeah 4/5 of the Cuckoos are upset Esme has a boyfriend. Their concerns in part are because without her their apparently powerless.. which given one will die and another will leave and they’ll be left with three is just factually not true, and either Morrison changed his mind later, or more likely their simply exagerating like teens do. Emma points out it’s pointless to fight this...

So... their in a domestically abusive relationship rife with sexual tension? Are you sure your not htinking of Sam and Diane, Ross and Rachel, Garfiled and Odie perhaps?

Meanwhile Angel’s sulking in a tree talking about how all the kids are stupid and she dosen’t fit in. That sort of thing. Wolverine naturally has a tactful and understandable response to this:

It’s here Angel goes from understandable, a bit hard edged and obnoxious becuase of a very rough life.. and just becomes annoying.  I do get what Grant was trying to do: he was trying to play with Wolverine’s habit of taking sassy teens under his wing by giving him a more hardscrabble one with a harder life pre-xaviers.. not that Jubilee’s was easy, but I get what he was going for.. he just dosen’t succeed. Instead of a realistic version of a teen sidekick she just comes off as an obnoxious brat whose rude to everyone including her one friend Logan and her later boyfriend.  It dosen’t help that ONCE AGAIN, Morrison flew directly into unfortunate implications without meaning to, by having the only major POC character (Bishop guest stars later and there are two significant characters during the Riot at Xaviers arc but both aren’t relevant before or after), be an abused teen with gross fly based powers and a teen pregnancy subplot. Seriously this isn’t even the LAST time Morrison shoves their foot in their mouth like this in this run. While I do like this run a lot, it’s still 20 years old and it’s still going to have a bunch of bits that have aged like harvarti left on a sidewalk, and handing out unfortnuate implications like their candy is tied for the biggest with their handling of Magneto when he finally shows up in person. It’s THAT bad a take on the character that it’s up there with accidental racisim and transphobia. 

So moving on from.. that we get Jean comforting the professor before meeting the press, giving a throughly lovely speech about how Charles got his powers 30 years ago and despite seeing the worst in humanity, used his telepathy to allow him to see past it and see deep down just how scared and alone we all felt. So she takes them into a psychic conference room and we get a very interesting exchange. 

It’s an interesting parallel to how real world disinfranchised groups, how it takes time.. but soon being a POC or LBGTQ+ goes from unrightfully perscuted to celebrated. How a group starts with hates whipsers on the fringe of things but grows to be accepted, like it always SHOULD have been. Take representation of Trans people in the media. It started with Trans people being almost entirely punchlines and sources of fucking horendous “DID DEY USED TO BE A MAN.” storylines and hurtful jabs at people who had transitioned, treating them as a sideshow instead of you know as fucking human beings. But now coming out as what you always were ont he inside is celebrated. Sure the right are dicks about it but they always will be: but most media gladly celebrates when someone comes out as trans. Same with being gay, or bi or pan or polamorus or nonbinary.  Hell I admire grant for showing i’ts not even 100% perfect once you are popular: you still have to grapple both with people wanting to copot your culture and those who still don’t understand you trying to speak for you. 

She also gets the standard question calling the X-Men an army, shoots it down with the normal global peacekeeping operation stuff.. then we get this bitch. 

Who quickly realizes she’s outclassed by Emma Frost, professional that bitch. And while Jean is understandbly going to have to erase that.. I can’t blame her for snapping her.

Just to tear this shit down.: The privacy thing is not something she’s doing. All she’s doing is spcyhic teleconfrencing, you harpy. They fight greek gods and monsters to protect your sorry ass and the last one.. just makes me absolutely livid and feels so much like a real world comment i’m suprised there isn’t a fox news logo next to her bigoted head. 

Trouble follows them everywhere they go.. because their mutants. They can’t help it. A LOT of shit like the demons, aliens, and gods and what not, I do not know if they actually did fight the greek gods but i’m not going to say for sure they did not, the norse gods defintely, not sure on greek. But the point is allt his stuff HAPPENS TO THEM half the time, or is a consequence of trying to PROTECT PEOPLE. I’m so nettled by this because this is how the marvel unvierse acts all the fucking time towards ALL super powered peoples. Mutants esepcailly but they blame the heroes and what not for being chased and harassed by guys in costumes or alien invasions or all the stuff they FIGHT. Sure sometimes they caused it but it’s either because of a monsterous person with a grudge or just because their powerful and some douche took an intrest. I’m just.. so fucking tired of asshole civlians in comics. It’s realisitc I know but it’s just hard to stomach after so many have turned their back on so many for such DUMB reasons. 

Jean recovers well pointing out the genocide and how 16 million people, 16 million possible einsteinss or mozarts are just GONE, and that their trying to focus on the future. She also brings up autistic savants who can talk to atoms and while I don’t like the use of the savant thing, as it brings to mind stuff like rainman I very badly want to see this autistic kid who can talk to atoms as someone on the spectrum myself. Also I just want the crew of HIckma’ns books in general to pour over this because there are a lot of intresting powers and personalities only MENTIONED we never saw proper that could be great characters. Just saying. 

Jean cocludes her speech to the world, including Logan whose wisely getting hammered at anearbye bar.. while Hank finds out what’s going on with their sickness.. nanonscopic sentnels in the blood. 

But while the press confrence ends well with Jean having won over the press.. things go sideways as not only is it clear Esme’s boyfriend is in fact something sinister.. but Jean falls over due to the nano snetinels, and senses Scott being taken in tibet, taken down by a group of the Shiar’s imperial guard.. picutre the legion of superheroes but blindly loyal to the goverment and far more likely to get killed. And the rest are preparing to attacking including Gladiator who if you don’t know him, has all the powers of superman as long as he retains his confidence. 

And it turns out Esme’s boyfriend is an advanced Scout, the shapeshifting amoeba blob thing Stuff, a new addition by morrison and good on him. And the Imperial Guard are here but with one goal

 Superdestroyer

On the Ship we find out both wha’ts going on with Scott and Xorn, they’ve been taken and why the shiar are attempting mutant genocide: Cassandra is puppeting ALL of them, has convinced them the mutants are infected and since Lilandra is a puppet, Scott’s words fall on deaf ears. 

Meanwhile Wolverine ambushes one of the squads, kiling one named Dinosaurer via claw to the brain, while Emma has had a dome thing put over her head and isn’t transforming into diamond to counter it because...

But the Cuckoos fight back, taking out oracle before easily handling stuff since his brain is fairly simple.. and given he’s racist against solid people and unlike the others reveling in the genocide just a tad.. yeah what he deserves. So now with a living weapon the Cuckoos make peace with Angel as they need all the help they can get. 

Jean ushers the press into the panic room, not happy about it but not having anothe roption for their saftey. Hank tells her to self distruct crebra if cassandra get sclose and goes off to join the fight and let off some steam over the situation. Hank easily routes two of them, and one , Manta tries to just fly right ot jtean wince their TK proof. How does that go?

Jean gets to saftey after that, not that she needs it and hank is quickly taken down by a batch of Superguardians.. only for Wolverine to arrive in the Sknitt of time and chop them up.. oh and as one of the puts it...

Bad. Ass. I also like the addition of the flight patch, a nod to the Legion, who the Imperial Guard were based on as those kids used flight rings. 

But while Logan and Hank easily tag team these assholes...

The SHiar call in the big guns.. Gladiator.. and I wasn’t kidding abotu the superman thing. While Logan TRIES to talk him out of it, the murders only confirm Cassandra’s bullshit and Gladiator breaks into the panic room throwing hank and wolverin’e before them having utterly decimated them off panel. I mean Wolvie is a badass.. but even he has limits. I also like recontecullizing the guard as a whole here.. showing just how TERRIFYING they SHOULD be as enimies to the x-men. Yes our heroes did win.. but barely and only till Gladiator showed up. In most cases thier clearly holding back out of affection but here hteir just at errifying unstoppable force, and also apparently used to doing genocides like this. It takes what was a cheesy shout out to David Cockrums other big artistic work, and makes it horrifying and it is AWESOME. I admit to not having liked this arc as much for the longest time but this reread, the sheer teror and hopleessness as an interstellar superman easily cuts through our mighty mutants like tissue... it’s awesome. 

Thankfully one of the Guard found smasher.. and thus the truth comes out so our heroes are given a stay of execution with Gladiator clearly horrified at what he almost did and our heroes now so sick they can barely move and Hank can’t think them out of this. 

Thankfully he dosen’t has to as back in space, Cyclops tires of it and points out something Xorn, not being as experinced nor having delt with the guard ahd thought of: G-Type, the glowly guy about to execute them, is made of solar energy.. and xorn can manipulate that thanks to his star brain. He does, they take out the rest.. and prepare to go save the day.

Losers: PIcking up shortly before where we left off we see Cassandra murder Lilandra’s advisor who figured out what she was just as our heroes escape.. and as Cassandra is having Lilnadra order all of the shiar ships to immolate themselves. 

WIth Lilandra not being any use, Cass tries to psychically force her to commit sucidie but jumping off a space ledge but Xorn saves her. Cass tries another turn at mentally breaking an x-man, pointing out all scott’s recent flaws, his increased repression his faling marriage and while it gets him to stop it dosen’t quite work as well as it did on hank, likely because at his heart Hank is simply a more emotive person. Though his REAL reason for stalling is he can’t kill charles.. which he muses just as the ship blows up real good. 

Meanwhile back at Campus the kids initaiate their plan, having Angel break in and take a dna sample. She also finds beak naked in a tank and decides eh why not and brings him with her. This ends up paying off as Beak suggests the obvious to get emma free.. just force the space guy they have over in the corner to do it. They do and it works

Back in the mansion our heroes prepare for Casssandra... but Jean and Logan object to saving her body, pointing out that getting hank to repair it is exactly what she wants, and that Jean feels she can save charles without uit, with Hank being understandably doubtful given their current condition.. but Jean’s real plan is to put charles in her head and it’s already too far in actoin to stop now: she’s been saving his memories as they flaked off and if she dosen’t do this now there will be no charles left. 

Hank evacuates the civlians to teh danger room, and has an encounter with trish who tries to apologize and get him back.. only for him to rightfully regjecter her..a and then goes a step further by capping it off with:

Yeah on it’s own it’s not TERRIBLE. Still very dated to claim your gay just to spite someone, but for the time it was acceptable and compared to some of Morrison’s other gaffes in the run it’s minor at best. But it leads into a rather annoying subplot we’ll naturally get to that’s a much bigger issue, so i’ll save talking about it in full for when it comes up again. 

Jean manages to shove Chuck into her head, but is naturally leaking a bit and barely holding it or him together and may of overestimated herself just a tad.. while on the lawn Cassandra easily takes out the guards. That said the scene of Jean taking Chuck into her head is REALLY damn awesome. Jean is the arc MVP by a mile and Hank is pretty dang good competition. 

All Hell: We open the final issue of the arc with Scott and Xorn escaping the spaceship using some teleport tubes taking Arakai and Lilandra with them. 

We open with Cassadra utterly humilating gladiator while the kid team prepares to fight her despite you know, the 8 billion to 1 odds against them. 

Jean, despite hte discknes and trying to keep an old man in her brain marches out , prepared to fight, for the kids sake. For the world’s sake. But Logan’s easily taken out and with Jean barely holding it together.. the kids prepare to fight.. likely being slaughtered even if they mean well.. onlyf or help to finally arrive with Scott and Xorn glowy porting in. We get a really sweet , short moment with scott and jean...

Scott not knowing the situation tries to have Xorn heal charles first but since Cassandra’s body is dead and unoccupied that’s a no go.. he’s still usefult hough, curing Jean of her nanosentital sickness and moving on to Scott and Hank while there’s still time. 

We find out more about cassandra: She’s a murrmadi, a bodyless parasite.. eseetinally the dark first test a person faces... she just stuck around because she was one for a telepath.. the world’s STRONGEST telepath. But really other than that part the rest just feels like stuff we alreayd heard LAST TIME, mildly repaackaged and seems enitrley like filler to pad the issue out. 

So while Jean takes cerebra, both to keep it away from Cassandra’s plans of mutant genocide and for whatever she has planned, Scott, Hank and Xorn prepare to hold the line.. and as Jean mentions.. emma’s still out in the wild. 

So we get our climactic showdown.. logan, hank and xorn veruss cassandra, with Cassandra trying to do eveyrthing she can, tear them down mentally, throw out the students with our heroes fighting back best they can. It’s good stuff.  

Eventaully Cassandra gets to Jean.. but she’s already inacted her plan, putting a piece of Xavier’s mind in EVERY mutant, and giving Cassandra one ohell ofa reason you suck speech. 

It’s an incapsulation of what i said earlier and what the runs about: alone we are weak but together.. we just might make it. More on that as we go. But thanks to Cass naturally going fo rcerberba.. she accidently restores charles and is left bodyless.

Emma finishes the fight with her own brilliant gambit, presending cassandra her body.. but it’s actually stuff , reprogrammed into a sentient brain for her to inhabit and leaving her trapped, with Charles hoping t teach the now mentally reset Cassandra.  So Cassandra is beat, the virus is stopped, and our heroes have one.. but naturally for this run.. there’s one last suprise in store. 

Charles can walk again.. and going forward will be a far more active member of the team. The team is complete, Cassandra is beaten, and the future.. is bright. 

Final Thoughts:

This arc is a mixed bag.. it has really good scenes with the first and last issues being the standouts, with the former being an utter classic with an intresting gimick and the latter being a rousing climax with tons of awesome moments, with some good mometns scattered throughout.

But that’s the arc’s issue.. it has good moments and ideas.. but they don’t quite work togehter. The idea of teh Shiar Imperial Guard nearly doing a genocide is good, but the Shiar are such flat characters.. it’s really hard to care. They just don’t have enough connection to the x-men to really have the betryal sting but aren’t callous enough for genocide protocols to maeks sense. It’s a good idea, I still support it being terrifying.. but not enough is done with it and it feels liek Grant is more concerned with throwing weirdos at the x-men than actually saying something. 

The biggest issue however is the art. While inconsitant art is an issue as they’d rotate artists.. but in previous arcs it was usually pretty evenly split but here it’s sloppy: Quitely does the first issue, van Sciver the second.. and the worst of the three Igor Kordey does most of the art. I gave him the beinfit of the doubt last time.. but this time not so much. His art is muddy and tries to be stylized but comes off confusing,ugly and not great. He’s probably a lovely guy but given he’s up against two legendary artists, his lack of style comapred to both shows badly.  And given the arc is alreayd a bit overly complicated, it makes things WORSE by giving us muddled art in a very complex storyline. The flip flopping art makes a fairly intricate story very hard to follow. It’s easily why this arc didn’t grab me in the past and even seeing some better moments, it’s not the series best. It’s not the worst either, Planet X easily takes that ground despite having far better art. It’s an incredibly muddled incredibly long feeling arc and really needed to be compressed by one or two issues but instead is just hard to get through. It’s owrth it for the rest of the runa nd the good moments within but all in all easily one of the weakest points in the series. 

Next Month on New X-Men:The X-Men soak in the new world order, and we meet fantomex, dust and the last surivivors of genosha. 

Next on this blog:Green Eggs and Ham is back!

If you enjoyed this review PLEASE join my patreon. The end of hte month is coming and I need eveyr cent I can get so join at patreon.com/popculturebuffet and i’ll see you at the next rainbow. 

[sleephyjhs]

You Have First Trimester Sickness (REACTION)

[ requested by @sweetbtsboys / masterlist ]

possible tw :: pregnancy sickness

a/n :: it’s gonna be a long one guys, hope you’re strapped in

KSJ

The excitement of learning you were expecting your first baby with Seokjin was soon followed by the dismal sickness caused by the surge of new hormones. You knew it was inevitable, however you never expected it to be as vile as you had experienced.

You had been sat in your en suite with your husband for the past hour, vomiting at irregular but frequent intervals. In the minute he had left to grab you a scrunchie for your hair, you’d somehow become more sick. As he sat back down and tied your hair for you, you questioned him as if he was supposed to know more than you.

“Is it normal to be this sick? One of these minutes I might just throw up my stomach.” You huffed, leaning back into his shoulders. Jin rubbed circles across your knuckles to comfort you, which any other time would have worked a lot better.

“Would you like to go and see a doctor? It’s always worth asking, jagi. Maybe they can give you something for it?” You tilted your red-tinted face to look him in the eyes. A few weeks prior, you had together agreed to do whatever was best for your growing baby. Maybe seeing a healthcare professional was best.

“Let me get myself together first. I can’t travel like this, Jin.”

“No worries, take your time.” He assured you, wrapping his long fingers around the hand he held so tightly.

MYG

When you were younger, you often heard that most women experienced pregnancy sickness in the morning. Cut to 11pm, when your body’s contents threatened to exit through your mouth, you began to realise most pregnancy expectations were going to become lies.

As you presumed your partner Yoongi was fast asleep, you couldn’t resist letting a few burning tears slip down your cheek and onto the tile flooring. You were overjoyed at the bundle of joy growing inside of you, but the gruelling process of carrying them around was proving to be slightly overwhelming for you.

“Can I get you anything?” You snapped your head around to find Yoongi crouching in the doorframe. Although he looked tired, it was obvious his concern for you.

While thinking of an answer, you swept away your tears believing there was a possibility he hadn’t seen them. Your hoarse throat made it clear how sick you really were, “Can you just stay for a while?” All of your willpower couldn’t stop your bottom lip from quivering as you made your request.

“Let it out, honey. It’s okay.” Yoongi assured you, writhing his arm around your curled shoulders. Knowing it would make you feel even worse, you let your pent up emotions flood from your eyes, “We’re going to get through this. Although it might not feel like it right now, you are more than capable of doing this.”

JHS

It seemed every 10 seconds you checked the time on your phone. Impatiently, you waited for your newly-wed husband, Hoseok, to finish his dance practice. Only 15 minutes remained, but you needed his help and comfort desperately.

You felt selfish that you needed Hoseok as much as you did, despite both him and the members telling you that you didn’t need to. He knew that you could become overwhelmed and panicked easily, and had told you it was never a problem for him to leave his schedule earlier to make sure you were okay and safe.

Rapidly, your sickness became unbearable. You felt as though a crossroads had been placed before you, and moving on from today’s sickness episode would be impossible. Although hesitating, you reached for your phone and dialled Hobi quicker than you ever had before.

By the time he had picked up, your heart had increased in speed, leading your hands to shake violently, “What’s up, angel?”

His chirpy response disheartened you, as you knew your low state would convert it into plain panic, “When will you be home? I need help clearing up and getting myself from the floor.”

You rushed your words into one breath, but before you could even finish, Hoseok had begun to reassure you, “Okay, don’t worry, I’m coming. Do you need anything on the way home? Stay on the phone with me, it’ll seem like I’ll get there sooner. You’re okay honey, you’re okay.”

KNJ

“Okay, I think I’m alright for a while.” You told Namjoon. He offered you both of his hands to help you up from the bathroom floor where you had sat for a generous period of the morning. Although you were heading quickly for your second trimester of pregnancy, your morning sickness was still very much prevalent.

“You seem to be a lot better today.” Namjoon pointed out to you, rubbing your shoulders as you turned to wash your hands, “Maybe the twins are making your sickness last longer?”

You really hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Putting up with constant vomiting for 14 weeks was enough, you couldn’t bear the thought of a whole 9 months of it.

As you dried your hands on the towel, you heard Namjoon begin to stammer over his words, “Did you want any vanilla ice cream?”

You couldn’t help but furrow your brows. It was a confusing question at least, “It’s only 7am, Joonie.”

“I know, but it can help your throat burn a little less. It’s worth a try, I know how much you hate mornings like this.” In no time after you agreeing to the sweet treat, Namjoon had already grasped your hand and had begun leading you towards the kitchen.

PJM

In less than half an hour, you and your husband, Jimin, were expected at the last apartment viewing you had booked. With your first baby arriving later that year, you had mutually agreed that more space would be needed. Where you lived now was just too small to raise a little kid.

Every morning that week, you had managed to avoid throwing up in the morning. Wrongly, you had convinced yourself your morning sickness had finally left. However as you applied your blush to the apples of your cheeks, the same doomed urge stormed through your stomach, and you had no choice than to retreat to the bathroom.

“Angel? Are you nearly ready? We should be leaving soon-“ Jimin’s reminders were cut short by a deep sigh. He bent down to your level and swept your falling hair back behind your ear, only to pin it to your head using his finger, “I thought we were past this?”

“So did I,” you replied, refusing to meet his eyes in case of an emergency, “Why did this have to happen today?”

“I can cancel it if you’re not up to it.” You refused before he had finished his sentence. You had to move soon, there was no choice around it, “Do you need some help clearing things up?”

You nodded, kneeling back onto your heels. Now you’d have to rush your makeup as well as tidy yourself up again. In a brief pause to glance at your appearance in the mirror, Jimin came to your side and lifted the blush brush you had dropped, “I know you precise you are with your makeup. I’ve got it covered.”

KTH

It was your last day in Europe with Taehyung, and already you felt guilty it had to begin this way. Your vacation to Vienna would be the last as just a couple, as three months ago you learned you were expecting your first child with your husband, Taehyung.

Prior to your vacation, you believed you had avoided morning sickness altogether. It surprised you that you hadn’t experienced any ill feelings, but relieved you nonetheless. Taehyung had joked your body knew that your fun vacation was coming to an end and so was hurling the worst at you.

“Tae, I can’t board a plane like this. I get travel sickness anyway-“ You sobbed into his chest. At that point in time, leaving the bathroom was out of the question. Nothing could have prepared you for the vile feeling that was brought along with the sickness you felt.

“My love, we don’t really have the choice. It’s gonna be a rough journey but hey, we’ll be home before you know it. And then you’ll be able to get much more comfortable which is better for you and our baby, right?”

He was right, but even his encouraging words couldn’t make today appear any easier to you, “Just.. why today? It couldn’t have been tomorrow or any time in the near future, it had to be today.”

Taehyung thought for a moment while caressing your hand with his fingers, “The way I see it, little one is just letting you know how comfortable of a home you’re giving them. Perhaps not in the most gracious way, but they have to get the message to us somehow.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his interesting analysis of your baby’s signals to you, “You can get through this, for them and for me.”

JJK

Winter sun filtered through a split in the curtains and onto the bed where you laid wrapped in your partner’s arms. You’d been awake for several minutes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb Jungkook’s sleep on purpose. Comeback season always left him particularly exhausted.

However you also knew that it wouldn’t be long until your routine morning sickness would force you from your warm sheets.Although your symptoms were a lot less violent than they were a few weeks ago, you still dreaded the mornings. Before long, you couldn’t control the urge to vomit any longer and tried to leave Jungkook’s arms.

In a sleepy daze, thinking you were playing with him, Jungkook groaned playfully as he tightened his grip, “Kook, you have to let me go. I’m serious, I’m gonna throw up.” He sat up quickly as you rushed away into the bathroom, and were soon joined by a half-asleep husband.

He yawned swiftly before pulling your scrambled hair from your face, “You should’ve woken me up before, you sound even worse than before.”

A brief pause in vomiting allowed you to explain yourself to him. You knew well that he didn’t like when you hid your hardships from him, “You were out cold last night, it’s obvious you’re exhausted. I’m okay, this is normal.”

Jungkook’s eyes fell at your selfless reasoning. While still holding your hair in one hand, he moved to sit behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder, “Don’t worry about me. I can always go back to sleep. You’re the one carrying precious cargo.”

^ thank you for your kind request! 💕

[argylemnwrites]

Do No Harm

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Cassie Vanderfield)

Book: Open Heart (just over 2 years after the end of Book 1)

Word Count: ~900

Rating: PG

Summary: Bryce said that messes tend to follow him. He never wanted them to follow him here.

Author’s Note: Another set of Fluffy Friday drabbles coming your way! I got several requests for his one, which makes me laugh because doctors make their loved ones suck it up big time when they’re ill, hahaha. So, I had to up the stakes a bit here. So this is 9. Nursing the Sick One as requested by @maria-soederberg​ and @sunnyxdazed

“Cassie, I’m so sorry!” Bryce said as he saw a grimace pass across her face. He felt like it had become his mantra over the past four days, starting when he’d begrudgingly brought Cassie to the Edenbrook ED at 3 am on Sunday. She’d been complaining of bad stomach pain the entire evening and hadn’t eaten much at the restaurant for dinner, but Bryce hadn’t thought much of it. After all, she had her internal medicine boards in just over 3 weeks, and Sienna had called her all stressed out just that afternoon. He figured nerves were playing a big role here, seeing as she’d been complaining of weird aches and pains, mild nausea, and constant headaches for weeks at this point.

When Cassie woke him around 1 am, shaking his arm and demanding that he palpate her abdomen because she thought she had rebound tenderness, his response might not have been the most tactful, but he pressed all over her belly dutifully. He just thought it was more likely that Cassie thought it hurt more when he let go than when he applied the pressure because she knew that was a concerning sign. He’d told her as much and rolled over to go back to sleep.

But not even an hour later, she was grabbing his arm, already dressed in a pair of her scrubs, insisting that the pain had now localized to McBurney’s point and that she was going to the ED with or without him. Groaning, he’d rolled out of bed, brushing his teeth and calling a Dryve to take them in. He’d been convinced she had just worked herself into a boards-induced panic until the physician’s assistant had returned to the room, informing them that Cassie’s white blood cell count was elevated to 15.9 and that one of the physicians would be in to see her shortly, slapping an “NPO” band around her wrist.

“Elevated WBC and right lower quadrant tenderness, Bryce,” she’d snapped at him as soon as the PA had left the room, “Specifically McBurney’s point and rebound tenderness. You still want to tell me it’s not my appendix?”

And so, his period of repentance began. Not only did Bryce feel terrible for not bringing Cassie in to get evaluated right away, causing her to lie around in pain for more time, but he also felt terrible as a surgeon. He should have recognized her symptoms for what they were. He felt so guilty, both personally and professionally. That feeling only intensified when Dr. Cavovitch came out to the surgical waiting room and told him that Cassie’s appendix had ruptured, so she had left a drain in place.

Since she’d been discharged home, he’d been doting on her as best as he could. He’d done all the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, and laundry. He’d helped her bathe and monitored the incision site, developing a much greater appreciation for the surgical floor nurses in the process. He’d called Ethan Ramsey to notify him that Cassie would be out for at least a week, maybe more depending how long the drain needed to stay in. He didn’t want her lifting a finger while she recovered. It seemed like the least he could do, all things considered.

His current task was getting her into pajamas without tugging on the drain, something he was still struggling with, hence the repetition of his apologies over and over.

“Bryce, it’s fine. I’ve got it.”

Bryce shook his head, “I just feel like if I’d listened to you earlier that-”

“Enough, Bryce. Maybe my appendix wouldn’t have burst if we went in earlier, or maybe it still would have. You’re sorry. I get it. Now will you just let me get dressed by myself?”

Bryce sighed, “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

Cassie tugged on her t-shirt and turned, sinking down onto their bed, pulling Bryce along after her. “Babe, I appreciate that you’ve done all the cooking and all the heavy lifting and helped me with my drain. But I had my appendix out, and I’m guessing you could tell me that the recovery time for an appendectomy is pretty damn quick.”

“Cassie, you had complicated appendicitis and I wasn’t listening. I want you to know that I’m taking this seriously and-”

“You’re a good surgeon and a good partner,” Cassie interrupted, “You aren’t perfect at either, as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, but you’re very good. One error that you corrected in the end doesn’t change that fact.”

“You just were so pissed at me, and you had every right to be, don’t get me wrong, but I just don’t want you to regret this, now that I went and made a mess of things,” he said, grabbing her left hand and running his thumb along her fourth finger.

“Of course I was pissed. I was in excruciating pain and I was tired and nauseated. But that doesn’t mean I regret choosing to marry you. I still trust you, both with my patient’s lives and with my life, okay?”

Bryce nodded, letting out a little sigh and flopping back on the bed. He just felt like he should have been better about this whole thing. But Cassie curled up next to him gently, careful not to let the drain get pinned under either of them. “I will say, though.” she started, running her fingers through his hair, “It’s good to know that you are capable of admitting when you’re wrong. Contrition looks damn good on you.”

“Yeah? How good are we talking here?”

“I’m not even cleared to lift 10 pounds, Bryce. I’m definitely not cleared for that.”

Bryce just laughed, “I’ll keep that in mind for the future, then. Are you sure we’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Next time I need my appendix out, though, you better listen to me,” she teased.

“I think I can manage that.”

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty​ @mfackenthal​  @lilyofchoices​  @thequeenofcronuts​  @jamesashtonisbae​

Open Heart: @omgjasminesimone​  @octobereighth​

Bryce x MC only: @thequeenchoices​   @feartheendlesssummer​  @tallulahshh​    @fortunatelywaywardsandwich​   @dreaming-of-movies​  @choicesarehard​   @universallypizzataco​  @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl​  @maria-soederberg​   @sunnyxdazed​

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verification — maestro

summary: a song written in 2016. an angry boy says fuck you to the people that doubted his talents, again. warnings: none wc: 1820 (not including lyrics)

he touches a real piano for the first time in years.

the set of ivory keys lined up, sparse increments of black filling the void. eighty-eight keys, fifty two white thirty six black. he’s always favored the b and e from first glance when he realized the onyx keys weren’t the only casualty of a flat or sharp. it takes him all but three seconds to line up the technical keys — first the octave progressions that start with basic fingering. four fingers, spanning eight keys. it starts at octave one, breaches to octave seven.

he remembers the first time he played a piano.

five years old at the mercy of his mother — pianos make pretty hands, and my son will have pretty hands. in hindsight, he doesn’t know what the fuck she meant then, and still doesn’t know when he’s twenty-seven severed ties from a family long gone. yet, he remembers the prosperious beginnings of a formidable boy at age eight — playing along the tunes of chopin, schubert and mendelsson. 

for old times sake, he plays the etudes. and like muscle memory, schubert and the hours invested into each tick on the clock and mark against the practice sheet take its toll — it plays smoothly, and the smirk curved on his face tells otherwise of the distaste that subsides inside his stomach.

he leaves, places his hand on the side arm before folding himself ninety degrees (muscle memory takes him there too).

-

the taste of a grand piano becomes addicting on his fingers like an insatiable itch by the time it’s three days pass. he waits another two.

addiction doesn’t pass, and impulsitivity ensues. his name marked on the reservation sheet placed in the recording room with the grand piano, he marches straight through combatted for war with the lingering ties of his past.

it starts when he mimics the beginnings of beethoven and mozart — the first names he learns when he’s sitting on edge scrawled across the piano with the sheet music at bay. it’s the first of two pieces juxtaposed together, inside the minor keys (he remembers, he hated the minors. too many damn sharps to account for). it starts with a two note combination — flits past two octaves. it’s here it becomes an ode, a death march to the things he’s buried under.

but his creativity ceases when he’s struck at a standstill.

no beethoven or bach — there’s nothing that budges past the iteration of the same baseline he’s concocted. no codas composing one break into the next — instead, it’s a repeat measure when he finds solace inside. clicks of the mouth amassing it, only to string it out past the span of three minutes.

it’s the ode to classics and the greatest: the bare standard he manages when he’s thrown the years of promising futures to a life underground and the classics washed away into the easy floating beats of hip hop and rap. yet, he never loses respect — the morsel of respect left for the era that kept him afloat all those years. and he suspects, it must be an effect of music. the keys that leave him jarred and marred with years of memories he can’t forget nor bury. call him a hypocrite — he doesn’t fall out of love with the classics. not when he’s eight and not when he’s twenty-two on the verge of relenting adulthood.

-

he takes the notes for what it’s worth — the repetition on loop in the background. and if he’s had to guess, he gives it to his favorite period: the romantic era where chopin and brahms take him by storm. 

yet, the contrast takes him when the black screen reflects his own image — the contours of his face, sullen and pulled empty by the ties of schedules. stretched to his core where music no longer hovers along lonely bodies and disassociations. a scandal a dozen, and he’s stripped bare void of any creative freedom or outlet. (this becomes his outlet).

when his pen mars the empty pages, and he’s left with telling the story untold. a history he’s never spoken — the question looms: who is chung gyujeong. like a nightmare, he can’t give the answer. instead, what he knows is that the piano became a life hold when he was five. fawns over his small frame and sways to the movement of his fingers — talent encompassing. now, he makes bodies sway to the shitty rhymes and pop-drenched beats of a sell-out inundating him heavy.

sunbaes, and he has to fold himself over. speak the formalities to same fucking round of people trapped in the vicious cycle. it’s here, he understands. his escape started at fourteen, inside late nights with nothing more than a side lamp and the tawdry note pad — lyrics. sounds of his mother shaking her head, yanking him into obedience inside the four walls of hakwons saying the carbon-printed sayings of ‘there’s no future in lyrics. time for piano.’ 

he shakes his head, laughs. the ripple effect coming inside a wash of memories when he tells her to look at him now — a lost son, cut and tied with a cold shoulder faced to his family inside a marble house. “call me maestro.” his voice whispers out loud.

i played the piano since i was 5, i was a musical genius beethoven, mozart, bach and chopin were my predecessors however at 14, i put them aside and started writing lyrics i quite like this, you can’t make money that way — they all can shove it unlimited refills of versace drink — that was my first movement maserati car, white marble house — that was my second. the mic is my baton, call me maestro

there’s parallelisms he sees in clear sight, visceral and vibrant. the sounds of people telling him that he’d fuck up the second he cut his money string in family roots in tune with the rancid talks of idols pinpointing an inflated ego with no talent. gyujeong huffs a laugh, raises a middle finger in lieu of the words held down without a punch. there’s no gentleness here, no. not when the world opens into clarity — the divide between him and them. he’s not a fucking sell out, not when he’s still put his art on the line. traded in the suit pants of the events for his distressed pants and the years of lessons into amassing his own small empire.

he flicks a middle finger at his family — fuck you all for never seeing me for my work. and fuck you to the underground facades guising themselves as a temporary home only to rip out the benefits the second he stepped onto a big stage. this song becomes his mic drop — a fuck you to everyone because it’s chung gyujeong against the world. a twenty something with his pride tattered, he salvages the remains and puts them right here.

truthfully, distressed pants are way better than suit pants i can’t be gentle, i just scream and the money piles up the wealthy are all on the gentle side mr. geonhee give up your ceo title to me mr. nochang should give me his “genius name”* (천재노창 / genius nochang is a real rapper, but i’m using it as a npc point for gyu for the sake of verifications)

there’s stares inside every hallway he walks across. the scowl permanently engraved along his face when he passes by the hopefuls with innocence drowning their eyes in starry-wide visions. then, the whispers back stage of crude avoidance (he hears them all. hears all the shit, sees all the shit they say). a no-good nothing, spoiled and satiated by the fame handed to him on a silver platter — a talentless nothing, starved by nothing. they call him fucked, he calls them pathetic.

you listen to my line just now and say i’m fucked up.

his family’s pathetic when their on their last lifeline. a stern warning coming in volatile shouts, repeating in steps — you’ll never make it, so stop the act now. teenage rebellion stopped at fourteen, and that’s when he takes a plunge into the risks. by then, he’d been a boy with high hopes and higher expectations, a cesspool of goals and the ambition bursting the seams of his heart. an image with the name ‘haon’, a gentle rich boy nestled inside the heart of han-nam (he tells the underground kids, choke on your words when we’re on different levels).

but rather than being locked up by life i’d rather plunge right into the risks i knew my voice would be my moneymaker i dug a huge pit in the neighborhood ground with music and declared that my confidence was my classic image “to me, a sonata is just a car.” i’ll never think anything like that.

no expectations now, he tells it all to eat the shit he’s sowed. choke on their sacred words and cheap laughs, mocking his state. a sell-out, maybe — but he doesn’t take that to his grave. not when his pen still flows against the paper inside each verse and rhyme matching clear. it’s not da capo, and never the beginning. from here, he crawls his way out — fingers pressed and clawing for the taste of his name for everyone to choke on.

he writes the last few statements in a farewell to the harrowing thoughts that kept him restless for so many nights. the pen, dwindling on the last remains of ink — he stops caring, and lets the imprints carry the words he’ll take to heart.

fuck da capo, ill never go back to the beginning no applause, no, play the second movement, hallelujah the normal kids can fuck off but i don’t give a fuck son here is your tombstone with your name written on it. my art hall is the club, call me maestro.

the loop plays in the back, and he repeats the words written back. it flows, uncertain and heady when he doesn’t get it straight the first time.

frustration comes when he grabs onto his hair, pacing back and forth inside an echoing studio booming only the same chords from the start — beethoven’s madness, he thinks to himself. it’s a taste of mirroring an art form, and here, he must be doing something right.

headphones solidified back into his ears, he goes fueled this time. fueled by each memory and word shot back at him like weaponry, aimed straight for his gut. it comes in the billows of his voice, blaring when he shouts and places a piece of his soul into the chords played. there’s no repercussions here, not when it’s just him and the keys in a dead-eye match of past, present and future.

(he takes this, keeps it till the eighth take fulfills).

and what lacks, he sees when his ears perk up the void that lays subtle inside the track. he doesn’t want the hollowness of the piano — not when he sits upon as a maestro of an orchestra. 

the keyboard comes out — this time fine tuned settings poised towards the deep cellos coming in at the two minute mark. it sets the baseline once more for the breach into the bridge. he sits there, doesn’t want it to linger longer than it’s enough to get the punch of meaning into frame. because he’s no longer the classist perched against the walls of a lonely room with no windows and the piano’s not the only voice he speaks to. instead, it’s the frame of a closing in on an attack he’s ready to dig deep in.

no longer a pianist, he picks up friend through the loose mic. the traverse into hip hop where the kick drum and reverbs become solace (he adds those too). adds in each of beat at the end of each iteration. the chords become hugged by the bellowing arches of the reverb, and he finds — this becomes his new sound of home. the one replayed at the hands of his martyrdom. except, he doesn’t fall at the hands of so many loose words. fragility, it doesn’t exist when he’s built himself a skin of armor like a shell encasing a boy no longer molded or mangled.

he’s been strung thin long enough. heard enough empty words. it’s a lesson learned — fuck everyone who’s ever doubted him. 

[justforbooks]

We’re not going back to normal

To stop coronavirus we will need to radically change almost everything we do: how we work, exercise, socialize, shop, manage our health, educate our kids, take care of family members.

We all want things to go back to normal quickly. But what most of us have probably not yet realized—yet will soon—is that things won’t go back to normal after a few weeks, or even a few months. Some things never will.

It’s now widely agreed (even by Britain, finally) that every country needs to “flatten the curve”: impose social distancing to slow the spread of the virus so that the number of people sick at once doesn’t cause the health-care system to collapse, as it is threatening to do in Italy right now. That means the pandemic needs to last, at a low level, until either enough people have had Covid-19 to leave most immune (assuming immunity lasts for years, which we don’t know) or there’s a vaccine.

How long would that take, and how draconian do social restrictions need to be? Yesterday President Donald Trump, announcing new guidelines such as a 10-person limit on gatherings, said that “with several weeks of focused action, we can turn the corner and turn it quickly.” In China, six weeks of lockdown are beginning to ease now that new cases have fallen to a trickle.

But it won’t end there. As long as someone in the world has the virus, breakouts can and will keep recurring without stringent controls to contain them. In a report yesterday (pdf), researchers at Imperial College London proposed a way of doing this: impose more extreme social distancing measures every time admissions to intensive care units (ICUs) start to spike, and relax them each time admissions fall.

Each time ICU admissions rise above a threshold—say, 100 per week—the country would close all schools and most universities and adopt social distancing. When they drop below 50, those measures would be lifted, but people with symptoms or whose family members have symptoms would still be confined at home.

What counts as “social distancing”? The researchers define it as “All households reduce contact outside household, school or workplace by 75%.” That doesn’t mean you get to go out with your friends once a week instead of four times. It means everyone does everything they can to minimize social contact, and overall, the number of contacts falls by 75%.

Under this model, the researchers conclude, social distancing and school closures would need to be in force some two-thirds of the time—roughly two months on and one month off—until a vaccine is available, which will take at least 18 months (if it works at all). They note that the results are “qualitatively similar for the US.”

Eighteen months!? Surely there must be other solutions. Why not just build more ICUs and treat more people at once, for example?

Well, in the researchers’ model, that didn’t solve the problem. Without social distancing of the whole population, they found, even the best mitigation strategy—which means isolation or quarantine of the sick, the old, and those who have been exposed, plus school closures—would still lead to a surge of critically ill people eight times bigger than the US or UK system can cope with. Even if you set factories to churn out beds and ventilators and all the other facilities and supplies, you’d still need far more nurses and doctors to take care of everyone.

How about imposing restrictions for just one batch of five months or so? No good—once measures are lifted, the pandemic breaks out all over again, only this time it’s in winter, the worst time for overstretched health-care systems.

And what if we decided to be brutal: set the threshold number of ICU admissions for triggering social distancing much higher, accepting that many more patients would die? Turns out it makes little difference. Even in the least restrictive of the Imperial College scenarios, we’re shut in more than half the time.

This isn’t a temporary disruption. It’s the start of a completely different way of life. Living in a state of pandemic.

In the short term, this will be hugely damaging to businesses that rely on people coming together in large numbers: restaurants, cafes, bars, nightclubs, gyms, hotels, theaters, cinemas, art galleries, shopping malls, craft fairs, museums, musicians and other performers, sporting venues (and sports teams), conference venues (and conference producers), cruise lines, airlines, public transportation, private schools, day-care centers. That’s to say nothing of the stresses on parents thrust into homeschooling their kids, people trying to care for elderly relatives without exposing them to the virus, people trapped in abusive relationships, and anyone without a financial cushion to deal with swings in income.

There’ll be some adaptation, of course: gyms could start selling home equipment and online training sessions, for example. We’ll see an explosion of new services in what’s already been dubbed the “shut-in economy.” One can also wax hopeful about the way some habits might change—less carbon-burning travel, more local supply chains, more walking and biking.

But the disruption to many, many businesses and livelihoods will be impossible to manage. And the shut-in lifestyle just isn’t sustainable for such long periods.

So how can we live in this new world? Part of the answer—hopefully—will be better health-care systems, with pandemic response units that can move quickly to identify and contain outbreaks before they start to spread, and the ability to quickly ramp up production of medical equipment, testing kits, and drugs. Those will be too late to stop Covid-19, but they’ll help with future pandemics.

In the near term, we’ll probably find awkward compromises that allow us to retain some semblance of a social life. Maybe movie theaters will take out half their seats, meetings will be held in larger rooms with spaced-out chairs, and gyms will require you to book workouts ahead of time so they don’t get crowded.

Ultimately, however, I predict that we’ll restore the ability to socialize safely by developing more sophisticated ways to identify who is a disease risk and who isn’t, and discriminating—legally—against those who are.

We can see harbingers of this in the measures some countries are taking today. Israel is going to use the cell-phone location data with which its intelligence services track terrorists to trace people who’ve been in touch with known carriers of the virus. Singapore does exhaustive contact tracing and publishes detailed data on each known case, all but identifying people by name.

We don’t know exactly what this new future looks like, of course. But one can imagine a world in which, to get on a flight, perhaps you’ll have to be signed up to a service that tracks your movements via your phone. The airline wouldn’t be able to see where you’d gone, but it would get an alert if you’d been close to known infected people or disease hot spots. There’d be similar requirements at the entrance to large venues, government buildings, or public transport hubs. There would be temperature scanners everywhere, and your workplace might demand you wear a monitor that tracks your temperature or other vital signs. Where nightclubs ask for proof of age, in future they might ask for proof of immunity—an identity card or some kind of digital verification via your phone, showing you’ve already recovered from or been vaccinated against the latest virus strains.

We’ll adapt to and accept such measures, much as we’ve adapted to increasingly stringent airport security screenings in the wake of terrorist attacks. The intrusive surveillance will be considered a small price to pay for the basic freedom to be with other people.

As usual, however, the true cost will be borne by the poorest and weakest. People with less access to health care, or who live in more disease-prone areas, will now also be more frequently shut out of places and opportunities open to everyone else. Gig workers—from drivers to plumbers to freelance yoga instructors—will see their jobs become even more precarious. Immigrants, refugees, the undocumented, and ex-convicts will face yet another obstacle to gaining a foothold in society.

Moreover, unless there are strict rules on how someone’s risk for disease is assessed, governments or companies could choose any criteria—you’re high-risk if you earn less than $50,000 a year, are in a family of more than six people, and live in certain parts of the country, for example. That creates scope for algorithmic bias and hidden discrimination, as happened last year with an algorithm used by US health insurers that turned out to inadvertently favor white people.

The world has changed many times, and it is changing again. All of us will have to adapt to a new way of living, working, and forging relationships. But as with all change, there will be some who lose more than most, and they will be the ones who have lost far too much already. The best we can hope for is that the depth of this crisis will finally force countries—the US, in particular—to fix the yawning social inequities that make large swaths of their populations so intensely vulnerable.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[kewltie]

contains: slavery, caste system 

Quirkless. Lesser. Lesser than humans.

The thick metal collar goes around his neck and closes with a secured beep. "Be good to your new master, Izuku," the Headmaster instructs. "You're the pride of our academy so try not to shame us. Always remember your lessons and oath."

"We serve at the behest of those who greater than us," Izuku recites solemnly. A mantra that was beaten into him since he was taken from his mother's arms by the DQA when he was only just eight years old and deposited in one of its many training academies.

"Good, good," the Headmaster says, looking particularly pleased with himself. "You're quite fortunate that you're benefactor is such a high profile character that you might be able to pay off your contract debt in ten years or so."

"Yes," Izuku agrees, even though he wouldn't have acquired such a debt if he wasn't stolen away and forced to learn at the feet of adults who claimed to know better. Claimed they were there to help him because he is quirkless. Useless. He must be taught to serve society better.

"Will they--," he swallows the flash of nerves for a moment, "may I know who is to be my new master?" The Headmaster grins, eyes twinkling brightly against Izuku's shadowy apprehension. "I have no doubt that you may already know his name."

"A public  figure?" Izuku murmurs thoughtfully. A politician or an idol perhaps? Someone whose name and face is spread everywhere enough that even locked away in the fortress of the academy Izuku would still be familiar with him to recognize who he is. "A celebrity then?"

The Headmaster snorts in amusement. "Close enough," he answers. "In his line of work he might as well be with the way the media and his legion of devout fans like the sink their teeth into him if they could." Izuku blinks, mind racing as he connects the dot. "A prohero?!"

His eyes widen and lower jaw dropping in surprise when the Headmaster gave a short nod. "I believe he's around your age, so young still but a prodigy they say. Having broken into the top fifty ranking in only two year after his graduation from U.A, now he’s among the top ten. His performance had truly been impressive.”

Izuku's heart stops.

U.A., the school Izuku had once dreamed of going to before it all came crashing down. In another life, in another world it would have been his alma mater, but this is his reality now. Now, he can only glimpse of those heroes on TV and thinks of all the could haves, would haves.

That should be me out there, his younger self had thought with a yearnful heart as he pressed his hand against the screen of the TV, but the academy was no place for broken dreams and fanciful wishes. It carved out every weakness of his and crushed it under its firmed teaching.

Izuku may have outgrown those childhood fancies, but he never stopped looking toward the sky like a bird with clipped wings. If he couldn't be one of them then he wanted to know everything about them. News clippings, scholarly journals, and books, he had devoured it all.

"I know you always did have a fondness of the proheroes scene," the Headmaster comments idly like Izuku's earlier obsession with heroes, though argue by his handlers that it had truly never gone away, wasn't a topic of heated contention throughout his years at the academy.

"This is the best match up we could ever hope for. You're one of our most brightest students--one I, dearsay, haven't seen in decades," he says, looking fondly at Izuku as though Izuku hasn't been dragged into his office so many times for corrective behavior measure.

Izuku has always been a good boy, but never an obedience one, his former teachers would often lament about that fact. It's precisely why although Izuku had had broken so many grounds and records at the academy, consistently ranked at the top of his class, but finding him a proper sponsor was hard.

On paper, he was perfect, if choosing to ignore his long disciplinary paper trail, but once the sponsor had met him in person and saw all the cracks of his polished submission in the rigid of his shoulders and eyes unwilling to fall to the floor, they knew right away--there was something terribly wrong with him.

Like, how he was a failure for being born quirkless so they had to carefully train him up with the best money the government could buy in hope that one day he could serve their best and brightest. Even then he'd failed to live up to their expectations of him.

"This pro-hero," Izuku says slowly and carefully. "Does he know of me?" Will he also be disappointed when he meets Izuku like all the rest?

"He specifically requested you. He was very insistent about it," the Headmaster responds, and then he frowns. “Rather forceful actually. Wouldn't take no for an answer. I'd even suggested going through our catalogues of other Lessers first before he make up his mind, but he nearly rip my head off." His frown deepens as his face pinches at the memory. "Such a crude behavior indeed. I almost wanted decline if it wasn't for his reputable reputation as a hero."

Izuku's eyes widen. "He asked for me personally? Who is he then—tell me?!" he demands, taking several steps toward the Headmaster with hands extended out as thought he was going to shake the answer right out of him. 

"Izuku," the Headmaster snaps, eyes narrowing in contempt. "Calm yourself! You’re not a child anymore. You're a representative of this elite academy, so such ill manner does not become us!”  

Izuku freezes, quickly dropping his hands to his side once more. "I--" His gaze fall to the ground as heat rises to his cheek. "I deeply apologize, sir. I don’t know what came over me like that." He quickly falls back, putting enough distance between them to regain his composure. 

The Headmaster sighs. "I know you're excited because this may be your last chance at getting a benefactor after so many fail sponsorships, but do not forget your place, Izuku." 

Izuku’s mouth dries and there’s an awful twist in his guts as another lecture starts rolling in. 

"It's with your head bowed, eyes down, and on your knees at the feet of your master. You're incredibly brilliant and talented student, but no matter how good you are you're still a Lesser," he explains as though Izuku hadn't heard it a hundred times before. "You'll never amount to anything spectacular compare to the rest of us. Such is the plight of the quirkless." 

Izuku bristles, hands clenching and unclenching at his side but he holds his tongue. If he says the wrong thing again, it'll cost him maybe everything. 

It only takes one chance. That's all he need. A reason to get out of the academy's iron grip and its intense scrutiny so he'll have room to breathe and plan his way out of these shackles that bind him.

Freedom on bent knees and a collar around his neck. Oh, the irony.

"I keep that in mind, sir," Izuku murmurs, plastering a smile that he doesn't quite feel on his face. "When will I meet my new master then?"

"Now," the Headmaster says with a wave of his hand toward the exit of his office. "I'll take you to him right this instance."

Izuku jerks in surprise. "So soon?!" he asks. Though he'd long accepted his fate is not his own, but he hasn't been mentally and emotionally prep for a meeting with the man whose name will be carved onto his collar. 

The Headmaster purses his lip unhappily. "He wants to meet you right away even though I'd insisted we give it a few days to prepare you first, but he's--" he scrunches up his face in annoyance, "extremely vocal about what he wants. Twenty billion yens will get you a whole lot of favor it seems."  

Izuku chokes on air.

Twenty billion yen?! "Is that--" Izuku starts and then stops, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. "I-Is that how much he'd paid for me?" 

The Headmaster frowns, scratching his chin as he steers Izuku out of his office. "It's how much he's sponsoring you for." 

"Ah, I see," Izuku replies, even though he doesn't see how is that any different. No matter how they may have prettied it up, it's still an exchange of money for a service and in any other world that would be frown upon but here's it's a way of life for the quirkless. 

The Headmaster escorts him through the winding halls of the academy where several students--their age vary as young as seven to even older than Izuku at twenty-seven--roam unrestricted in the hallway during their free period. 

The campus is a sprawling education complex.

They're always learning to be good, better, for their master. Everything is for their master. From basic domestic skills like cooking and cleaning to learning violin first hand under a maestro, and then there's math and physics. The education here varies and complex.

It's all in service of their master in the future. They must be mold to be whatever their master needed. Trained to be the best so they can serve to the best of their abilities as companion, assistant, and consort. They have to be everything and nothing at all.

Coveted by those who only saw value in the rarity and the novelty of owning a Lesser, Izuku and his kind are ornament pieces meant to decorate the arms of their master but once their master get bored of them, they're quickly discarded and are no longer of any worth.

They are consider a priceless treasure up until the point when they're not anymore. To be treated like a commodity, with no inherent worth until others deem it so, is not the way Izuku wanted to live.

But nobody had given him a choice in that regard. Him and thousands of others like him. 

"We're here," the Headmaster says as they stand outside of one of the private VIP rooms where they often entertain special guests visiting the academy. It's a place Izuku had been to many times before, presented to potential sponsors like a piece of meat to be sold.

There's a price on Izuku's head, a price on the head of all the students here. It an arbitrary number, but it's important enough that people have live and die by it. Izuku knows his worth and it has little to do what anyone else think, but it all comes back to money in the end.

Money from sponsorship that lined the pocket of the academy, money that kept Izuku and others collared and trap in their gilded cage and it is ultimately money that brought Izuku right in front of this door to meet the man who will decide his fate. Izuku puts on his warpaint.

He wears an indomitable smile on his face as though it was carved from stone as the Headmaster pushes the door open and leads him in. His eyes flutter shut for a moment and he breathes as he steps forward onto the battlefield with nothing but his wits to guide him through.

The room opens up to marble titles lining the floor, lights cascade down from a crystal chandelier hanging above, several muted grey accent chairs surround a glass coffee table, the walls are painted white on white, and even the rest of the decor stay resolutely neutral in colors. 

It's simple, clean cut, and modern. And it left Izuku feeling cold and bereft every time he walk into this room. The only jarring difference this time around is the other person in the room beside him and the Headmaster. His presence alone immediately takes up all the space in Izuku's head and leaves him startlingly breathless and dazed with confusion.

Domineering is a word, Izuku would use. All-consuming is another. It's like stepping into a vortex and getting swept right up in the eye of its storm. A furious red storm that Izuku had been caught in since he was a child, fallen under its spell with a single infuriating glance. It's those same pair of eyes that had looked at him with contempt and scorn back then as though whatever they found of him it was sorely lacking. 

The man doesn't rise from his seat and didn't offer a single word, but Izuku knows him, knows him like he knows his own heartbeat. The slope of his shoulders, the wide expanse of his back, the hard plane of his chest, every inch of him Izuku had a glimpsed of on the TV screen, he’d committed it all to memory.

It been more than ten years since they have stood right in front of each other, Izuku had changed since then but so did he. He's taller. Bigger. His presence more pronounce and dizzying in way like he'd finally grown into the great person he always boasted to be.

But then again, he wasn't ever boasting. He had meant every word of it. Believe it like it was a certainty that carried him through every one of decision and action. Izuku have always admired that decisive nature of his and here he is again, appearing before him like a dream made real.

The Headmaster lowers his head slightly in greeting. "Zero-san, I have brought him just as you requested," he says, stepping aside to let Bakugou Katsuki have full view of Izuku like he hasn't been boring a hole in Izuku's head since the moment they'd walked through the doors.

All the training that got him here, he had things he been primed to say, it all went out the window the second Izuku had seen him because nothing had prepared him for this, for reuniting with his former childhood friend again after more than a decade. Bakugou Katsuki is the one person he would have never expected to come here, let alone if it’s for Izuku. The last time they had seen each other, they’d parted with a lot of tears and vitriol thrown at each other.

“—I never want to see you again, you useless nerd! I hate you, I fucking hate you. Go away!”

The marks left over from that fight had never truly healed. Years later, he still carried those bitter words to into his dream, always wondering if he had another chance maybe he could have mended their tattered friendship again. Now, staring into the eyes of the nightmare that had haunted him ever since then, a strange mixture of wariness and curiosity warring within him.

“K-Kacchan—?” he asks, moving in stuttering steps as though he was pulled forward.

“Izuku! What are you doing?!” the Headmaster hisses, scandalized tone leaking into his voice, but Izuku found it was impossible to heed his words. “Stop that now!”

He takes another step and another, and then the collar around his neck constricts and sends a jolt of electricity throughout his body, dropping Izuku to the floor in shock. Izuku’s trembling hands fumble at his collar as he desperately tries catch his breath.

Out of the corner of his panic stricken eyes, he catches the sound of heavy footsteps as Katsuki makes his way to the Headmaster in three long strides. He grabs the Headmaster by the collar of his shirt and shakes him. “What the fuck did you do him, you bastard?!” is the first thing Katsuki says, and it’s so, so fierce and cutting that the words cut through the air like lightning.

Izuku recoils, fear taking hold of him for a second.

The Headmaster’s mask of composure doesn’t slip one bit, not even in the face of a top twenty rank pro-hero. Wordlessly, he carefully removes Katsuki’s hand from his person and smiles reassuringly. “Zero-san, it was just a precaution to control him in case the Lesser acted out. Don’t worry, he’s fine,” he promises, his voice slipping into a melodious and soothing tone.

Right away, Izuku can feel the earlier rise of panic and anxiety stirring inside of him is quickly disappearing under the Headmaster’s emphatic quirk. As a level four, the Headmaster has masterful commands of his quirk that let him use his voice to inject emotions into everyone nearby. It’s one of the many reasons he was left in charge of the Lesser Sponsorship Program because he could easily defuse any complicated situations if it arise to that. “Your merchandise remains unharmed,” he is quick to assure Katsuki, instilling as much calm as he could in those words that Izuku’s head is fuzzy with warmth, choking on a sweet toxic scent and if the Headmaster had asked, Izuku would have walked into fire for him.

But Katsuki is not Izuku, he isn’t defenseless babe against such a measly mind altering quirk. Katsuki snarls, shoving the Headmaster abruptly back. Hastily, he wraps a hand around his biceps, nails digging into his skin as he winces in a pain but whatever he did, he sobers up quickly after that.

A level four quirk user going up against a level six, who had been training and perfecting his power since he was young to able to use it at professional level and fight for his life and the lives of millions of other, is a joke in many ways.

The Headmaster is completely outmatched this time.

“Cut that shit out or I’ll blast a fucking hole in your head,” Katsuki bites out, vicious and meaning every word of it. Both of his palms are crackling with intent.

For once, the Headmaster acquiesces as he steps back and fixes his shirt. He remains cool and unperturbed, but the slightest tremble in his hands says otherwise. “I apologize, Zero-san, if I offended you somehow,” he offers, and slowly the tense air around them clears out.

Izuku can finally breathe properly now as thought a spell was lifted from him.

“Yea?” Katsuki sneers. “And who said you can put a fucking collar on him?! I didn’t tell you to do any of that shit.”

“Sir with all due respect, it’s standard procedure to assure the safety of our clients. We put it on every one of our Lessers when they’re meeting with their potential sponsor for the first time and during their probationary period,” the Headmaster explains as calmly as possible against Katsuki’s rising anger.

“He’s quirkless! What the fuck can he even do to me, huh?! The day I let a loser like him get the better of me is the day my old hag of a mother stop nagging me about useless shit,” Katsuki spits out.

Before Izuku can even let Katsuki’s jab against him sink in, he is drag up from the floor by the arm. Just as he got both feet planted on the ground, Katsuki’s hand reaches for him, his palm hovering right over Izuku’s throat. Eyes wide with shock, Izuku can feel the heat emanating from Katsuki’s touch and he quickly squeezes his eyes, mentally preparing for the pain to come.

It never did. A crackling pop erupts near his ears and he hears nothing else except for the burnt smell of metal teasing at his nose.

He gingerly opens his eyes to see whatever remains of the collar on the floor and Katsuki already retreating several steps back with a scowl on his face. Pawing his hands clumsily at his throat as though to make sure it’s real, his neck feels strangely bare and light for once.

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” Katsuki asserts, but it wasn’t aim toward Izuku.

“That was unnecessary, Zero-san,” the Headmaster rebukes, but he moves no actual move about it. Izuku casts a quick glance at the Headmaster beside him and sees while he’d managed to keep his voice even, he is clearly shaken by the Katsuki’s abrupt and forceful action.

Izuku has no doubt the Headmaster has every reason to be terrified.

Even at eight, Katsuki was rated by the Bureau of Quirk Testing to be a level three, making him leaps and bounds ahead of kids their age. Under the Number System, the government gives the most benefit and support to those people with higher quirk level. In a caste like class system where society value those with active overt quirk that are flashy and useful, Katsuki was already set apart from everyone else a young age. He was already overpowered and talented back then, but it was untrained and wild.

Now, seeing tit up close and personal, the way he had blasted the collar off of Izuku without leaving a single singed mark on him, it was so precise and in control that Izuku can’t help the swell of admiration rising up in him. Their years apart had done wonder for Katsuki’s burning talent. While Izuku was learning to get on bent knees and serving his future master properly, Katsuki was honing his skills and fighting villains in order to keep their world safe. The difference in their two diverging paths is a bitter pill for Izuku to swallow.

He digs his nail in palm as he curl right fist, but his expression doesn’t change. Katsuki’s entire series of action remain a puzzling mystery to him. Izuku knows Katsuki, of the young boy who was once his friend and then nothing at all, but that was back then; he doesn’t know of the man who stands before him now.

Katsuki is silence for a moment, his eyes unflinchingly rakes over Izuku as though he prying apart Izuku piece by piece to see what he is made of. Izuku shrinks into himself unconsciously under the intense scrutiny.

“Fuck this shit,” Katsuki declares finally, breaking the stilted silence, “we’re getting out of here.”

Izuku’s jaw drops in surprise. “W-What?”

“Wait—sir, you can’t take him yet!” the Headmaster interjects quickly.

Katsuki’s head swivel toward him with a glare. “Didn’t you get the money I wired to you?” he demands .

“Well, yes, but there are still paperworks for you to sign,” the Headmaster answers. “And I would like go over our ninety days grace period in case you any sort problem arise or you find our Izuku lacking during that time.”

“No need. Send it all to my lawyers,” Katsuki instructs, and before the Headmaster can get another word wedge in, he takes Izuku by the hand.  “Come on.” He drags Izuku forward with a forceful tug. “This entire place creep me the fuck out,” he says, cursing a storm under his breath as they leave behind a disgruntle looking Headmaster, who clearly never dealt with such a whirlwind in the likes of Bakugou Katsuki.

Izuku quietly lets Katsuki drag him of out the room and into the wide hallway, and leads him out across the campus without any further exchange. They didn’t speak much or at all in the VIP room previously, but the things he wanted to say and ask were things he doesn’t know if he could.

It’s all very, very different now. They’re not kids anymore; Katsuki who stands at the pinnacle of society while Izuku is just a lowly Lesser. He doesn’t know what he can hope to expect from this version of a much older and mature Katsuki.

He can only hope to find out in the following days, that is if Katsuki doesn’t send him back right away once he realize Izuku is not what he wanted.

In their silence, they march through one of the big botanic gardens where most of the students congregate in their free time and in their hurry they stir up enough commotion with Katsuki’s recognizable face and fame, and then there’s Izuku’s notoriety.

Loud whispers swirl around them as they make their way the garden.  

“Is that Ground Zero?!”

“Wait, what is he even doing here?”

“—and with Midoriya of all people?”

“Did nobody warn him that Midoriya is a defected goods with how many sponsors he had turned over?”

“How much you bet Zero will send him back here in a week.”

“Not even. Watch, it’ll be just three days.”  

Izuku grimaces. They haven’t step off the academy yet and the rumors are already running amok. Izuku’s stellar reputation in the academy precedes him once more.  

“Ignore those fuckers,” Katsuki hisses, tightening his hand around Izuku’s own as they make it pass the garden and enters the main pathway toward the visitor plaza, where the entrance and exit is tucked away in. “I’ll kick their ass for spouting bullshit if I didn’t want to get out of here as soon as possible. The longer we stay here the more I want to blow up this entire place up.”

Katsuki’s hatred for this place is made obvious, but then why did he even come here in the first place? Is it really for him? But, then why? What did Katsuki even want from him? All these questions dog his step and confuses him even more. But in that moment he realizes there’s something even more important that he was forgetting.

“Kacchan, wait,” Izuku calls out, pulling to a stop.  

Katsuki’s arm is yanked back and he too halted in his spot because of Izuku. “What now, Deku,” he snaps, turning around with an impatient expression on his face.  

“I have to clean out my dorm first,” Izuku tells him, shifting his foot nervously. “There are things I want to get.”

Katsuki clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Just leave it. Whatever you need I’ll get buy it for you later.” At Izuku’s frown, he sighs. “What other useless things do you even that is important enough to stay at this cesspool any longer?”

Izuku bites down on his lower lip, pauses, and looks away. “My mother’s mementos,” he answers finally.

A beat, then. “Fine, we’ll go get your stuff first but after that you’re coming home with me,” he states, like it’s an unshakeable true. “No more fucking detour, you hear me?”

And that’s all it take, just those few words is all the assurance he need that maybe this wasn’t some cruel joke after all. Home. With Katsuki. He is going home with Katsuki. Katsuki wants him enough to take him home. For what reason, Izuku doesn’t know yet but he takes note that Katsuki hasn’t let go of Izuku’s hand since they’d walked out on the Headmaster.

Katsuki’s hand rough, full of calluses and little cuts and scars, but it’s warm and he holds Izuku’s with immeasurable care. Though Katsuki’s words hadn’t been kind, his hands speak for what couldn’t be translate into words.

This he will trust. In this he hands over his fate to Katsuki, so please, please don’t disappoint him like the rest of the world had. Katsuki has him by the his heartstring and Izuku hopes he doesn’t regret it.

[imagine-loki]

Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 26 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths.     RATING: Mature   NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea @asimovethroughthisworld @blackcherry26-blog @we-shadowhunter2901

The Jotnar were tactical with their interactions with Nigel. They ensured they were never alone in his company and that those who were there as their buffers were not allied to his as personal friends. Thor ensured he was included in the group to assist the Jotnar when he was present.

Ella’s knowledge of Vanaheim assisted the Jotnar in what little talks they had with them. It was not the time for trade agreements, but celebration, though that did not prevent such talks. No sooner did the Vanir realise that Ella had informed her husband of their supplies and their worth, they ceased all pretences and spoke plainly, allowing there to be preliminary discussions and a further date set to address said trade better. Loki thanked his wife for her information, Ella elated to hear she had been of assistance.

The trip to Vanaheim was a successful one, the Jotnar had to agree. It was uncomfortable for them in many respects, the heat was something they had never had to endure before and had Ella not assisted them so diligently with her seidr, it would have been a horrific experience for them, far too hot and humid.

The different customs they learned whilst there were a shock for them also, especially as a lot of them did not make any sense. Loki did note the act of kissing more after Ella pointed it out to him, so too did he point it out to Helbindi, who found himself more intrigued than his brother by the act, even using the fact it was not a Jotnar custom to convince a pretty Light Elf not much older than himself to allow him to learn with her. Loki used the comments Ella made on the Light Elves liking the kiss on the hand to charm a Lord and Lady of Alfheim adequately enough for them to wish to discuss ice for their home with the Jotnar. He realised quickly his wife held information of great value to the realm, even on matters of other realms. He also noted her comments on being a stranger on a new realm rang true. It was harder than he would care to admit, trying to ascertain what was the correct thing to say to not offend, that was the most difficult, more than once Ella had used her seidr to whisper in his ear what would be deemed an impertinence to one realm was a compliment on another and when such was applicable. He also noticed that there was a never-ending stream of people who wished to introduce themselves to him. He never knew who they were, but they knew him and more concerning, they knew a lot about him that he was uncertain how they could know. But again, Ella was in his ear, giving names, titles and realms as they met them, all of them seemingly knowing her, and to his surprise, her knowing details on them, even ones that he would have thought inconsequential. He realised then that her comments on remaining quiet and listening to Thor were solid advice. She rarely said anything on herself, instead, permitting others to speak about themselves, something most seemed more than happy to allow. He watched as she soaked in their information, most of which he knew would never be of any relevance, but nonetheless, she did so. It taught him more of her character as he observed her.

She stood beside him throughout any formal event, the picture of a perfect royal wife in many’s eyes, his own included. He was not blind, he knew she was good at what she had to do, even if their marriage was a complex one. The few nights of sharing a room with her had not been entirely terrible either. She kept to her side of the bed, was quiet and respectful of his space and did not insist on taking over any particular part of the room as he had heard some women were prone to doing. Their shared rooms also had them talk more and in doing so, allowed him to learn more of the woman he was forced to call his wife.

As much as the trip to Vanaheim was good for relations and though they would most certainly be going back in the near future for true agreements and talks, Loki was elated when the day came to go back to Jotunheim. Being gone from his home realm for ten days was incredibly difficult when he had never done so before, it also came with the added strain of being on a new realm that was entirely too hot, the customs were so vastly different, as were the people and to add to his worries, he had a Vanir prince trying to cause issues for them throughout. It was, without doubt, more stressful than even having the Allfather on Jotunheim, at least with that, he was safely at home, here, he was entirely out of his element. Seeing everything be readied for their return to Jotunheim settled his anxiousness substantially. He noted that everything for Ella was readied and boxed before noting something on the top of her luggage. A letter with her name on it in writing he had not seen before. The only reason he had half an inkling whom it was from was because of the large embossed seal on it, showing two ravens and a horned helmet, indicative of Odin's seal. He wondered if the Allfather had truly been ill before the festival or if there was something more to his reasoning for not being there. He knew that the absence of the Aesir royals broke Ella's heart in some manner, she clearly missed her home and family, she confessed even missing Thor some bit through everything so if the Aesir royal had lied if his reasoning for not being there, he knew she would be severely affected by it. The seal had been broken and were he to be so inclined it would be easy for him to read it, but he did not wish to do so. He was trying to build something with her, as Ella had stated, all they had at present was honesty, he would not jeopardise it, not for a letter that he doubted had any importance. Instead, he turned away, thinking of what else he needed to organise for himself.

“Nigel is livid.” He turned to see Ella close by. “Warn everyone.”

“What happened?”  

“King Wilhelm found out he wanted to give us a less than pleasant parting gift.” She informed him.

“What did we ever do to deserve this?” Loki felt himself getting angry. “I understand the anger for the war, but this…”

Ella gave him a sympathetic look before gently putting her hand on his arm. “Some people are just asses.” He looked at her. “There’s nothing we can do about them, we can only deal with us. We do not start anything but ensure they rue the day they think to do this. It’s not fair that it is you but you are strong of mind, I fear if he were to go for one less mentally strong. Perhaps that is the only good thing in this.”

Loki eyed her carefully. For a moment, he thought she was glad to feel Nigel was bothering him, but he could see she was worried for him. Inhaling deeply, he nodded. “We keep composure and we go home, away from this monster.”

“Have you everything packed?” She asked.

“Yes, you?”

“Yes, I just need to burn something.” Loki’s brow furrowed at her comment. He watched as she took the letter with her father’s seal on it and it burst into flames in his hands. For a moment, he was terrified she would burn herself, but the flames did not seem to bother her. “It’s seidr fire, harmless to me.” She assured him on seeing his concerned face. “I burn anything with my father’s seal, if someone were able to place it on a document of note, it would cause terrible issues. That and I do not wish to allow people to see private matters between my parents and myself.”

“That is both wise and your own business,” Loki stated diplomatically. “So long as everything is alright.”

Ella gave him a small smile. “It is fine, thank you. Thor had a letter with him from them, simply explaining that they were sorry to not be here. Father is still getting his legs back under him and Mother is dealing with the realm in his sickness. Thor is good at doing it for short periods, but he is still learning, so they rather he does not see it too much now, he will realise it is not as fun as he thinks it is and would be at risk of abdicating.”

“There are days I feel similar.”

“Though you have your moments, you are far more mature than he could ever wish to be. You are ready to take the throne tomorrow, him….maybe in a millennium, with a lot of work on his behalf.” Loki raised a brow. “My father has not even got that left in him, I think, as does Mother, that he is holding on simply to prevent Thor from getting it too soon.”

“I can see his reasoning.” Was all Loki could reply, not wanting to insult Ella too greatly.

*

Loki felt relief surge through him as the cold winds of Jotunheim blew across his face. Beside him, Ella had removed the spell she had cast to not allow the Jotnar feel as hot as the Vanir temperature would otherwise make them feel while also casting one on herself to allow her deal with the Jotunn climate. Part of her was happy to be back also. With everything she and Loki had learnt of one another from their time off realm, she felt there was so much more could be achieved now they were back on Jotunheim. They all walked to the palace with purpose, Loki keeping in stride with Ella, understanding that her shorter legs made things difficult for her, though she never stated anything regarding it.

They made their way to the palace and to their rooms. Ella’s room was the first one so with an arrangement to meet for dinner, she bade farewell and went into her rooms. Loki walked to his own, not making any mention of the peculiar feeling he had as he did so.

He had barely placed his hand on the door when he noted a shadow to his side. “If you still have the energy to come see me on my return, you have not spent the last week well.” He jested as he turned to smile at his older brother. When Býleistr did not return his smile, he frowned. “What?”

“I need to speak with you Loki, in private.”

Seeing his brother look at him so coyly caused Loki to become even more concerned. “Father?”

“Father is fine.” The cold tone which Býleistr used was easily noted. “He and I had an argument this morning. With the manner in which he tore into me would suggest his health is fine.”

Loki sighed and folded his arms. “What did you do this time? Honestly, you are supposed to be the oldest of us yet you are so often the least mature.”

Býleistr glared at his brother for a moment before he thought about what he had to say again. “You know I love you Brother, don’t you?”

“Leist, cease dancing around whatever it is and just tell me.”

“My mate, my new one.”

“Yes, what of her? I have to say, I am a little hurt you did not introduce her to us before now.” His eyes widened slightly. “She is not some poor young creature barely old enough to even have a heat, is she? Please don’t tell me she is barely ceased being a child, ‘Leist, that is terrible. I cannot stand by you for that.”

“No, she is legal, I swear.”

“Then what, you stole her for another?”

“No, not exactly.”

“In other words, yes.” Loki shook his head. “Only you could get into these sorts of positions, Brother. Who was the man she was supposed to mate with?”

“You.” Býleistr could not look at Loki.

“Me?” Loki scoffed for a moment before he realised what his brother was saying. “You mean....?” He rushed passed his brother to his brother’s rooms, his head shaking at what he was thinking. He entered them to see alma, Býleistr’s first mate there, and beside her, not the least bit concerned, was Angrboða.

Býleistr rushed in after his brother. “Loki, I am sorry, Brother, I know it is an unwritten rule, but…”

“There is no ‘But’ for this. This is a betrayal of the highest order.”

“You decided…”

“To tend to the realm over my own happiness, that is what I decided, and this is how my own kin sees to thank my sacrifices for Jotunheim? Swoop in and betray me, like this.” He shook his head. “You are no brother to me, not after this.” His pain blatant as he looked Býleistr in the eye, his agony clear to see as his heart shattered like fragile ice in his chest. Turning to face Angrboða again, she seemed to note his pain too. “You really are the Bringer of Grief.” With that, he turned and left the room.

[never-not-ever]

Can you share your story with us? You can do it ❤️

Thank you! It wasn’t that bad… The 8th graders this morning were paying attention which was nice but no one asked questions in the end so it was like a little awkward lol. But after that at the high school I was a part of 5 periods where the kids would shuffle in and me and my co peer mentors would sit at the front like a panel. Since there was a bunch of us we didn’t all have to present each time but I ended up doing mine twice!

Also just to preface this, my story is not the full story. The first draft I sent to the coordinator was like 10x long and over time we shortened it and tried to not make it as descriptive/triggering… but here ya go!

“Freshmen year of high school, I was sitting in class joking with my best friend about how it was going to be my last day in school. I had an annual physical with my doctor later that afternoon. This was my first doctors appointment since I started self harming. Back then I thought that the second she saw my arm I was going to get taken away by two men in white coats. I didn’t go to a psych ward that day. Instead, she asked me if I was okay and I replied “I’m fine, it was a stupid thing I did, I promise I won’t do it again”. She handed me a little white card with the name and phone number of a therapist. I often wonder what would have happened if I actually called that therapist and got help back in high school. Would the self harm have stopped? Would the suicide attempts have been prevented? Would I have graduated from college by now? Who would I be if I got help back then?

I think I had a pretty normal childhood. I didn’t have a mom and a dad but I had my Nana and my Aunt. My Nana got custody of me when I was 2 and she and my Aunt raised me my whole life. My Aunt was like my mother and everywhere we went people thought I was her daughter. I have no memory of my father. He was an alcoholic and left before my mother lost custody of me. My mother has her own problems with mental health as well as a drug addiction. We tried to have a relationship but as I grew up I saw who she really was. By the time I turned 15 I wanted nothing to do with her and I haven’t spoken to her since.

Growing up I was really close with my Aunt, she was like a mother to me, a real one. My Aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in middle school and she was constantly in relapse and remission. For months it would disappear and then all of a sudden it would come back again. I went to a small middle school with probably about 15 kids in my class. I was the biggest person in my school. At the 8th grade dance all the other girls wore cute dresses and I wore pants and a nice shirt. That wasn’t my style but I was just way too self conscious to ever wear a dress. In high school I was once again the biggest person. I had a couple close friends but I hated being around people, always fearing that they were judging me for my size. I had a friend online who introduced me to self harm. He was always bullied so he starting hurting himself as a way to cope. You see I was never bullied. I was always overweight but no one ever called me names or made fun of me, at least to my face. I was the bully. To myself. I hated the way I looked, the things I said, the way I interacted with other people. I hated everything about myself. I always scolded myself for saying or doing the wrong thing. I started self harming in my freshmen year. Back then I didn’t see a future for myself. I was so depressed that I wasn’t thinking about the consequences I’d later face because of my self harm. My depression, along with my extreme self hatred, turned my self harm into a way to punish myself.

After high school my depression and self harm got worse and I started feeling suicidal. My Aunts cancer was back and had traveled throughout her body. She passed away in April of 2012. She died at home and I watched her take her last breath. Right after she passed I ran up to my room and tore apart the suicide notes and threw away all my self harm supplies all while telling myself “I have to be there for my Nana, I can’t leave her too”. My Aunt’s death made me feel selfish for feeling depressed and suicidal. It made me think of all the people who have it worse and here I was so depressed and wanting to end my life? It didn’t make sense. But I wasn’t choosing to feel this way and I had every right to feel the way I did. It took me a while to realize that but I know now after feeling such joy and happiness I wouldn’t chose sadness and depression, no one would. For a while after my Aunt passed away I thought maybe she was watching over me and so every time I had that urge to hurt myself it was easily pushed away. The day my Aunt died it was like I put this shield up and I automatically started comforting everyone around me so I wasn’t actually grasping the fact that she was gone. Later on that fall I tried to go back to school but my depression got worse and the reality of my Aunt’s death finally came to the surface and so I ended up dropping out. The self harm started up again and it was now a full blown addiction. 

Almost a year after my Aunts death I saw my first therapist and later that summer my first psychiatrist. I spent a year in therapy while working part time. I tried once again to go back to school but for the third time I dropped out. I was severely depressed, self harming and binge drinking alone in my room. I was soon admitted to a psych ward at McLean Hospital. I was there for a week and on the day I discharged I went home and attempted to end my life. The memories of that day will haunt me forever. Back then I didn’t think about how my death would effect the ones around me. When I hear suicide survivors talk about their lost loved ones it hurts to think I could have put my friends and family through that.  

For years after that I started this cycle where I would feel fine, happy even, for months at a time. But then out of nowhere I’d slowly start to feel depressed again and the self harm would start up. Depression looks different for everyone but for me it’s not wanting to get out of bed. It’s pushing away friends and family, always feeling like a burden. It’s staying up until 4 am and not waking up until the late afternoon. It’s binge eating and gaining weight and climbing up past 300lbs. It’s hating everything about yourself and the person you’ve become.

I’ve had to go back to the hospital a couple times since my suicide attempt. There were no scary men in white coats like I had thought. Going to the hospital is needed if you’re in danger of hurting yourself. It’s a place to go if you can’t keep yourself safe. A couple years ago I was feeling suicidal and I vaguely talked about it on Tumblr and thankfully someone called the police. Back then I was so angry at that person but looking back they probably saved my life. During one of my hospitalizations I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder which was something I had never heard of before. BPD is a mental illness that consists of intense mood swings, self harm, suicidal thinking, bad body image and impulsive behaviors. 

Finally I reached a point where I wasn’t constantly thinking about ending my life. I started Dialectical Behavior Therapy, the most successful therapy for helping people like me. This type of therapy can be done outside of the hospital so it allowed me to go back to work and school. It teaches you skills to help manage your emotions, maintain healthy relationships and handle stressful situations. I’ve done many different types of DBT therapy, residential, partial programs, groups and individual therapy. But I’ve finally gotten to a place in my recovery where all I need now is just therapy. It’s become a weekly place to check in and talk about any red flags before they become another spiral.

McLean hospital and DBT have literally saved my life. I mean, I saved my life but DBT taught me the skills to not destroy my relationships and myself. Today I’m in a healthy, stable relationship with my girlfriend and we’ve been together for 3 years. We just moved in together last summer and adopted two little black kittens. Last fall I passed my first classes since 2015 and I know now that I want to work in the mental health field some day. I’ve lost a lot of weight and I’m starting to feel more comfortable in this new body scars and all. I work full time as a florist manager and I’m now part of this amazing peer mentor organization. I might not be here today if someone didn’t call the police back then. I wasn’t able to reach out for help so I’m grateful that someone else was able to do it for me. It sounds cliche but it does get better and if you had told me that back then, I would have laughed in your face. After 12 years I still have urges to hurt myself and sometimes I hear a song that reminds me of the day I tried to end my life and all I want to do is sleep to escape those feelings. But it passes. The urges and the sadness and the hopelessness. It all passes. I think of my cats and how amazing it is to feel the sun on my arms. I think of things that help me chose recovery instead of resorting back to old behaviors and that’s how I know things are different now. Thank you.”

[spookytomatoetuesday]

Project Wolf´s Cove

One – Tumbling towards catastrophe

The road ahead was winding, following a cliff´s edge. It was summer and therefore a bright day even though it was still early in the morning. It was definitely summer and the radio kept reminding its listeners of that fact. For the moment, however, the summer hits where too distracting. Becky turned the car radio off. She then returned to the conversation she had with her friend Rose who was sitting in the passenger seat. “The film wasn´t a period piece.”, Becky insisted. “It was set in a period in the past.”, Rose gave back. “No! The film is not on the nose about it, but it was set in the future. The future from when it was produced anyway.” Rose frowned at this just to reiterate: “Yes, and this means that it was still set ten years ago. That is the past. I cannot remember ten years ago, not with a living memory. It might as well be a chapter in a history book. Plus that it is a time ten years ago as imagined by people living 40 years ago. So this is like a page in a fictional history book from a freak dimension.” Becky laughed. She gave in: “Okay.” “Well, that is not my point anyway.”, Rose continued in a mockingly serious voice. “The man issue I wanted to raise was that the protagonist was absolutely alien to me. Not because he lived in a different time, mind you. I had issues with him because of how he acted.” “You mean how he dealt with a world full of isolated people and ravaged by a virus?”, Becky injected. “Yes! The illness is obviously transmitted from person to person. So you keep away from the next best person. Problem solved. The so-called protagonist, on the other hand, did it all wrong, sacrificing not only his life but also the one of his gal-pal.” “She was severely underdeveloped as a character. That was more scary then their fate actually.”, Becky observed. “True. There was just one reason the dude did dude around with her, mouthing about and ruining it all.”, Rose summarized. “Even if he made decisions for others that were not his to make, I think his motivations where understandable. You can’t be alone for all eternity.”, said Becky, while she turned on to the parking lot of Wolf´s Cove High School. “There needs to be a sense of community. If you can’t interact with the ones you actually spent time with, how do you know that you even exist and that you are not just an idea of a person that might be easily forgotten? Apart from that, loneliness hurts if it is not voluntary.” “Okay, fair. You raise some good points as well. I see a use for people in the plural there.”, Rose conceded. “Still, there is a danger to closeness that is not always only down to emotions.” She was quiet for a moment while she and Becky got out of the car, took their backpacks, and went towards the school entrance. “The thing is…”, Rose continued right before they climbed the four steps to the grand double doors. “You get only to take a limited number of breaths on this crummy planet. So you might as well be selective as to who you spent them with.” Becky smiled at her friend. “I thought I was.”

Biking to school always seemed like a good idea when the weather was clear and bright. That was until the last part of the road served as stark reminder that it was more sweaty than fun to bike upwards the serpentines leading to the cliff top where the school was located. John remembered that now. “This was not a good idea.”, John managed to say while slowing down despite putting all the more effort into cycling. His legs started to hurt. Neil nodded: “Fnaf.” “What?” “Fair enough.”, Neil pressed out. “Should it not be fen then?”, John wondered and had to slow down to do so. Neil shrugged and both continued their track up towards the high school in silence. Finally they made it to the big main parking lot and chained their bikes to a lantern there. They noticed Becky’s car as the only one parked here at this early hour. “Oh boy, if I’d known Becky would be here this early as well, I’d have asked her if she could pick us up on her way. Maybe next time. She’d surely do it.”, said Neil shaking his head. John just grunted and then decided to say defensively: “I do not think she is here that early regularly. No one but you is.” “And you, fellow friend and confidant. However, someone has to man the commissary and make sure that it is open when all the breakfast-skipping students arrive hungry from the long way up.”, said Neil. The two made their way to the side entrance of the main building. “I am not a fan of that name. When you say it, I can almost hear boots and trumpets.”, John commented. “The food stall then. After we’ve got rid of the old and truly awful name, we have no official title for it. I’ll still call it commissary on my CV. Universities and prospective employers like that kind of entrepreneurship and lexical knowledge. You should get an activity like this too. They expect this.” “I thought it is the point to stick out, to be so unique that others are interested in you. How does doing what everybody does the same, because that is what everybody has to do, help there?”, John asked while Neil unlocked the foods stand and went into the back where the wares were stored. Neil pointed at some packages of soft drinks. “Need to unpack those and put them into the fridge first.” While they both got to it, Neil added: “So we both understand the system. There is what they say and there is what they want. Still, I think my way to deal with that could pay off in the end. Maybe even more so than yours.” John nodded when Neil reached out for another soda can. They finished the work in silence. Afterwards, Neil put on his work apron and took up his place behind the counter. Above him on the wall painted in a fresh white there was the faint shadow of a mascot which had fallen out of time. In front of him, there was the tip jar while the cassette with the change was hidden under the counter. Neil seemed a little tired but content. John waved to him. “I will try to get some more sleep in on one of the lounge sofas before class. See you later.”, John said. “See you.” The most comfortable couches stood in the lounge of the Science Building that was still missing an S. So John went directly there after leaving the food stall. Once in the lounge, he noticed a movement coming from the astronomy room. Through the large windows in the double door he could see Becky and Rose working on something inside. He hesitated. Beyond the doors was the opportunity for a nice conversation with his friends. He should say hello. He was sure that would be nice. Still, he hesitated. For no reason and yet he still did not jump at this possibility. On the contrary, he had to push himself even though it was a push towards people he liked. For a moment, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. This was a warm-up and a collecting of resources. Then he knocked on the window in the door. They noticed him and he had to go inside now. “Good morning.”, John greeted. Becky answered with a “Hello, how are you?”, while Rose waved and nodded. “What are you doing?”, John asked to avoid an awkward break. Becky was still looking at him. “We got permission to use the school´s telescope to track the asteroid tonight.”, Becky explained. “It has a projector and with this camera here, we will be able to record the passage of our little friend while it passes through the night sky. We just set it up now before class.” “Interesting.” John strolled closer to the telescope while being careful not to touch anything. “Yeah.”, Rose added, “I hope the asteroid breaks open and reveals a truth about the nature of nature that is so unexpected, belittling, and unsettling, that it drops us into sheer horror.” John looked at her decisively unsurprised. “Or maybe it is just a cool image of an asteroid. Astronomy rocks and space is great.”, Rose more pretended to emote than said. But then she paused and added sincerely: “There is beauty among the stars.” “With some luck…,”, Becky added, completely serious, while finishing up with some adjustments, “We will get another glimpse at the vastness that surrounds us. How could not look at the sky with curiosity.” “Tonight you say?”, John inquired. “Yes.”, Becky answered. “Around midnight, it should be dark enough and we should be able to see it even with the naked eye.” “Will you be here and watch it?” “No.”, Rose said, stretching the o maybe a bit more than it was called for. “They do not want us here at night. So we have to set this up and hope for a great recording.” “Well… hope it works out.” John smiled at Becky and nodded at Rose. Then he excused himself and headed for the couches. He did not want to sleep just outside the astronomy room. So he went to the relatively lumpy couches in the Art building, named after local celebrity Burton Art. Becky and Rose continued to set up the telescope until the doors closed behind John. Rose peeked over the telescope and through the windows in the doors. When she saw that John was beyond earshot, she nodded as if she was part of a secret ring of spies. “Nice nice.”, Becky uttered in lieu of anything more substantial to say and tried to look even more busy. “Yeah. Nice how nice you two still are with another.”, Rose probed. “Almost as if it did not hurt.” “Hm…”, Becky answered. “It still does hurt a little. But it just was not… Well, it does still hurt. There´s a scar now on the heart. Maybe it´s healing, sometimes it feels like that. So it won´t hurt in the future or only when the weather is about to change. In any case, I feel that it´ll stay in some form.” “Sounds at least like it was real.”, Rose concluded and duck back down behind the telescope. The day that had begun so early dragged on in the middle. Biology class was turned into self-study by the absence of the regular teacher and the lack of a qualified substitute. John flipped through the textbook with his right, while his head rested on his left. There were not going to be any more test or quizzes or projects this year. Knowing that, John did not pay much attention to the contents of the pages and let his thoughts wander. “Do you think you would notice it as different when you were a duck?”, he quietly asked Neil who sat next to him. “Up until now I thought this self-study was even less useful than sex ed last week.”, Neil moaned loudly instead of giving an answer. Nearby, sitting at a bench next to Becky, Rose snickered. Some other students laughed, most were indifferent and bored. The moment passed. “Like, if you woke up tomorrow and were a duck. Would you remember how it was to be a person? Would you want to remember?”, John continued. “All I can say to this is: I hope not – on the duck thing. My uncle hunts those. This would make for super awkward Thanksgivings.” Meanwhile Becky read the newspaper, searching out the reports on the asteroid. “You cannot pretend to do biology while actually doing some work on another science.”, Rose insisted as she noticed. “That is like cheating. A weird way of cheating, but still… You should at least cheat on biology with social studies, or history. English or a foreign language would work as well, I guess.” “What are you doing?”, Becky asked back, looked up from the paper and at her friend. Rose pointed to her sketch pad. “Take it in. These are the initial drawings of the cycle of Solomar. You see them here as first mortal before they conquer the world by storm.”, Rose exclaimed. “Looks great.”, Becky said, studying the drawings. “I like this lone heroine. Looks a bit like a barbarian, like as if she was about wrestle with a dragon.” “How do you know that she is a lone heroine?”, Rose asked. “She’s one of yours.”, Becky said. At some point, the time for self-study officially ended. The students packed their things quickly into their bags and were in the midst of storming out. Neil strolled over to Rose and Becky, braving the current of leaving classmates. “Rose, you have a minute? There is something we should talk about. Something important.”, Neil announced. “Important like art, or just like life and death?”, Rose inquired while stuffing her textbook in her backpack. “Or like love?”, Becky added with a side-glance at Rose. Neil hesitated, clearly thinking about a reply. “Super important. This is about the social studies project we did together.”, he explained. “The one we handed in and got a grade? I thought the circle was completed, the fate sealed.”, Rose answered. She then waved Becky a short goodbye as Becky was leaving for English less prepared than she could have been. “Yeah, let´s see about that. I don´t think that it should be sealed. We should talk to Ms. French about the grade. -See you Becky.- Fran agrees with me on that. Let´s meet her now and go to Ms. French.” “Ok. But afterwards it is lunch time. Actually, I think it is lunch time now – but if you insist, I will postpone my meal. I hope you will use this chunk of my life time gifted to you to a proper end.”, Rose stated and grabbed her bag. “Of course. Have I ever wasted my or anybody else’s time?”, Neil replied. Both they then left the classroom and made her way to the Art building and Ms. French´s office. The cafeteria was emptier than usual. Rose and Neil had no problems finding an empty table. “Told you that it would go well. We just had to highlight the amount of work that had gone into the project.”, Neil repeated. “Hm.”, Rose replied and then decided to dig into the pasta instead of expanding on that. “I mean, your contribution was obvious. The illustrations were both bloody and really good. They might have distracted Ms. French a bit. It was her fault, though, as she gave us this particular topic. Thanks for showing up with Fran and me anyway. Now we can be satisfied with the grades.”, Neil said, a fork with food hovering close to his mouth. Rose nodded. “It was a fun project. We should hang out more often. Like we used to in the golden days of our youth. Like, like we used to up until a few weeks ago.”, she added. “Yeah.”, he put down the fork again. “Only… weird without the other two and weird with them now. That was easier before.” “True.” She eyed a suspicious lump in the red sauce. “There is one group-thingy I like and now it is that… weird. I wonder if they thought about what they are doing to us when they… did what they did. Now we are like a family, divorce and all.” “Hah, true.”, Neil exclaimed and then finally took a bite. “Maye we can educate the others and reduce the awkwardness.” “There’s only so much time before everybody moves away for college next year.”, Neil said in a low voice, leaving it open if this was unclear if this was an argument for or against. “Oh.”, Rose grunted. “Maybe we should not have sought to improve our grades then. And we should find a way to drag the ones of the others down. Then we can repeat a year or two or more. Stupid maybe, but happy.” “Yeah… no. Not sure if this would even work.” Neil decided it was time to go over to the dessert. “So this remains an issue for future me an you. It is also for future Becky and John, of course.”, Rose suggested. She discovered that the lump was just an oddly shaped noodle and ate without concern. “Future me and future you, future us, and them too.”, Neil repeated. Both he and Rose lifted their heads, smiled, and listened in anticipation. Instead of music, Becky arrived with a food trey and sat down next to Rose. “Hi. How are you two?”, Becky asked. “We are doomed due to our feelings and the feelings of others.”, Rose declared. “Of course we are. But who are the others this time?”, Becky wondered. Rose sighed theatrically and Neil smirked before shaking his head. After lunch, Rose and Becky had some time before the next class that was not already assigned to any task or activity and went outside. Rose walked directly to one of the battered blue payphones and punched in a number. “Hello, I would like to talk to the Ericsons, please. Yes, whoever of them is available right now… I am their daughter. The other one. Yes… thank you Mr. nurse.” While Rose talked to the bodiless voice in a strange city, Becky settled in the corner made by the phone and the concrete wall of the main building. There was a pause as Rose waited for her parents. Becky imagined how now their names would be called out over PA, how one of them would move through the hallways of the hospital, looking for the next available phone. While she imagined this, Becky looked across the school parking lot and then beyond its chain-link fence at the town across the small straight. It was nestled on that small ragged island with curved bays and towering cliffs with sharp edges. It was a rugged place between the ocean and the mainland. It was as if the town was clinging to a rock among the waves. There were a lot of houses with great views as they were built close to the cliffs. Even greater must have been the view for the cedars. The trees filled still the spaces people had left for them. Some crept very close to the edges and others even hang out a bit over the ocean, just barely hanging on to the rock. And yet they did. They even managed to reach out to the sky. Some storms were strong enough to break them and take them away. But a number of them was still left. Becky had some favourites among these cedars. Old and brave ones she always sought out when she had a minute to look out over her home town. Faster than expected, Rose was connected. She exchanged individual words with one of her parents. By the sound of this, it was her mother. No, Becky decided after three more words, probably it was her dad. “Well but that is good… like, given the situation. Hugh her from me… if, if this is possible. …Yeah. Bye.” Rose hung up. “Well that was… yeah, good. At least she is fine. For the moment at least she is fine. That is a win.” Becky turned towards her friend and nodded, then laid an arm around her shoulders. “Yes it is, Rose. I´m glad she’s doing ok.” John stood, his bike and himself ready to leave, already on the parking lot, a few steps away from the main building. Neil, on the other hand, still fiddled with his padlock, aiming to free his bike, but as of yet unable to make that plan a reality. Then he stopped suddenly in mid-fiddling. “Shit… should take a look and check if Pete has locked the commissary. I guess I should.” Neil wavered a bit. “Yes, should do that.” He let the padlock be for the moment and sprinted back to the main entrance. “Maybe go ahead without me. We can meet at my place. One of my parents is probably home. They´ll let you in. And if it´s my dad, you might get some chocolate milk while you wait.”, Neil said to John over his shoulder. “No. It´s ok.”, replied John. “I´ll wait. Let´s go together.” Neil gesticulated vaguely but then nodded. When he passed the doors and went into the main building, he passed Rose, and both gave each other high fives in passing. Rose then made her way to John. She stopped beside him on the parking lot under the warm sun. “All done for the day?”, Rose inquired. “Yes, all done.”, he reported. “Not just for today even. There is nothing going on tomorrow, right? Besides getting on the bus, I mean.” “True. So you are good and settled for the whole year then. Great!” “You?” “I am done as well. Done and done. Except for the asteroid business, but this is more of an extra credit and in any case something I do more to give a hand to Becky.”, Rose replied. “Look at us. We got all taken care of. So if we were to die now, we leave nothing behind that can further bind us as wraiths to this plane of existence.” “Lucky us.”, John smiled. “Could be an interesting experience to be a wraith, though.” “Nah.” Rose shook her head. “Probably not. Besides, that is something that you can try in the far-away future after dying of old age.” She mustered him. “How is our story going?” “It is going well… I hope. Maybe a few more weeks of work and then it is ready to be rejected like the other ones.” Rose nodded gravely before cocking her head and smiling a bit mischievously. “Well if this is not something to live for.” She was about to add something, but in this moment, Becky drove towards the two. She stopped the car and let the passenger side door swing open for Rose to get in. “Have a good one.”, John said. “See you.”, Rose gave back. “And remember: Always create something that, if aliens from the future would find it as only surviving artefact of our civilization would understand us at least a bit. Picture mankind naked and write about it.” “Will do.”, John said and laughed. Then he and Becky exchanged a smile and a wave, before the girls got into the truck and drove off. John was not alone for long, though. Neil returned right afterwards. “Oh, should have asked her to give us a lift.”, Neil exclaimed. “She’d have done it.” “Of course Becky would have done it.”, John said flatly. “Her pickup even has space for bikes in the back. That would have been great.” “We are not really going in their direction.”, John replied. Neil just shrugged and then went to unlock and unchain his bike. “Could transport at least one caged dinosaur on that truck. God, how I miss that old rusty lady.”, Neil exclaimed. After a brief pause, he added: “I mean the truck. With old lady, I mean the vehicle.” He then finally was able to open his rusty lock and free his bike. He went over to John and both took to their saddles and started to bike down to town. “Think Becky is going to sell her car when she moves for college?”, Neil wondered aloud and very eager to move the conversation forward. “Ask her. But do not take it for free.” As everything failed, there was nothing left but drifting into the cold darkness. All that while the mind raced and tried to imagine the end. A whole world was about to lose itself in the eternal night. The end and the way there would be lonely. Soon it would end, but the time until then was still long. Too long not to fear madness before the darkness. But then there was a little blue spot shining in all the darkness. Maybe this one was hospitable enough, close enough to save a life.

[dragonshoard]

@markala5 

(Because the thread was getting too long i made a new one // I’m sorry for any typos ;( I’m super tired lol)

I agree with the fact that she is super stubborn. She’s set on not only creating an alternative for the extermination Hell goes through each year but also proving herself to her father and the people of Hell in general. It would definitely be something inherent to angel!Charlie because she aches for people to care about her and people to care about. 

She’s definitely developed her own sense of self after all these years, but the problem is that it’s based off of validity from people around her which IS NOT HEALTHYYY. It’s actually really sad. She’ll be her perky self and be immediately shut down by the people around her. She may be willing to brawl, but she’s just as likely to shut down. 

Long post is long so I’m putting it under read more

On the thing about apathy. I find it an interesting concept with this world. There is a certain level of Apathy to Hell but its the type where everything is super active and violent, just everyone is super blase about it. There’s the half of hell actively always looking for a fight/power and the other half that just sort of... exists in misery.

As an angel who not only needs people around them but also NEEDS a purpose, it’s an extremely toxic environment. With the system you’re describing... just ow. I can only imagine how many times Charlie has nearly faded and just what needed to be done to get her back. 

Like, Vaggie is a recent development (not even 10 years) and there hasn’t been anyone else around Charlie that would function as a support other than her parents, possibly. 

(I’m still shocked that Vaggie only died in 2014. She’s super young but comes off as acting like one of the oldest - I genuinely thought she had been childhood friends with Charlie lol)

I’d imagine that instead of fading away, it would be more like she falls into a coma (I need Disney references, she’s literally a Disney princess). And I’d like to think that its more like a self generative state because, again, been established that you can’t exactly die naturally in Hell (or Heaven, presumably). Longest she’s slept would probably me... probably a year? It’s been established that Lilith and Charlie have a close relationship, so I’m thinking that most of the time it’s Lilith bringing her back after the fact and supporting her. There was one time where her father showed he cared enough (the time she slept for a year - he was even nice enough to preen her feathers) but he went back to being mostly apathetic after that (jealousy is no good :/). 

Because even people with the strongest sense of self and will power will crash in that environment. Lilith would definitely be her number one supporter until Vaggie (and especially how now Lilith is very busy in canon time), but it wouldn’t be enough (especially when flocks typically have around 10-15 people). 

She’d fight for as long as she could. Towards the end of the “cycle” (about to go to sleep) it would be the hardest for her not to sing and her passive song would be the strongest and most violent/desperate (enough that even her Dad can vaguely hear it and typically starts preparing her room). At this point it would be the hardest to keep her angelic features in so she starts isolating herself, speeding up the process. Her song would come out stuttery (imagine the first song in the pilot - constantly singing that one but in between sobs) and she’d try to stay awake but would fall asleep each time. 

And when she wakes up her song would be bright, loud and optimistic, determined to break the circle (it never works).  

Alastor would have no clue that this happens so the first time she goes through it after meeting him, he is beyond curious. He knows little about angel biology, only bits and pieces he’s picked up over the years. He spends the two weeks she spends sleeping taking care of her and feeling out her (for once) peaceful song. 

(I do the same. Making myself sad should be a professional job lol)

Charlie displays steel and passion on her shoulders just as clearly as her insecurities. Alastor was drawn to her from first song, tbh. There was something about it that he found fascinating and when he actually met her she was far more interesting. To be frank though, I’d imagine that initially she reminds him of the type of people he would hunt when he was alive. Meeting her, it would kind of reinforce that because he doesn’t really see her thinking for herself. The more he would get to know her, the more he’d see that she is truly someone born of Hell and the more interesting she becomes to him. She’ll say some things that are so blatantly inhuman that it’ll just make him double take. 

She would be an itinerary of knowledge for horrible things (like how to kill, how to torture people, etc) but she doesn’t use or like any of it. It’s just a result of living with her family and in Hell as a general concept. I’m kind of imagining a young Charlie being forced to sit through executions and torture sessions either performed or ordered by her father (maybe even forced to do it herself). 

....ok i went on a tangent whoops. 

And YES SHE ASSOCIATES HELL AS HERS ALL HERS. This is canon. Actual canon. She doesn’t care about silly turf wars, doesn’t care about who is on whose side. They’re all hers. I remember reading in the wiki that she takes the approach of treating rehabilitating sinners like children. I think this would come in here. 

It would kill her to lose so many souls so constantly but, holy hell, she’s also getting just as many people daily so she’s constantly hearing new songs join the already mixed and jumbled song. It would be really distracting and sometimes interferes with her higher process thinking.

But you gotta admit the angel part of her would be super confused at all the killing because, technically, it’s her own kind that’s killing off her people. One half of her would be screaming “WHY WHY WHY DO THIS KIN WHY ARE YOU HURTING ME” while the other half is screaming for blood and respite. 

And yeah, being unable to do anything about it and no matter how much her Mom tries to calm her down and how thick the walls of her bunker are, it doesn’t stop her from hearing the screaming and sheer devastation. Coming out after the fact is draining and she spends at least a day or so crying and singing her heart out (her voice practically broken at this point from her own screaming). Her skin would be especially ill-fit but there’s no part of her angel half willing enough to show itself. It’s akin to feeling like you’re swimming in a sweater that’s three sizes too big. 

....she is totally a lion. She has the mane for it despite identifying as female xD

Tbh honest, when I first thought of angels in this universe and what not, I likened them to being a species in which you’re one or you’re not. So a hybridization like Charlie is not only rare, but unstable. Her demon and angel halves fight for dominance and, eventually, one half will win and there’s no going back from there. Omg CHARLIE BEING THE FIRST SURVIVING CHILD IS SO SAD. NOOOOO ;((((((

Charlie goes underground during the extermination for a good reason lol. As she gets older, her instincts would severely change. The older she gets (and the more powerful), the more prone she is to fighting back. By the time canon comes around, she has to be chained during the extermination and Lucifer or Lilith have to be there to make sure she doesn’t break out of the chains.

Charlie is aware of this and so she would be terrified af when her friends suggested they get together during the extermination for support. By this point, Charlie is starting to feel more stable and feels that she might actually be able to control herself better with her flock surrounding her. 

Alastor probably wouldn’t know about it until he shows up out of nowhere and sees them barricading the hotel and is like wtf are you all doing. He side eyes the chains that Charlie sneaks past her flock. He immediately decides that it would be a splendid and fun idea to join them. Vaggie tries to deny him, but Charlie is quick to agree, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t have to be chained. 

She sticks close to him when the clock hits midnight and the angels descend. The chains were a precautionary measure and in between Alastor and her flock, she thought that she wouldn’t have needed them but she was WRONG. 

Somehow, Charlie manages to hold herself back until an angel shows up at her door. A part of her is whimpering cousin-friend-family-brother-sister while another part of her knew what exactly this meant.and was screaming in the only way she knew how to tell the angel to GO AWAY. 

But yeah, they don’t and they get messed up and Charlie ends up revealing her eldritch form to her friends (other than Alastor who has already seen her in this form by this point).  Alastor would definitely draw her into a duet to bring her back to herself. 

During this Alastor would be so excited to see his angel kill an actual angel. Sadly (to him) they end up getting away. The feathers clenched in her hands were trophies of another kind. He wanted to pin and frame the wing in one of her clawed hands. 

But it’s still kind of a horrible moment too because the extermination is still happening and Charlie can still hear and feel her people dying. She’d be crying to tell him to make it stop and all he could really do is sing quietly to her, emphasizing his own song to try and mute some of the carnage. 

But if there’s anything Alastor can do, it’s talk and talk about everything but nothing. 

FUTURE LA MUERTE/XIBALBA AND ADAMS COUPLE VIBES AHHHHH. I support this so much. I see them in the future as a fairly antagonistic and competitive couple I don’t know why (so kind of like La Muerte and Xibabla xD). They love each other more than anything but, at the same time, they can only handle each other in contained doses. There would of course be the honeymoon period, but eventually when they settle, their personalities and morals combat each other quite a bit. Both of them are unyielding in their beliefs and unwillingness to change so it would cause some clashing. 

Can’t live with em, can’t live without em’.

They would be that couple that’s always singing and dancing though, from tango to intense and dramatic songs to slow ballroom. It would annoy everyone around them and Charlie would feel some embarrassment at first but, in the end, absolutely love it. 

Lol this was all very very great :DDDDD  I feel you. I feel like I’ve written a fic but its great xD