#or maybe knowing the revelations maybe ill have more to pick at through Implications at the beginning when i reread the book

[bdor1995]

Vague gideon the ninth spoilers

I have been fermenting on my overall impression of gideon the ninth since finishing it last night and i would give it maybe a 3.5/5 rn.

The reason why i say "3.5/5 rn" is because i think this is the kind of book that would be better on a reread. the unique tone and wordbuilding took some time and effort for me to adjust to, and balancing that with actually following the plot/characters at the start was difficult for me... I didnt particularly enjoy the beginning because of this.

i wish i was able to pay attention to the details at the beginning of the book so that the revelations near the end wouldve had more of an impact on me during my first read. i wasnt fully able to grasp the reason behind gideon and harrow's codependent hate-vibes at the very beginning so when the pool scene happened i was happy for them but i had to trust that some of the details they discussed were... touched upon before and i had missed it because by brain sucks and it just mightve tossed that info out as it was being bombarded with other info from all sides.

It DID get easier to read as i got used to everything. I got invested in the cast, i thought the over all plot beats were solid. I loved the action scenes. Also despite [redacted] i want harrow and gideon to kiss. Please. on to the sequel to see if that wish will come true.

[pseudoneiiric]

meta post: ocd, mysophobia, and a revelation on my part.

not to mention that a really important part of lili’s backstory is… her germaphobia. she has persistent delusions accompanied by visual hallucinations where she sees people as “parasites”, which visually manifests as them rotting or decomposing. because of that, she wears gloves all the time and is repulsed by physical touch. but when she meets c (whose real name is vincent) in person, she pretty much instantly goes for skin-to-skin contact with him, where she takes off her glove and holds his hand. and like, sure, that’s sweet, but that’s really not how mental illness… works. in the slightest. she doesn’t react at all when his hand touches hers, despite the fact that she has literally had panic attacks in canon from touching things without her gloves. and it gives off this implication that mental illness can be cured with romance somehow, and that’s a really bad take!

this feeds into fandom understanding that like, well, if lilian sees vincent as pure and allows him to touch her, then Obviously she’d let him kiss her, they could probably have sex, etc. and like… she’s canonically asexual though! and that brings us to the other implication, that asexuality is somehow… caused by something. like, there’s nothing in canon to state that lilian experiences sexual attraction (or even really romantic attraction, like i know etherane went off in heaven’s gate and did a lot of ship tease, but she never really outright says she’s crushing on anyone), but judging from the way etherane handled lilian’s gender identity, i have a sneaking suspicion that she established lilian’s asexuality with her mental illnesses specifically in mind. lilian’s autistic, germaphobic, has severe ocd, and she’s been sexually assaulted in the past. therefore, she must be asexual! that’s the sort of vibes i get from the game, and im not here for it.

— me, circa november 2020

the other day, i was writing a crossover ship fic for lilian when i ran into a problem. namely, the Touch Aversion problem. at first glance, the reasoning behind lilian’s touch aversion seems really simple: she hates germs and dirty things, so she wears gloves and washes her hands so frequently that they blister. since she has ocd and mysophobia, it makes sense for her to be obsessive about cleanliness and for her passive skill to be listed as cleaning. she doesn’t touch q84 in canon even in life-threatening situations, except for the very end, because she hates touching people. when anri kissed her, lilian was so grossed out that she imagined anri as a parasite. and when it comes to her taking off her glove and holding vincent’s hand... well, 

but upon replaying hello charlotte 3 and doing a little bit of digging with regards to the actual symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder and mysophobia, i realized something. and this “something” was a game-changer.

so let’s start off by defining some things. obsessive-compulsive disorder, shortened to ocd, has several diagnostic criteria, which you can read here if you’d like the full clinical definition. for the sake of length, though, i will only talk about the most important part to take away from the diagnostic criteria.

ocd is not a fear of germs. ocd is not a fear of germs. ocd. is. not. a fucking fear of germs. obsessions may involve cleanliness. compulsions may include wanting areas to be clean. it is entirely possible for ocd to be accompanied by mysophobia, but a fear of germs is not inherent to the diagnosis of ocd. what is inherent to the diagnosis of ocd is a repeated and pervasive series of intrusive thoughts which cause the person with ocd debilitating anxiety or distress, and a set of compulsions that the person with ocd performs in order to mitigate said anxiety. these compulsions do not need to correspond to the actual obsession. a lot of obsessions don’t. for example, your obsession could be around disliking cluttered environments, but your compulsion could be pacing a hallway fourteen times back and forth while mentally reciting the preamble to the american constitution. in some cases, the compulsion is related to the obsession but is generally considered excessive. remember that ocd is not characterized by a need for cleanliness and that it is instead characterized by ritualistic behaviour accompanied by obsessive thought patterns.

i also want to talk about this section in particular, taken from the website linked above:

D. The disturbance is not better explained by the symptoms of another mental disorder (e.g., excessive worries, as in generalized anxiety disorder; preoccupation with appearance, as in body dysmorphic disorder; difficulty discarding or parting with possessions, as in hoarding disorder; [ ... ] ritualized eating behavior, as in eating disorders; [ ... ] thought insertion or delusional preoccupations, as in schizophrenia spectrum and other psychotic disorders; or repetitive patterns of behavior, as in autism spectrum disorder).

Specify if:

With good or fair insight: The individual recognizes that obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are definitely or probably not true or that they may or may not be true.

With poor insight:  The individual thinks obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are probably true.

With absent insight/delusional beliefs: The individual is completely convinced that obsessive-compulsive disorder beliefs are true.

i want to let the record show that lilian has several of these disorders. while i don’t believe that this disqualifies her from having ocd, i do think it’s important to note that there is comorbidity between these disorders.

i included this section on inslght because i’m going to go into depth why i believe lilian has absent insight/delusional beliefs. but in order to talk about that, we need to figure out just what it is that lilian is obsessively thinking, what it is that’s causing her so much distress. if ocd doesn’t inherently involve a need for cleanliness, then could it be that lilian’s obsessions revolve around her mysophobia? after all, mysophobia is germaphobia, so maybe she’s just scared of germs, and that’s why she’s always washing her hands.

so, let’s talk about mysophobia. it isn’t listed under the dsm v on its own, but it does exist (albeit not by name) under the umbrella term specific phobia disorder. you can look that up yourself, but from the research i’ve done, i can fairly safely say this: mysophobia, more commonly referred to as germaphobia, is not a fear of germs for the sake of fearing germs. it is a fear of being contaminated, sick, or infected, whether it be through other people or through the environment. symptoms of mysophobia include but are not limited to obsessive handwashing, an extreme avoidance of places that are deemed unclean, and excessive planning to avoid contamination. this separates it from ocd in that ocd involves ritualistic behaviours (like handwashing) to ease anxiety, whereas mysophobia involves these ritualistic behaviours to actually make the area cleaner. to summarize, mysophobic actions are directly related to the fear of contracting an illness.

okay, kids, what have we learned?

though ocd can be accompanied by mysophobia, the two of them are not synonymous. ocd is a pattern of obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviours designed to ease anxiety surrounding those thoughts.

there are lots of comorbidities present with ocd and other disorders lilian has, such as autism spectrum disorder, body dysmorphic disorder, eating disorders, and psychotic disorders.

mysophobia is more accurately defined as being afraid of being infected or contaminated. mysophobic compulsions relate directly to the desire to eliminate contaminants, rather than being a self-soothing action to reduce anxiety.

now that we’ve laid the groundwork for analyzing lilian’s behaviour, let’s dive into canon. what can we say about lilian’s anxious preoccupations? what excessive planning does she undergo to avoid contact with germs? and, most importantly, why is she perfectly fine with holding vincent’s hand? (it’s still bad writing, but i found an explanation that makes it better)

the most obvious sign of both ocd and mysophobia present in canon is lilian’s intense preoccupation with handwashing. we only see this happen once, in hello charlotte 2.

i’ve removed some sections for the sake of length, but here are some revealing lines from lilian:

My fellow students smashed my head into a worm soup.

I can’t [stop washing my hands]. I’ve washed off [most] of the soup, but I still feel dirtied.

In fact, everything I touch feels contaminated. I can’t just shake off the feeling of disgust.

between ocd and mysophobia, this reaction seems very solidly linked to the latter. lilian’s head was dunked into soup, and she felt disgusted and contaminated, so she began to obsessively wash the soup away. the only other place where handwashing is mentioned is in lilian’s mind exhibition in hello charlotte 3.

in this poem, lilian attributes her handwashing to her ocd, where she writes, “wash and repeat! it’s not enough!” she doesn’t state in this poem if she does this to reduce the possibility of getting sick or if she does this as a compulsive ritual. both interpretations are plausible, given the vague statement “it’s not enough!”. perhaps it’s not enough because she still feels contaminated, or it’s not enough because she has not been rid of the anxiety caused by her intrusive thoughts. maybe it’s a little bit of both.

however, excessive handwashing does not a disorder make. sure, lilian washes her hands until they blister, but why? what is she trying to avoid? in the example in hello charlotte 2, she’s washing off soup. this is a direct response to an uncomfortable situation and not to an anxious preoccupation. in her poem, she offers no hint as to what is causing her so much anxiety that she needs to wash her hands compulsively. and once you start to pick through her behaviour in search of a thread of obsessive thinking, it starts to become clear that there might not be one.

the truth is, lilian’s actions in canon are generally inconsistent given the definitions listed above. her touch aversion is implied to be caused by her mysophobia, but she has no real plan for avoiding touch besides wearing gloves, which she ditches anyway when touching vincent. in heaven’s gate, it’s implied to be more of an aromantic or asexual thing. (i say aromantic because the scene was a little weird about not dividing the line between romantic and sexual attraction, so even though lilian’s canonically asexual, the scene was actually talking about kissing and dating and might have just been a ploy to get nonconsensual kissing in because that’s apparently mandatory in like every game anri appears in.) but that doesn’t make much sense either, considering that platonic and otherwise non-sexual touch is also off-limits.

we return to the intense, excessive and obsessive nature of both ocd and mysophobia. passing fears of contamination or infection don’t classify as mysophobia, and vague and isolated anxieties don’t classify as ocd. the individual has to be intensely preoccupied by these thoughts. however, in canon, lilian is generally not preoccupied with getting sick or dirty until it actually happens to her. her goal in life is to become a doctor, a profession that involves repeated and close contact with infectious diseases. she also takes care of her bedridden mother, which in many cases involves helping the individual with their personal hygiene. her mother is the reason why she wants to become a doctor in the first place, and since anri knows about this dream, it’s fairly safe to assume that this is lilian’s own dream, not scarlett’s. however, in hello charlotte 3, when q84 is wounded, she asks lilian to treat her wounds, and lilian’s response is as follows:

this is further reinforced when q84 is decomposing after having used her wish, and umbrella man states that lilian is fighting the urge to vomit. however, in the infirmary scene, lilian is quite comfortable with being physically close to q84, even when there is a possibility for skin contact. note how charlotte’s hair (which has the possibility of carrying bacteria, skin flakes, etc.) is close to lilian’s face, but how lilian seems quite content, even relaxed.

this is stressful! what is the truth?

on top of that, we know for a fact that, despite being mysophobic, lilian has no issue (at least in hello charlotte 2) with using public bathrooms at school, something that is generally a huge obstacle for people struggling with mysophobia. in true realm, this is never addressed, which lends credence to the idea that she simply doesn’t worry about the transmission of germs in shared spaces like bathrooms, nor is she worried at all about using anri’s smartphone to take blackmail pictures when screens are generally a hotbed of germs. we could say that she makes such liberal use of her gloves that she doesn’t even think about the germs living on them (unlikely), but then she’d likely have a panic attack when she does things like touch her face, which she does in at least one of her sprites.

in fact, the only thought she has about cleanliness in true realm flashbacks is in one of the final ones. she thinks the following: “we lie on the floor for a long time. i briefly wonder if it’s properly vacuumed.” this is, like, a normal thought. i can’t stress enough how normal this thought is and how quickly this thought passes. i cannot stress enough how little she cares about the cleanliness of this floor.

so, like, what gives? why does lilian wear gloves? why does she say she’s squeamish in false realm or want to throw up when holding charlotte? and most importantly, how is she mysophobic when she doesn’t seem to fear germs at all?

the answer fucking blew my mind, folks. are you ready? here it is.

This world is swarming with parasites. Tiny. Invisible. Tenacious. Once they outwit your immune system, they eat you from the inside. Use you as an incubator for their offspring. Control your mind and alter your personality. They keep reproducing, and reproducing, and reproducing, endlessly reproducing. Until every single person is consumed by the disease.

from this excerpt, we can glean the following:

the parasite lilian is describing is a disease that targets the immune system;

the parasite functions by controlling its host like a puppet and altering aspects of their personality, potentially causing them to act in a way that is uncharacteristic; and

the parasite’s goal is to reproduce and to eventually infect everyone in the world.

these are the very first lines in the very first flashback to true realm. an echoing of these very lines are found later, when lilian is saying them to q84. note that, according to etherane, it has been many, many years since these words have first been uttered. but lilian manages to quote them verbatim. given that she can recite these lines perfectly years after her death, it seems that this is a comforting mantra about the world’s truths. and from that, we can gather that repeating this mantra is one of her compulsions, alongside handwashing.

this is it. this is the root of lilian’s mysophobia. these lines accurately explain a pervasive delusion that manifests both in lilian’s thoughts and in her visual hallucinations. more accurately, it is the mantra that describes the “o” in lilian’s ocd and the illness that causes her mysophobia. the parasite is the disease she’s afraid of contracting, and that fear is the intrusive thought that brings her so much anxiety. i tried to compile a list of all the times lilian or someone modelled after her has mentioned contamination, a preoccupation with purity, a parasite, a tumour, rottenness, or anything relating to this core concept, but there was just... so much. the entire world of hello charlotte is based around parasites and mind control. the deus ex machina of this world is a parasite itself. all charlottes have the disease. this world is literally obsessed with the delusion lilian’s held her whole life.

and now that we’ve framed it like that... is it any wonder that this is the obsessive thought? something we’d previously assumed to be a persistent metaphor is actually an intense preoccupation. lilian’s inconsistent actions in canon make sense because she’s not worried about contracting a physical illness, but rather a mental one that’s linked to a persistent delusion of hers. throughout canon, we see no instances of lilian questioning this belief, leading her to be classified as having absent insight/delusional beliefs.

before i continue, i want to mention that the pitfall many hello charlotte fans fall into, and the one i myself have fallen into in the past, is assuming that lilian was always unable to touch others. though she wears gloves throughout the entirety of the true realm flashbacks, she was actually alright with making contact with others up until a specific point in her life. and, interestingly enough, it was not vincent's death that spurred on this change. a full three months pass between his death and the time when lilian's mental health took a nosedive. the critical moment of change involves the very last flashback: 531 days before the trial.

lilian and anri decide to run away together. however, lilian was actually planning a double suicide. upon learning this, anri grows agitated, punching lilian and pinning her down to the floor. it's at this point that lilian realizes anri's feelings for her. after anri kisses her, she becomes a parasite. when lilian gets home, she checks on mother and realizes that mother has become a parasite as well.

from this day onwards, lilian begins to see everyone in her life as a parasite. she says it herself: "That moment I realized. I could never touch a human being ever again." this is the start of her intense touch aversion and marks the beginning of the end of her life. it’s at this point that lilian becomes physically repulsed by everyone around her and the environment she exists in, and these feelings generally persist, albeit on a lesser scale, in false realm.

but what is the parasite? in true realm, the parasite is only described in lilian’s mantra, but there are several nuances to the definition that go unexplained. however, in false realm, parasites take a variety of forms. similarly to how scarlett and umbrella man are reflections of lilian’s inner self that take shape as their own entities within false realm, lilian’s definitions for what a parasite is also breaks off and takes shape into various different forms after her death. when we examine what parasites are in false realm, we can begin to understand what makes someone turn into a physical deformity in lilian’s eyes and why she’s so afraid of the parasite in the first place.

there are three kinds of deformities in false realm. there is the oracle (left), the bullies (upper-right), and the faceless (lower-right). these are not all official terms, but they’ll be the ones that i use going forward.

the oracle is the entity that most closely follows the original logic of the mantra — it is an entity that rapidly multiplies (either through a race like the pythias or organically through cell division as it does in hello charlotte 3) and forms a collective out of several individuals. hello charlotte 2 explains that unification of a civilization is an arduous and painful procedure involving the slow loss of individuality until the race completely submits to the will of the parasitic host. the oracle is, to summarize, an entity that can “control your mind and alter your personality”. the oracle is the only parasite that ever enters another’s body. the other two forms of parasites are never called parasites themselves, but show visible deformities that house tenants and other important characters do not.

the faceless visually signify a lack of importance. these people do not do anything special. in some cases, they appear as a literal amalgamate, showing a hive-mindedness even if they are not being controlled by the oracle. these individuals are usually treated neutrally, and are not generally considered “bad”. they are simply narratively unimportant. by contrast, bullies do have faces, but they are vastly distorted and exhibit bright colouring. i may talk a bit more in a future post about colour symbolism and how it plays into both lilian’s and q84′s mysophobias, but to briefly summarize: the presence of colour is considered a contaminant, whereas white is considered an absence of colour and therefore “pure”. therefore, the brightly-coloured bullies are contaminated. these individuals show corrupted behaviour. they hurt others for personal gain, and are generally considered irredeemable.

in true realm, however, we see no such stylistic distinction. however, though they are not represented visually, the parasites in true realm show the same patterns as the oracle, the bullies, and the faceless. .

now that we have determined what the parasite is, we can determine how the parasite spreads. as previously stated, the parasite does not spread through shared surfaces or skin contact, as normal viruses do. lilian herself seems to treat it like it's just chance, like the parasite just chose to infect people randomly. but there are some things that she says that lends credence to the idea that the parasite is discriminate. after all, though her delusional belief is that the parasite will attach itself to any host it comes into contact with, this delusional belief did come from somewhere. and after examining the process of contamination over the course of the two or so years we see of her life, i believe this belief stemmed from her black-and-white views on good and evil and her penchant to see life as a narrative.

the first outcropping of parasites in lilian’s life were likely the faceless. she seems much less perturbed by them, and seem to view them as simply background pieces. this may be because of her belief in “protagonist” characters. in false realm, q84 makes liberal use of the term “npcs”, though all charlottes seem to have a concept of other students being faceless and subservient to them. this is a tenuous connection, but i believe lilian shares a similar belief. she may consider others "narratively unimportant”; that is, lacking direction or initiative, or perhaps simply not making an impact. she prides herself on being an observer, but she is undeniably the self-hating protagonist of her story. she says that if there is an afterlife, she doesn’t want to be its protagonist. this implies that on some level, she’s considered herself the protagonist of her own life. it’s definitely plausible given lilian’s tendency to project negative traits on others for her to see herself as comparatively good or blameless. by placing her own negative traits onto scarlett, for example, lilian creates a shaky ideal self. in other words, she creates a somewhat worthy protagonist.

and worthiness is incredibly important to lilian. a strong recurring theme in hello charlotte is the notion of “goodness”, especially when it relates to being polite. for example, in hello charlotte 1, a door refuses to open for you if you don't say please, and will call you insolent. all charlottes strive to be a “good girl” because their mothers told them to. interestingly enough, this is also what lilith tells lilian in true realm. since all charlottes have this strict adherence to being a good girl, this must have been very impactful for lilian. being considered “good” must have been very important to her. and being considered “bad” must have been similarly devastating.

knowing that charlotte is lilian's self-insert oc makes things even clearer. charlotte embodies an extreme selflessness, wanting to sacrifice herself for the good of others at any cost. any desire she has to be saved is rapidly dismissed as selfish, and she repeatedly states that she doesn't want to be a burden. charlotte's character makes a clear statement: good people are not burdensome. good people have faith in humanity. good people believe in others, and they help others even if the other person doesn’t deserve it.

the delusion is lilian’s failsafe. it’s her way of ensuring that she could never consider herself a bad person or a burden. in creating the narrative of a contagious parasite infecting the world, lilian is protecting herself from personal responsibility, both in herself and in others. instead of maintaining her belief that some people are evil, which she would consider a Bad Belief to have, she believes that they have simply caught a contagious disease. the bad-person disease, if you will. and since that disease alters the mind and personality of its hosts, these people are not directly responsible for their actions. here, lilian is absolved of hating people who hurt others. now, like charlotte, she can simply wish for their recovery. because they aren’t choosing to hurt others. they’re being manipulated into it by an invisible, malicious, contagious puppeteer.

a similar logic is applied to those lilian finds burdensome. since good people, in her eyes, can make themselves a martyr no matter the circumstances, it would be considered very bad if lilian could not do the same. this is evidenced when mother turns into a parasite. in that scene, lilian thinks the following:

It'd be easier if my mom was a workaholic who was never home. It'd be easier if we hated each other. It'd be easier if I didn't remember the days when she was still full of energy. Who would want to admit [to] their parent giving up on life and slowly rotting in the bedroom? Who would admit to thinking of their only parent as a parasitic existence? After that day, nothing was the same anymore.

in this instance, the word “parasite” is used to describe a leech, someone who constantly takes and never gives back. and in using this word to describe them, lilian relegates them in her mind as bullies, because she can’t admit to feeling burdened.

we see this also in anri. it’s not the physical action of the kiss that turns anri into a parasite. it’s the realization that anri has always had ulterior motives, that anri expects something of lilian. and lilian, feeling burdened, projects her own guilt about her lack of reciprocation onto anri. even at the end of her life, when she’s in the ocean, she reveals that one of her greatest regrets is not being able to reciprocate anri’s feelings.

vincent, on the other hand, is a charming stranger. he never gives lilian any reason to suspect that he may have ulterior motives. he’s successful, driven, popular, and talented. in many ways, he’s everything lilian wants to be. and since she doesn’t meet him for a long time, she can imagine him to be simply “the blinding icon on her screen“. she can project anything she wants onto him, and she chooses to project hope onto him. with his politeness, his charm, his compliments, he appears to be the ideal human. like lilian, he has managed to avoid being infected by the parasite. lilian grows attached to this interpretation, just as she grows attached to the mutuality of her friendship with anri, and just as she grows attached to her love for her mother. lilian doesn’t want to think of these people as parasites. in vincent’s case, he dies before he ever gets the chance to burden her. rather, he leaves her with the guilt of not being able to follow him and a misplaced idolatry of him and his beliefs.

the parasite, being a visual representation of perceived evil intent, seems to be non-contagious in nature. this doesn’t change, though, that lilian believes it is contagious. she wants to spend time with people she has deemed good, and to avoid bullies. however, the simple act of feeling burdened is enough to make lilian believe that the parasite is spreading at a breakneck rate and that the world she lives in is becoming more and more contaminated. once she feels she’s lost her support system, the parasite begins to spread, and she begins to feel less and less inherently good. it’s clear that the people around her had a stabilizing effect on her. but once she feels abandoned, her unhealthy coping mechanisms begin to catch up to her. lilian describes herself as filthy by the end of her life, and it’s very likely that she feared becoming a parasite herself if she were to continue down the path she was on.

the last piece of the puzzle is this: what saved anri and mother for so long, and what saved vincent from becoming a parasite altogether? after all, anri is a perfect candidate for developing the parasite, and arguably, so is mother. both of them rely on lilian for different things, and anri actively engages in blackmail. it would be simple as well to see c as disingenuous or fake. but lilian doesn’t entertain any of those thoughts, either for a very long time or at all. why?

the answer is simple. the people that lilian loves are less likely to be infected by the parasite. even if they are infected, she is kinder to them. after anri says she’ll leave lilian, after her confession and her subsequent contamination, lilian lets anri cuddle her. she even hugs anri tightly before they part, and keeps in contact with her until... well, just before she commits suicide. despite the relationship between lilian and her mother being one-sided, lilian holds onto pleasant memories of her mother because she doesn’t want to believe that she could feel burdened. and lilian is so attached to her love for c that she doesn’t see anything wrong with him.

all of this is to say that lilian’s touch aversion does not stem from physical cleanliness, but rather her perception of the other’s purity. this means that she’s not only willing to touch others if she deems them a “good person”, but that she is actively okay with it. this is evidenced even in false realm, where she is alright with exchanging casual moments of intimacy with charlotte and q84, such as in the “take my hand” scene and in the infirmary scene. since she loves these individuals, she sees them as inherently better people than she would if she viewed them objectively. this is a game-changer when it comes to touch-aversion. with respect to the charles/vincent ships where lilian’s okay with kissing... that’s a different story. even though saliva may not trigger her mysophobia, we’ve seen on multiple occasions both in canon and in heaven’s gate that lilian is indifferent to mouth-kissing at best. however, she is definitely comfortable with some displays of physical affection with those she cares for, and is generally willing to excuse much more when it comes to those she loves.

thank you for reading this post in its entirety! i did not expect it to get this long, so if you got to the end, i just want you to know i love and appreciate you SO much

[tomeandflickcorner]

Falcon and Winter Soldier Episode 3- My Thoughts

Can’t believe we’re already halfway through this show!

As was set up in the last episode, Bucky decides to head to a prison in Germany, where Zemo is being held for the crimes he committed during Civil War. Again, while I did understand why he was doing this, considering Zemo was the only real lead they had in determining how the Flag Smashers got their hands on the Super Serum, I still didn’t really like the idea.  Because this was the guy who framed Bucky for the murder of King T’Chaka and then forced Bucky to undergo even more trauma by activating his Winter Solder programing.  And my dislike for Zemo increased even more when the first thing he did upon seeing Bucky outside his cell was recite the Winter Soldier Activation Words.  Ugh, this guy is such a scumbag!  I am so confused why some people seem to be talking about how funny Zemo was in this episode.  I just don’t get it!

Anyway, I guess Zemo said he’d only assist Bucky and Sam in solving the mystery if Bucky helped him escape from prison.  And Bucky, out of desperation, agrees to this?  Yeah, I was with Sam on this one, as he only finds out about this plan after the fact and understandably freaks out when he sees Zemo waltzing up disguised as a security guard.  Because while the jail break sequence was interesting, I still don’t trust Zemo in the slightest.  But I guess it’s too late now.  So the three of them travel to this island called Madripoor, which I guess is like a haven for criminal masterminds, so they can infiltrate some nightclub in order to talk to a woman named Selby.  Because Selby can apparently give them the information they need.  And Zemo can arrange all of this because he turns out to be super rich. Yeah, okay.

From here on in, the episode is pretty much a spy film.  Because Sam has to go into the Madripoor nightclub mascaraing as some other guy called Smiling Tiger.  (Side note, I hope that snake that got sliced open to make that drink was already dead.)  The trio eventually get an audience with this Selby person, but my skin is crawling over the way they did it.  Because Zemo has Bucky pretend to be the brainwashed Winter Soldier again as an intimidation technique. And then offers to gift him to Selby, as if Bucky was simply a piece of property.  And while Bucky does a passible job of pretending he’s still the Winter Soldier, it must have been torture for him to pretend to be Hydra’s brainwashed assassin again.  Especially since we all know how guilty he feels for all of that.  They even bring up his book filled with the names of people he’d wronged.  Which turns out to be the exact same book Steve was using to keep track of everything he needed to adjust to being in a different time after being thawed from the ice.  Which just hits you with even more feels.  Still, I’m glad that at least Sam seems to be recognizing that, as he frequently takes the time to check on how Bucky’s holding up.  It’s nice that the writers haven’t completly forgotten that Sam used to be a therapist himself.  (Hey, maybe Sam can become Bucky’s new therapist instead of that crummy government-issued one.  Or is it a violation of the code of ethics to offer therapy to someone you know personally?)

Unfortunately, just as Selby gives them the information they came for- that the mysterious Power Broker hired former Hydra scientist Dr. Nagel to recreated the Super Serum- their cover is blown because Sam got an ill-timed call from his sister, Sarah.  (Seriously, Sam!  You didn’t think to put your phone on mute?  That’s the first rule of going undercover!)  Out of nowhere, Selby is shot dead by an unseen assassin, and Bucky, Sam and Zemo have to make a run for it, particularly after a bounty is placed on their heads for Selby’s death.  Still, they’re rescued by a surprise appearance of Sharon Carter.  Who has been living there since the events of Civil War.  Strangely enough, nobody remembered to help get her a government issued pardon.  Which doesn’t make a lot of sense.  But that revelation does lead to Sam feeling even more disillusioned.  First it was him learning how Isaiah got the short end of the stick, and now this.  Sam now is thinking maybe the Shield should simply be destroyed because of how much trouble its caused.  Though I don’t think it’s possible to destroy the Shield.  Wasn’t the Shield made of Vibranium or something equally as indestructible?  Still, this might be a good thing.  Because Sam is seeing how many people ended up getting tossed aside and overlooked.  Which could be what inspires him to take back the mantle of Captain America, in order to help give a voice to those people.

Anyway, with Sharon’s help, Bucky, Sam and Zemo find Dr. Nagal’s lab, which is hidden in a shipyard somewhere.  Upon interrogating Dr. Nagal, we learn that, after Hydra was eliminated, Dr. Nagal was hired by the CIA to continue his work in recreating the Super Serum.  But then, Dr. Nagal got dusted in the Snap.  When he came back, he picked up where he left off and managed to create 20 vials of Super Serum.  Admittedly, I might be getting some of the details here wrong, but this episode had a lot of exposition to go through. But the important thing is that those vials got stolen by Karli.  Which means there might be a whole mess of Super Soldiers out there right now.  But before Dr. Nagal could reveal anything further, Zemo shoots him dead out of the blue.  Why, I’m not entirely sure, but this is Zemo.  Like I mentioned before, I don’t trust him in the slightest.  And I wouldn’t be shocked if he ends up backstabbing Sam and Bucky in some way before the show is over.  In any event, after Dr. Nagal gets killed off, there’s a sudden action sequence, with Sharon, Sam and Bucky trying to fend off a bunch of armed goons.  Wasn’t very clear if they were with the people who had currently hired Dr. Nagal after the Reverse Snap or if they were bounty hunters looking for Selby’s killer.  Eventually, Zemo manages to obtain a getaway car, and he drives off with Sam and Bucky.  Sharon, on the other hand, chooses to stay behind, with Sam promising her that he’ll make sure she gets a full pardon for her actions in Civil War once they get back to the US.  But after they drive off, Sharon meets up with some other unnamed woman.  So I have no idea what Sharon is up to right now.  Did she have anything to do with Selby’s death?  Is she in league with this mysterious Power Broker? It’s not clear at the moment. Either way, I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of her.

The episode ends with Bucky, Sam and Zemo trying to figure out the next step.  But Bucky steps away when he spots a few black beads affixed to the side of a building.  He clearly recognizes these black beads as Kimoyo beads, because he calls out to someone once he’s alone.  And seems unsurprised when a member of the Dora Milaje appears in front of him, stating that she’s there for Zemo.  Apparently, that’s Ayo, Okoye’s second-in-command.  So we’re getting the Wakandans involved now!  That’ll be fun.  Particularly since it’s doubtful they forgot that Zemo was responsible for the death of King T’Chaka.  I’m wondering if we’ll get a cameo of Shuri.  Or, on a more sobering note, get a hint about what the MCU will do in regards to T’Challa.  In any event, I’m excited to see the Wakandans.

Meanwhile, we got John Walker going around, further cementing how unlikable he is.  Because he ends up storming into some office building somewhere because the Flag Smashers were seen operating out of there.  Or something to that effect.  The main issue is they weren’t even in America at this point.  Are the Accords still in effect?  I don’t even know! But even if they aren’t, the fact that John Walker is pretty much throwing his weight around like this only further proves he’s not worthy to call himself Captain America.  (Just saying, Steve would never shove some guy against a wall and demand respect just because of who he is.)  Oh, and it gets better.  When he gets word that Bucky and Sam might have been responsible for Zemo escaping from jail, his attitude seems to have sinister undertones of ‘if I can prove those two are criminals, the methods I used to get that proof doesn’t matter.’  Oh, where do I begin?  That kind of attitude is extremely problematic, as it’s teetering dangerously close to ‘I can ignore people’s rights whenever it suits my needs’ territory.  And it’s particularly uncomfortable when you remember people were clearly recording Bucky’s earlier actions on Madripoor on their phones, when he had to beat up this guy to sell his Winter Soldier act.  Needless to say, I’m really scared for Bucky and Sam right now.

Then there’s the stuff with the Flag Smashers.  I guess there was this organization called the Global Repatriation Council (GRC for short) that was set up after the people who got dusted returned with the Reverse Snap, which was designed to help those un-dusted people adjust to the new world and get back on their feet.  But this is where things get a little sketchy.  I think the implication is that they’re not distributing the supplies fairly, or that this organization is favoring the un-dusted people while ignoring the needs of the people who remained after the Snap?  Because after who I think was supposed to be Karli’s mother dies from an illness(?), Karli leads the Flag Smashers in breaking into a GRC storage facility in Lithuania and making off with the supplies they were storing there.  And then she blows up the building.  With people still inside.  Because her attitude seems to be this will be the only way to get the government’s attention or something along those lines.  Yeah, this is where Karli started to lose my support.  Because while I think I can understand what their motivation is, considering it seems to be implied that world governments are not being fair and equal in regards of helping everyone adjust to the Reverse Snap, once you start killing people, that’s where you make it easy for your enemies to villainize you in the eyes of the general public. At this point, I don’t know how I feel about Karli.

[indigomasquerade97]

Rescue Attempt

@secret-sanders-sized @theradicalrainbow

Secret Sanders G/t. I got @theradicalrainbow . Happy holidays!  I hope you like it :)  Sorry it’s so long.

Characters- Roman, Logan and Virgil

Warnings- fear and injury.

Roman crouched down, carefully peeking out through the slits of a dusty old air vent. He grimaced. This was not good.

The vent was in the above corner of the room, giving him a clear view of the bean below. He was sitting at his desk, appearing to be getting homework done. Sitting on the desk, easily in arms reach of the giant, was a young borrower. The young man was sitting cross-legged, reading something on a human phone. His back was to the bean, and Roman couldn’t help a shudder at the thought. Was he crazy?

He flinched as a thundering boom echoed in the world beyond the roof. Roman hadn’t planned on staying long in this house. He was just trying to get out of the storm. But now, he almost wished he had picked another house. Just his luck that he had found a house with a bean that had actually caught a borrower.

The human groaned, slumping against the desk. He rested his chin on his crossed arms, eyes landing on the borrower.

“Logan, can you give me a hand with this?” He asked. The borrower huffed.

“I am not your personal calculator,” he said, not even turning to look at the human, “You need to do your own work.”

“Oh, come on. This is my worst subject, and you know it.” The human whined. Then he reached out for the borrower.

Roman barely stifled a gasp as giant fingers wrapped around the borrower. Logan tensed as they made contact, but he didn’t fight as the human dangled him in a loose fist. 

“Come on. If I’m struggling this bad, wouldn’t it be easier if I had someone tutoring me?”

“… I suppose you are correct.”

“Besides, your good with numbers. It’s not like it will take too long, anyway.”

Logan squirmed, glancing over his shoulder at the phone. After being left idle, the screen finally shut off. He sighed, then nodded to the human, who grinned. Roman sighed. Fiddle sticks! He couldn’t just leave the poor borrower captive to such a beast. His honor would not allow that.

So he settled in for a long wait, using the time to plan his rescue.

~~~~~~~~~~

After hours, wherein Roman began to wonder if this bean could even sleep, the giant finally settled down to rest. The borrower had long since retired into what looked like a dollhouse. A fricken cage, Roman realized in disgust. The poor guy.

Even still, Roman waited. Watching. Just because the bean was still, didn’t mean it slumbered. Only once Roman was certain enough time had passed did he begin enacting his plan.

He carefully placed his fishing hook against the side of one of the vent slits. He worked slowly, listening for any creaking the whole thing may have caused. He winced when the edge scrapped against the metal and, after a moment of hesitation, he removed his cloak in order to muffle any sounds. Without the dark cloak, he only had an old prince shirt he’d borrowed from a child’s doll set years ago. Not exactly discrete, but it would have to do. Now satisfied, he carefully slipped through the vent to grapple down to the desk below.

Once on the desk, he dashed across to the dollhouse. It was a simple box, though decently made. Glancing through a window, he realized it was only a two room. The one he’d glanced though looked to be a poor remake of a human study. The bookcase was filled with tiny books made from simple paper, with one sat at the desk under the window. The desk and chair seemed to have been handcrafted by a bean, looking too bulky and hard to be comfortable. Practical, maybe, but definitely not comfy. There wasn’t even an attempt to cushion it.

He shook his head, turning to glance through the other window. No time to criticize the human’s lackluster attempts for his captive. He had a rescue to do.

Roman crept forward, slowly opening the door. He glanced over his shoulder to the slumbering giant, pleased to see it hadn’t moved. At least his luck was holding. He easily slid inside, making his way to the trapped borrower.

So focused was he, that he didn’t register how the door was unlocked the whole time, and the implications that came with it.

Once by the other borrower, he reached out to cover his mouth so that no sounds of surprise would escape. He was fairly successful as the guy jolted awake, clumsily flailing at his unknown assailant.

‘Shh! Calm down!’ Roman whispered, chancing a look out the window. Although, he needn’t have worried; the human was too far away to hear such muffled sounds. ‘Stay calm. I’m here to rescue you.’

The borrower finally stilled, blinking rapidly at him. Roman released him, smiling encouragingly.

‘There you go. Now come on,’ He continued, grabbing the guys hand to drag him along, ‘We need to hurry before-’

‘Release me!’ The borrower snapped, ripping his hand out of Roman’s. He paused, watching as the borrower reached out to the dresser, grabbing glasses made from bent wire and mismatched glass shards. He casually placed them on, sitting straight in the doll bed.

‘Now,’ He started, quickly appraising Roman, ‘What is this about a “rescue”?’

Roman blinked. Really? He spluttered, thoughts jumping from one thing to another. REALLY? Where did he even start?

‘Human!’ He barked, though he made an effort to keep his voice down despite his growing annoyance and dread, ‘You’re literally being held captive by the most deadly threat to ever plague borrower kind!’

The borrower frowned. He looked Roman over again, taking note of the disheveled hair and dirty, ill-fitting clothes. He hummed to himself.

‘Am I right in presuming that you are an “outie”, as I have heard others state?’ He queried. Dumbstruck, Roman could only nod mutely. The borrowed nodded.

‘I thought as much. I do apologize,’ He began, pushing the glasses back, ‘But I am no prisoner. I am afraid that you have simply jumped to a false conclusion. Virgil and I have a mutual agreement in place. I am here of my own free will.’

Roman stared at the borrower before him. Was he serious?

‘What do you mean “your own free will”?’ He demanded, so heated by the sudden, and frankly horrifying revelation, he didn’t realize he was getting much too loud, ‘I have seen how the bean treated-’

‘I believe you mean “being”,’ He interrupted, a corner of his mouth quirking slightly, ‘A common mistake, I have foun-’

‘Who cares?’ Roman screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at the bemused borrower, ‘What kind of borrower would fraternize with a lying, good-for-nothing, life destroying, motherfu-’

‘Logan?’

Roman froze at the voice. Oh no. That was the last thing he had wanted to hear in this predicament. Logan sighed, removing the blanket from his lap.

‘I am fine, Virgil,’ He called out. He turned to Roman, slowly reaching out as if to avoid spooking him. ‘Now, just stay calm.’

Roman slapped the offered hand away, retreating from the suddenly much more dangerous borrower. He yelped when he suddenly hit the wall, but he didn’t take his eyes from this “Logan”. It was worse than he had thought. The borrower was brainwashed! He had to be. Roman couldn’t believe that a borrower would betray his own kind like this.

‘How could you?’ He demanded.

The human was moving outside. Logan reached out, clumsily saying something that was probably meant to be reassuring. But Roman, distrustful as he now was, with his panic mounting, with a human on the move beyond his immediate vision, could only see an outstretched claw ready to trap him.

He always did have an overactive imagination.

Then the light turned on.

Roman ran. He slammed the door against the wall in his haste, the noise spurring him on even as the bean began to move. He prepared himself to jump, to get to the desk, to scurry up his rope, to disappear from this forsaken house. But the bean jumped at his sudden movement, the entire surface beneath him jolting as a result. Roman yelped as he slipped, missing the jump entirely and falling an entire foot to the carpeted floor below.

He groaned in pain, dazed on the floor. He could vaguely hear the bean bark something above. He struggled through the haze, forcing himself up. But he hissed in pain when he put weight on his right arm. He balked at the already swelling limb. 

Oh no. He was stuck in a beans room. While the bean was awake and probably seconds away from discovering his prone body. A quick look around revealed that there were no vents - not even a measly hole - to escape into the walls. He was a sitting duck! How the hell was he supposed to get out of this?

Then he was plunged into darkness.

He turned to the human. He was crouched beside the desk, bent over almost double just to see into where Roman landed. Looking up at the giant, with the light behind it nearly blinding him, it looked even bigger and more intimidating than ever. He whimpered, using his uninjured arm to drag himself backwards. He knew it was useless. Nothing he could do would stop a determined bean. He could already imagine it reaching out for him. Grabbing him. Squeezing the life out of him. Maybe trying to turn him into a conditioned pet like the other borrower.

‘Shit!’ The bean moved away, looking up at the top of the desk, 'I think he’s hurt!’

'What appears to be wrong?’ Logan asked. The human glanced back at Roman.

'I dunno… but I don’t think his arm should look like that.’

'Then bring him up here. But be slow and steady. Don’t jostled him until we know for certain.’

With a solemn nod, the human got down on its knees, slowly reaching out for him.

’D-don’t touch me!’ Roman yelled, his uninjured hand held out in a futile effort to ward away the bean. It hesitated, the hand pulling back slightly.

'Dude, you’re hurt.’ The bean said, frowning at him. Roman gulped.

'I’m fine,’ he said, glancing at the very not fine arm, 'I-it’s supposed to look like that.’

'Riiiiiight,’ The human said, rolling its eyes. Then it reached out anyway. 'Sorry, but we can’t just leave you like this.’

Roman yelped as fingers longer than he was tall crowded around. He flailed uselessly as they began nudging at him, forcing him onto the humans palm. He tried to scramble off. But the human sensed his plan, placing its other hand over him like a fleshy cage. He pushed at the flesh surrounding him, but there was no way he could ever dream of forcing those fingers apart. He was trapped.

The whole ordeal didn’t last too long, at least. Once the bean straightened up, it gently placed its hand down on the desk. Logan was waiting, easily jumping into that hand to get to Roman. He frowned at the sight of his injury. Roman glared right back, not so subtly turning his body to keep his injury hidden. He didn’t need some human pet touching him.

‘Come on,’ Logan said, reaching out for him, 'let’s get you on solid ground.’

'Don’t touch me!’ He hissed as he pulled away, his shoulder flaring with pain.

'It’s either you get off with him,’ the human boomed, causing Roman to freeze as the hand under him twitched, 'or I’m dumping you off. Your choice.’

Roman hesitated. He did not want to cave to the beast. But he also knew that it wouldn’t be bluffing, either. Being dumped would only worsen his arm. And, he reasoned, if he could avoid any further harm, maybe he could escape later.

So, begrudgingly, he allowed Logan to help him off the uneven surface. Once both borrowers were off, the bean moved its hand and grabbed the side of the desk, steadying itself as it leaned closer.

'Is he alright?’ It asked, softer than usual. Roman almost did a double take at the unusual behavior. This was a merciless human... why did it sound almost concerned?

Logan began working immediately. He slowly ran his hand over Roman’s arm, inciting slight hisses of pain. Logan hummed, ignoring his cries.

'There does not seem to be any breaks,’ he said, turning to the bean, 'Go grab an ice pack. And something soft, as well. We should at least attempt to make him comfortable.’

The human nodded, bolting out of the room. Roman blinked in surprise.

'The human listens to you?’ He asked. Logan shrugged.

'As I said before, this is a mutual agreement.’ He said, moving behind Roman to examine his arm further.

'But why? I mean, the bean has as all of the power here,’ Roman continued, shaking his head as he looked back at the door, 'there is no reason for it to listen like that.’

'Actually, he has every reason to listen to me. He knows that I have extensive knowledge on common ailments. A dislocated shoulder is easily something I can fix,’ Logan said, placing a hand on the back of Roman’s neck, 'Plus, he is much too sensitive to this kind of procedure.’

'What proc- AHHHH!’ Roman screamed as Logan moved, hearing a pop as his shoulder was effortlessly popped back in its socket.

‘OW! A little warning next time!’

‘Apologies.’

Somehow, he didn’t think Logan was actually sorry.

Roman tensed as he heard the telltale booms of human footsteps. Logan just sighed, turning to address it. Roman slowly inched himself back in an effort to distance himself from whatever was about to happen.

The human approached slowly, holding an ice pack and what looked like an old grey shirt in its hands. It raised an eyebrow at him, then glanced at Logan.

'Soooo… what do I…?’

Logan rubbed at his chin, looking around the desk. Finally, he pointed towards the dollhouse.

'Move it away from the wall and place the ice pack between the two junctures,’ he instructed, then turned to Roman, 'Is a nest of fabric an adequate sleeping arrangement until you are properly healed?’ Roman frowned, nodding slowly.

'Wonderful. This shall be ideal.’

The human shrugged, beginning to follow Logan’s instructions. With one hand, it was able to drag the fairly bulky piece of wood away. Roman stared, wide eyed. It was one thing knowing humans had that kind of strength, but actually seeing it? It only continued to drive home just how powerless he was against the human.

But Logan’s fine. 

Roman shook his head to rid himself of the annoyingly persistent thought. Just cause the human hadn’t hurt the other borrower didn’t mean that he was safe.

Even if the human was proving Roman wrong at every turn.

The human worked quickly, continuing to follow Logan’s precise instructions. Finally, he had a small nest set up right next to the ice pack. It took some coaxing, but Logan was able to get Roman to sit down, his injured arm resting against the cold pack. He shivered a little, but the numbing did help his arm.

‘Okay, that should work.’ The human mumbled to himself, leaning back so to give the two borrowers room.

Roman fidgeted. He glanced between Logan and the human. Logan seemed to show almost no emotions, leaving Roman at a loss of what he was thinking. The human, though, was slightly easier to read, though not by much. He wasn’t looking at either borrower, his dark bangs hiding his eyes. 

‘So... what now?’ Roman asked. They both looked back at him, although the human made an effort to look over Roman, like it was trying not to look directly at him. Why?

‘Would you care to elaborate?’ Logan asked. Roman flailed his good arm uselessly.

‘What do you- I mean about this!’ He said, pointing at the human, who almost seemed to flinch away, ‘What's going to happen now?’

‘I suppose you get some sleep, and when you are well, you can decide what you wish to do.’ Logan said simply. The human’s eyes widened suddenly, and it made a small noise of discomfort. The implications Roman was vaguely trying to convey going straight over Logan’s head, it seemed. The human cleared it’s throat.

‘Logan, he thinks I’m not gonna let him go.’

Logan blinked, looking back at the human, then at Roman. He could practically see the gears turning, and his eyes lit up as he realized that what the human said was true. Then he sighed, annoyed that he hadn’t picked that up himself.

‘I can assure you, Virgil won’t hurt you.’

... “Virgil”?

Only now did Roman finally process what the human’s name was. He choked on a laugh. He glanced at the human, raising an eyebrow.

‘Really?’ He said, failing to hide his mirth, ‘What kind of name is that?’ The human, in turn, raised an eyebrow, cocking its head.

‘Mine. And a good one, too, Princey.’ It jested, the corner of its mouth rising ever-so-slightly.

‘Whatever you say, Emo Nightmare.’ He shot back.

‘Enough with the inane titles, both of you,’ Logan scolded, then turned to Roman, ‘I am Logan. What is your name?’

‘Uh, Roman.’

‘Oh, and he say’s my name is weird!’

... Just when did Roman start smiling?

‘Well, whatever,’ The human continued, moving to the side. It stood up, reaching out to the vent. Roman gasped when it took hold of his hook, still dangling from the vent. Oh no. It was going to get rid of it. Without the hook, he would have a much harder time escaping this mess. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh-

He flinched slightly when the human’s hand was suddenly near him. But just as quickly, it retreated. In it’s place was his hook, the string neatly folded up so that it was out of the way. Roman frowned, looking back up at the human.

‘I won’t try to stop ya if you wanna leave, Princey,’ It said, rubbing the back of it’s neck, ‘So, when you’re feeling better, I think the closest hole into the walls is behind the dresser. Left corner. You can’t miss it.’ The human then stood up, returning to the bed and disappearing under the covers.

... Huh.

Logan watched the entire conversation with intrigue. He smiled slightly at Roman.

‘He is not so bad once you become acquainted to him. You two seem to get along quite well, considering the circumstances. Partnership with a human can yield surprising benefits, for both parties involved,’ He said, starting to walk around the dollhouse, ‘Consider it. You may be able to gain access to things you have never considered.’ Then he was gone.

Roman frowned. Was Logan suggesting... friendship? With a human?

No. He was nuts. Insane. It was a miracle that Roman wasn’t dead, or stuck in some sort of cage. He couldn’t become friends with a human!

... Although...

By morning, Roman was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

This is a very bad idea, Roman thought. 

It had been three days since he’d had that encounter with the human and borrower. He should have left. But Logan’s last words had stuck with him.

This is such a horrible, no good, very bad idea! He crept forward, looking around the large toaster. The human looked so tired, leaning against the counter like that. Roman had learned that the bean thrived on the coffee it was waiting for, almost not even being able to function without it.

He briefly wondered if this “Virgil” would ever have been able to survive if he were a borrower, as he was in that moment. Probably not.

Ding.

The human began to pour himself a mug of the dark liquid, and Roman could see the change in him immediately. He stopped slouching, smiling as his eyes focused more. Roman snorted. Humans were said to have no magic, yet witnessing him literally brew a potion out of beans that brought him back to life? He was hard pressed to believe that.

The human hummed, beginning to move again. He opened a nearby drawer, pulling out a handful of supplies. Roman could spot a couple of rubber bands, paperclips, and other office supplies. The human then placed the bundle on the opposite side of the counter to where Roman hid, by one of the two “secret” doors into the walls.

The human had been doing this a lot over the past few days. Sometimes it would be random items for supplies, other times it would be food. Roman shook his head. While the offer had been useful to him, the bean could have at least tried to be more discrete in the act. At this point, Roman was almost getting offended.

Then he felt eyes on him.

Roman flinched back as the human’s eyes caught him, glancing over. The human also flinched back, quickly looking away.

‘Hey, Roman,’ He said, rubbing his neck, ‘Uh... you hungry?’

'Uh... Yeah, I could eat.’

The human nodded, beginning to look through the cupboards for something appropriate. He ended up pulling out a small jar of some jam.

‘Toast sound good?’ Roman nodded.

The two were silent as the human began preparing the food. Roman hummed.

‘So, Panic-At-The-Everywhere,’ He began, causing the human to chuckle quietly, ‘Why are you being so nice?’

The human didn’t answer right away. He sighed, averting his eyes. He finished making the toast and cut off a square, passing it over to Roman.

‘It was my fault you got hurt,’ Roman blinked. Well, he hadn’t expected that. ‘I mean, if I didn’t rush over, you wouldn’t have- geeze, it could have been worse! You could have died falling from that high! If you had fallen in the wrong way, you could have broken your neck, and I wouldn’t havebeenabletolivewithmyself-’

‘Okay, okay, calm down!’ Roman interjected as the bean began to morph into a near incoherent rant. He stepped away from the toaster, completely forgetting the offered toast. ‘Look, I’m okay. It was barely a scratch, see?’ He moved his arm, demonstrating that, indeed, he was fine.

‘Wrong arm, Princey.’

Roman winced at that. He was hoping that the human wouldn’t have noticed that he was brandishing the uninjured arm. In reality, his arm was still hurting, and it was hard to move. It was a major reason to why he hadn’t actually left the building yet.

‘It still hurts, doesn’t it?’ Roman didn’t answer. Just looked away.

The human hummed, turning to the fridge. He reached inside the freezer, quickly pulling out something. He held it out to Roman. He squinted at the small white thing between the beans fingers. 

‘It’s a mini-marshmallow,’ The human said, shrugging, ‘Logan suggested it as a substitute to an ice pack.’

Roman gingerly stepped closer, taking the frozen treat. It was freezing, the cold already seeping into his hands. But, unlike a cube of ice, it was soft in his hands. He pressed it against his shoulder, sighing as the numbing took away the slight pain. He could see how this was a better alternative. There was no risk of it melting and making a mess.

And, he thought cheekily, once it became useless, he would have a sweet treat.

‘... Hey, would you like to watch a movie while you rest?’ The bean asked. Roman blinked at him. The bean just shrugged. ‘Logan says you shouldn’t move your arm too much, otherwise it won’t heal properly. Might be boring just sitting up here on your own.’

Roman hesitated. After observing the human for the past few days, he’d come to realize that he was not, in fact, a deadly monster like many humans. He was gentle, though his... fashion, tended to make him seem more scary and intimidating than he actually was. Geeze, Roman had seen him catch a spider, only to take it into the garden outside. What kind of evil being would go out of their way to help a small creature like that?

‘... Can we watch a Disney movie?’

The human began to laugh. He shook his head, looking right at Roman for the first time.

‘The little prince is a Disney fan? Why am I not surprised?’ Roman huffed.

‘What’s wrong with princes?’ He demanded. The human just laughed again, turning to go to the TV.

‘Any preferences?’ He asked as he began looking through his collection.

Roman would just stay for a few days. Just until his arm was better. Then he would move on, like he should. 

But, in the meantime, he would watch all the movies he had always wanted to watch, but never got the chance to. Yeah...

~~~~~~~~~~

‘Lo, come on. You gave me your word!’

‘Roman, I am reading.’

‘Oh no. You know it’s movie night. Get out here.’

Logan sighed as he was ganged up on. He turned away from his phone, glaring at both Roman and Virgil.

‘You two are insufferable.’ He declared. But, he stepped away to join them.

‘Yes! Another victory!’ Roman yelled. He rushed over to Virgil’s waiting hand, practically vibrating in his excitement. Logan rolled his eyes, walking at a much calmer gait.

‘So, what movie are we going to be watching?’ Logan asked as he sat down in Virgil’s palm, right next to Roman.

‘Was finally able to get a hold of Frozen for Romano.’ Virgil said, chuckling at Roman’s indignant sputtering.

‘I so hope that nickname doesn’t stick.’ He muttered to himself.

He really had only meant to stay in the building for a week. But that week and turning into two, then turned into a month. And the longer he stayed, the more he realized he didn’t wish to be anywhere else.

How could he leave his new friends behind, after all?

The three friends talked vehemently while Virgil carried them into the lounge room. The movie was already prepared, and a bowl of popcorn was waiting on the couch. Virgil placed his hand down on the pile of pillows, where the two borrowers graciously sat down. A handful of kernels were in a small saucer between them, and Roman eagerly grabbed one. Virgil laughed, resting an arm around the two borrowers as he got himself comfy.

‘Alright, lets get this movie night started!’ Roman called, then took a big bite out of his snack.

As the movie began, Logan leaned closer. 

‘Are you pleased that you chose to stay?’ He asked quietly. Roman just smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

‘Specs, breaking my arm was the best thing to ever happen to me!’

‘You didn’t break your arm. You only-’

‘Oh, just enjoy the movie, Microsoft Nerd!’

[mothmansfriend]

when i’m sad oh god i’m sad (pt. 2)

link to pt. 1

follows a very similar timeline to @tearxofink‘s fic Rules for a Functioning Alcoholic but will prob have differences (such as no established relationships) and takes place in @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey au after the mention of Remus possibly having undiagnosed bipolar disorder

update: i think its important to acknowledge roughly where this takes place in the big timeline bc D doesn’t really drink past freshman yr in this AU because of self preservation and trauma, alcoholism was more an issue before then in high school (when remus and d were Rowdy Boys) but the stress of Logan’s concussion lead to some heavy drinking that was caught quickly by Virgil because Remus Cannot Keep Secrets.

summary: Remus has undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder and is dealing with a severe depressive episode in the aftermath of realizing that binge drinking with D wasn’t just his own search to Feel Something, but was also D’s relapse into alcoholism. Remus comes to the realization of lost time during manic episodes and refuses help.

tw: graphic descriptions of a depressive episode, self harm (burning),  suicidal thoughts, and suicidal intent (but not attempt). unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, mentioned alcoholism, undiagnosed mental illness, miscommunications on shared trauma, ask to tag if i missed any.

There are a number of places that are simply uncomfortable to sleep. Barely sitting up and using the chairs provided by the previous tenants as a pillow is certainly one of them. It takes Remus a moment to identify what woke him up as there's another round of knocking on his door and he doesn’t want to respond. It’s bright out,the sun is blocked from his figure by the curtains covering most of the windows. He hears Roman’s muffled voice as the locked doorknob jiggles, “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is”.

Their footsteps move away and Virgil speaks, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that-” his voice fades as they enter the kitchen.

Remus can barely pick himself off the floor before his phone lit up with a notification.

the shittier twin: You good? LMK when you’re coming home, Virgil is lowkey freaking out  (received: 10:14)

He stares at the words willing his brain to focus as he decides, maybe he should reply.

He sends a photo of a fat pigeon he took outside a club him and D got kicked out of a few weeks ago. It would be clear that the picture was taken at a different time, but does get message of ‘I’m alive’ across. Which is about as much as Remus is willing to communicate to people that haven’t even tried to contact him before now. How sad is it that his twin brother didn’t even check on him until six days later. Or maybe he should be asking if it’s sad that after four days Roman still hasn’t noticed that he’s home, or that it took Roman six to even ask? Remus spends all this time in the theatre and in the arts studio, and still Roman was the only one to ask, though at the request of someone who wants to get mad at him. He considers if maybe that he is a bad person, and that isn’t something he normally would care about, but if he weren’t then people might have checked on him. He usually hangs out with D almost everyday and he swears he’s never been gone more than maybe four days. But no one else seems concerned at all.

He considers reasons why this might be and gets stuck on Roman’s comment that he hasn’t been gone that long, and the implications then of him being gone longer. Things that don’t really make sense, but he knows losing your train of thought and getting distracted is a part of ADHD, but maybe, this is much more concerning. How does he know that he’s only ever been gone so long, maybe those lapses are more than a few minutes of zoning out. Which leads to, does Remus know who he is during these lapses? The contrast between the two prince twins have always been clear in their behaviour, Roman who follows every word their parents whisper in his ear. The boy grew up to be an actor after years of who takes any command without thought at that chance to be on top, and revelled in praise. It’s the cowards way of survival, are you really living if you’re not you? He knows Roman wasn’t quite loving that, but he still complied. Remus has always known exactly who he is and who he always will be. But the uncertainty of who he is in those spaces that seem to be taking up more and more space, maybe he;s been following someones script too?

He’s constantly changing his mind and forgetting where he is, are his feelings his? If everything the thought he knew about himself is slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass than how does he make it stop?

—

Virgil slides into the recently empty chair next to Roman the second Patton gets up to ask the waitress for another round of coffee, he steals one of Roman’s sausages and speaks, “By the way, I’m catching a ride to your place with you and D”.

Roman squawks at the sausage thief, “Why? I already told you Remus isn’t home!”

Virgil rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know, just humour me. I went to talk to Joan before we left and Thomas said Remus texted to apologize for missing practice, he’s never done that before! I just wanna come check, you can make fun of me later or whatever.”

“Fine, whatever, I know you’d just show up anyway. I don’t think him texting Thomas means anything though, even if it is weird.”

“Well we can agree to disagree then.”

—

The entry to the apartment the Prince twins share with D was just as full of banter as expected. D and Roman irritating Virgil without effort but Virgil matching that with his own comebacks and determination to check on Remus. “Alright, Emo Knightmare, let’s go knock on his cave door so I can know you again, that he isn’t home” Roman drops his bag next to the couch and heads down the shared hallway of D, Remus, and the storage closet. D walks past him with comments of a essay due tomorrow and disappears. Roman walks down and knocks on the door sternly once maintaining eye contact with Virgil knowing there will not be a response. Virgil follows him and he knocks again after a moment and jiggles the knocked door handle. “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is.” Roman turns and leads them back out into the living room towards the kitchen.

Virgil pauses for a moment watching the door before he follows, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that he actually texted to apologize for not showing up today. You know when Remus is out he never remembers to charge his phone, it just seems weird.”

Roman exhales and wordlessly pulls out his phone shooting off a text to his twin before pulling some leftovers out of the fridge to offer to Virgil despite the fact they had eaten not long ago. Virgil accepts and he puts it on two plates for the microwave. Roman’s phone vibrates on the counter with a text. The emo leans over to read and snorts, “Wait, is Remus’s name actually ‘the shittier twin’ in your phone? He just send a picture of  what appears to be an obese pigeon, that doesn’t answer my question at all!”

Roman shrugs, “Of course it is, and yeah that sounds about right, it’s like he’s trying to communicate through hieroglyphics, he’s just telling us he’s fine.”

Virgil’s dark eyes examine Roman’s face for any reflection that he’s just trying to make him stop bothering him with his concern, but when he sees nothing he drops his defensiveness, “Yeah, okay, he’s your brother, he’s kind of like a cat I guess. He always comes home right?”

The microwave beeps and Roman slides the extra plate in front of Virgil, “Exactly, he’s just like this, I’ll text you when he comes back. You don’t need to worry about it, Virge.”

Virgil shoots him a small smile before taking his plate to the couch closely followed by the oldest Prince twin as they settle down with Netflix until they need to leave for their respective classes.

—

Roman blearily wipes his eyes as he wakes up in his dark room and rolls over to check the time. 2:34am wake up and bathroom break time. He briefly considers just rolling over and waiting four or five hours until he needs to get up for class, but decides there’s just a higher chance of getting a restless sleep the rest of the night. The hockey captain rolls out of bed standing in his room shirtless and only wearing a random pair of soft sleep pants and stumbles out of his room, crossing the living room and entry way he’s about to try the handle of the dark bathroom door when it opens to reveal a tall dark figure.

Roman jumps back with an admittedly embarrassing squawk before recognizing the dark figure to be a freshly showered, exhausted, and almost weak looking Remus. The two stood in silence for a moment, Remus not even reacting to the sight of his brother. Roman awkwardly laughed for a moment, “Holy shit, Remus! I didn't even realize you were home.”

Remus stares emptily, moving to walk away without replying, Roman stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “Are you like, uh, okay? You kind of look like shit”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as suddenly Remus’s face hardens into a snarl, “Oh fuck you, Roman.” His voice cracks halfway through but it doesn’t do anything to diminish the venom in his voice, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Christ! If you’re going to be an asshole then nevermind, I just wanted to check up on you. You know, like a concerned brother just might do?” Roman fires back suddenly feeling defensive. The tone of voice Remus uses almost sounds scared to him but he doesn’t have the energy to pry at Remus in the hallway less than 6 feet from D’s door at 2:30am.

“You don’t get to play any kind of concerned brother role right now! You don’t just get to decide to be concerned one day, it’s all about appearances with you, I dont fuck with that!” Remus’s voice raises as he gets more and more riled up, his voice sounds like shit as if he hasn’t used it in days, “Tell me when you think I got home, Princey, huh? You don't know shit about me and it’s time you stopped asking like you do.” He steps towards Roman edging back down the hallway to the living room.

“Why am I supposed to know when you got home?” Roman fires back, “You’re an adult! You’ve taken care of yourself fine for years, I’m not your parent I don’t need to know where you are twenty-four-fucking-seven!”

Vaguely, Roman hears D’s bedroom door open and feels brief regret that was smashed by Remus shoving him backwards. “You don’t need to know! But, did you ever think to wonder? Did you ever once care enough to ask? No! I don’t remember ever being gone more than three or four days.”

Roman recoils for a second in confusion but counters standing his ground, “What does that fucking mean? You own a calendar, a phone, you should know your average in the last year has been like five to seven days, you can’t blame me that you decide to go on a bender every 6 months or less. Can’t you ever grow up?”

“It means I don’t know where I was for two to four of those days at least! You self absorbed prick! Fuck!” Remus crumples for a second, his facial expression looks so, lost. He violently grabs and tugs on his still damp hair. He stands back up face guarded once again. “I know I never go out without a plan, I have paid some fucking terrible prices for that that you never need to know about. But, you’re telling me that I was out there and I don’t remember it? And no one thought to mention anything to me? And you’re asking if I’m ‘okay’? Fuck that, fuck you. I’m going back to my room, and ideally I’ll fucking rot and die before I have to look at you again,” Remus seethes before turning and slamming his door without waiting for a response.

Roman sags at his brothers exiting remarks, making tentative eye contact with D who waits in the dark hallway. “I don’t know what to do,” Roman says quietly.

D moves towards him moving them to the couch offering a comforting touch to the remaining twin, “Roman, I cannot tell you that I have any idea about what just happened. But, it seems like he just wants you to be there for him, in his own weird displays of affection he does love you and I think maybe he’s scared sometimes that you don’t care for him, and he lashes out. But right now, you need to go back to sleep so you can go to your boring nine am lecture, and I’ll try to spend time with him tomorrow. Sound good?”

Roman examines D, letting himself feel vulnerable for a moment but trusts that D knows what to do. He’s known the twins since high school, if anyone knew it would be him. “Thank you, D” Roman whispers, leaning into the little affection for a moment before he stands up and moves them back down the hallway.

Roman goes to the bathroom as originally planned but thinks about the things his younger brother had said. How much is he missing? What does it mean for Remus to simply not remember days at a time? Is it because of drinking too much or something else?

As Roman tucks himself back into bed, preparing himself for the restless sleep he had been trying to avoid. His mind wanders, and he can’t help but think that maybe he should be questioning blood stains on Remus’s carpet a little more.

[marginalgloss]

stunned by coffee

Authentocrats: Culture, Politics and the New Seriousness is a new book by Joe Kennedy. It begins with recalling an incident from a few years ago, when Owen Smith, who was then regarded as a potential leader of the Labour party, made a bizarre comment about how 'frothy coffee' (cappuccino) was new to him in a small cafe in Wales. The author takes apart this remark with the grace of a surgeon. He explains how that area, like many others in the UK, had been shaped over generations by waves of Italian immigration, and that Smith’s remark was shaped out of ignorance with the intent of appealing to a vague notion of working class authenticity. For a certain kind of person this can be reduced to an exclamation over what Smith called 'posh biscuits and a little cup':

'He was not some member of the metropolitan elite, he was saying, unlike Corbyn: no, he was a real prole, stunned by coffee, dumbfounded by little biscuits. And yet anyone, by spending about twenty-five seconds on the internet, can tell that Smith is by background part of a liberal middle class, endowed with substantial cultural capital, and by profession — namely as a one-time PR consultant for a huge, European-based pharmaceuticals company — precisely the kind of person who could instantly pick a cappuccino out of a lineup of seven hundred ways of serving coffee.'

Smith is perhaps one of the softer targets of the book – the 'frothy coffee' remark was considered risible from the moment it was uttered – but this incident works well as one of the most absurd examples of a trend that's evident in the behaviour of almost every significant political and media figure in Britain. I was only surprised that the book doesn't spend much time on Nigel Farage, but perhaps he would require a volume all to himself. On the whole it's highly perspicacious, funny and true. It feels like a very modern blend of polemic, critical theory and memoir; a bit more rigorous than the average online opinion-haver, while revelling in a certain aggro vibe that leaves it lurking several steps away from academia.

Aside from the directly political angle, the book also goes off on several long digressions into the nature of authenticity in popular culture. The author allows himself a very long leash in these chapters, which range far and wide through literature, film and TV. Some of the examples seem more relevant than others; certainly I couldn't summarise now what point was trying to emerge about Peter Jackson and the Lord of the Rings movies. But I enjoyed the passages on Henry Green, who is still one of our most interesting and neglected post-war novelists. And there's some very good stuff here about the nineties in Britain, our long hangover from lad culture, and the uneasy relationship between Millennials and Gen Xers.

The thing about engaging so thoroughly with the question of authenticity in politics and culture is that it becomes difficult for the book to extricate itself from it. At times the theory here seems to be urging the reader to turn away from arguments about 'the kind of people' they see before them towards a kind of broad class-based solidarity, based on the idea that we all have more in common than what separates us. But at the same time, it can't quite set aside the language of 'reactionary traditionalism' that it spends so long lamenting elsewhere. Meaning still pivots on assumptions about things that belong and things that don't.

I like, for example, that the author lampoons the fact that 'the Times and the Telegraph both employ several writers whose job seems to involve little but acting as if the greatest social ills facing the UK in 2017 are the popularity of the avocado, the rise of craft beer and the ubiquity of beards.' This is true. It is a stupid tendency. We know this. But immediately after these lines, a whole crowd of other assumptions pile in:

'Such writers have an implied audience of comfortably-off professional people — generally men, given the masculinist tone of this writing — in their forties and early fifties who know, or think they know, what a “hipster” looks like and where they can be found. Indeed, the reason they are aware regarding the whereabouts of the people they believe are hipsters is that, frequently enough, they’re collecting rent from them.'

As drive-by humour, this kind of works. It's a passage which creates a whole little society of its own, in just two sentences. But we're supposed to take it more seriously than that. The problem is that it's rejected the character-based assumptions of the avocado/craft beer/beard-complainers, and replaced them with a set of its own. Not long after this, the author recounts a story from a friend who complains that their landlord turns up to carry out house inspections 'on a fucking Vespa'. By now we're a long way from frothy coffees, but the implication is surely that they didn't really belong on that scooter.

Another example. At one point the Labour MP Jess Phillips is cited as an example of someone who brandishes their working class credentials as part of their public persona; gleefully the author comes in with the left-field rejoinder that 'Phillips talks incessantly about her West Midlands upbringing whilst typically failing to note that it was entirely middle-class'. It may be true that her accent and her demeanour feed into our ideas about what a 'real' politician looks like, but to scrutinise her origins in this way is just playing the authentocrats at their own game. This kind of assessment requires the kind of snap-judgement of authenticity that the book spends so long bemoaning.

The book expends a great deal of energy in undermining the media-led construct of a homogenous majority of working class people whose 'legitimate concerns' include our nuclear deterrent, immigration, benefit fraud, etc. This is right, I think, and on that front the book is a strong and focussed corrective to that idea. But at the same time, there is a certain amount of eye-rolling at the idea that anyone could believe earnestly in these things. It's difficult to explain what I mean by this without falling into the same old trap: that to pretend to cater to 'legitimate concerns' is to manifest a secret contempt for the working class. To be clear, I've nothing at stake: I don't have to cater to anyone. I have no interest in listening to points of view I find immoral, and in most cases I'd much prefer if politicians were more open and principled about their disagreements.

The problem is that this book has nothing to say to anyone who might earnestly believe in some of the things it holds at arm's length. Should it? I don't know. Whether or not that's a problem for the reader probably depends on what they are expecting. There's not much in the way of solutions here. It takes a certain amount for granted from its audience: that the idea of a nuclear deterrent is oxymoronic; that immigration has brought vast benefits to this country, many of which are incalculable; that a Corbyn-led Labour party would in general be a highly progressive force for good in the world. And yes, these are all positions that I agree with – I'm not the one who needs convincing here. But Authentocrats left me with no idea of how one might go about talking to anyone who thinks differently.

At one point there's an anecdote about encountering a flyer in a pub, printed with some cringeworthy pro-English doggerel. The author has a bit of fun with the poet’s complaint that nobody teaches Shakespeare or Wilde or Shaw anymore. But then the flyer slips away, useful only as a prop for a wider point about the vacuous nature of English patriotism. Nationalism holds no appeal for me; maybe such things are mostly deserving of contempt. But given that these feelings have thrived on (real or imagined) intellectual contempt for so long, I can't help but wonder what would happen if we tried something else.

[thesffcorner]

The Wicked + The Divine Vol. 3

The Wicked + The Divine Vol.3 collects issues 12 to 17 of the ongoing series written by Kieron Gillen. This time, Jamie McKelvie is joined by 5 guest artists: Kate Brown, Tula Lotay, Stephanie Hans, Leila del Luca and Brandon Graham. Like the art, the story gets a change in pace as well, as instead of following Laura’s investigation, we follow lots of the different Gods, as well as Beth, Cassandra’s former intern. I think it will be best I go issue by issue, since each one focuses on a different character and has a different artists. So as such we start with issue 12 and Kate Brown. I was not a fan of Brown’s art; it’s a very loose, zine style art, that could work in a different story, but in a glossy story about rock stars and Gods, it really didn’t fit. The colors are muted and washed out, making the inks thin and lacking in impact. All of the characters look too similar, and I was having a hard time distinguishing between them, especially because the hairstyle was the only difference. This especially sucks, because issue 12 deals with what I was asking last time, which was the relationship between Baal and Inanna. Baal has quickly become my absolute favorite character, and Inanna was a close second. I really loved the scene where Baal gives Beth the exclusive interview, and even Brown’s art manages to capture the range of emotions he goes through (though I still feel someone like McKelvie would have nailed that scene). I liked the fight between Baal and Morrigan too, because they are essentially on opposite sides of the same conflict; Morrigan loved Baphomet who killed Inanna. Issue 13 focuses on Tara, and I enjoyed it a lot. The art is actually gorgeous; Tula Lotay is an artist to look out for. Her colors and pencils work perfectly together; the whole issue has a very melancholic feel, which works really well, as it’s told through Tara’s suicide letter. The way she draws Tara and Baal is beautiful, and it works perfectly with the story of Tara constantly being uncomfortable in her own skin because all anyone ever focuses on is how beautiful she is. We find out a bit more about Anake’s plans too, and I am a bit sad this is the only time we see Tara in the series (at least so far). Issue 14 was my favorite, both in terms of plot and the art, as Jamie McKelvie is back. I don’t know why McKelvie was absent this issue, and if the different artists were a deliberate choice, but since this issue has a lot of reused art from previous volumes, I imagine he had other engagements. It also focuses on Wooden, who is rather simple to draw since he has a Daft Punk get up and no face. Surprisingly, Wooden was a character I liked reading about; he is definitely a character you love to hate; he’s a coward, a sadist, a sexist and an overall messed up person. Being in his mind was an exercise in some pretty dark trains of thought. He has a twisted obsession with Cassandra, which is made all the more creepy when we find out what happens behind closed doors with his Valkyrie; made more extreme by the fact that this is the most nudity and sex we have seen in the series so far. This issue gives us a lot more insight into what is happening with Anake, including who killed the judge, and why Wooden is working for her. If all the issues in this volume were like this, it would be a 5 star read. Issue 15 is illustrated by Stephanie Hans, who is an excellent artist, especially for cover art, but her work just didn’t wow me here. I really love her style; it’s very much digital painting rather than comics, and her use of bold color and overexposed lighting makes some of the panels downright gorgeous, especially in combination with this issue focusing a lot on Ameratsu’s reminiscing of her past. However, I feel like maybe Hans was rushed because the present day panels were more than a little wonky, with weird posing and off model characters. The actual story was interesting, but nothing I was too thrilled by; it follows up on Cassandra and Hazel’s fight from volume 1, about Hazel ‘cosplaying a Japanese deity’. It’s an interesting discussion on appropriation, culture and what we derive meaning from, but I feel like it was ill placed, especially after the bombshell of an issue we had with Wooden. The only real revelation we get is that most, if not all the people who got chosen for the Pantheon were fans before they became Gods, which I’m sure will be relevant in the future. Issue 16 focuses on the Morrigan and Baphomet and it’s illustrated by Leila del Luca. Again, I don’t have a problem with del Luca’s art per say, but it’s just really jarring compared to what I’m used to expect from this series, and even following Hans’ art from the previous issue. She has a simple style; scratchy inks and pencils and muted, flat colors, which worked in the scenes where we are following the humans, but could have benefited from a lot more atmosphere and grandeur when we move into the Gods. I do like the way she draws the Morrigan and Baphomet; not only does she make them very handsome, she gives them a vulnerable feel which works well with their youth, and the gothic love story we get. Like I said, we find out how Morrigan and Baphomet became Gods, and that Morrigan was in fact the one who created Baphomet, which is why both she and Baal think that Baphomet is her responsibility and think he’s a false God. There are some hints that the Pantheon is finally realizing what is happening, but mostly the focus is on the characters which I appreciated. The last issue, issue 17 happens to also be the worst one. I won’t mince words; the art is plain ugly. It’s loose, very stylized, none of the characters look like they have anything to do with the series so far and the colors are barely worth mentioning. If this hadn’t been an issue that’s a part of a series I enjoy, I would have never picked this up. The art was so bad it actually made me not pay attention to the story, to the point I had to read the issue twice. The story too, is not great. It focuses on Sakhmet, who is the one of the Pantheon, who is my least favorite character, and not a particularly interesting presence, seeing as she is a hedonist through and through. I liked the implication the Morrigan makes, when she tells Sakhmet she is likewise imprisoned, but just can’t see the bars of her cage. The end part of the issue is set up for what happens next; it’s also illustrated by McKelvie, which is nice, but really it’s just a cliffhanger. I won’t lie and say they didn’t sell me on reading more of the series; I really want to know what happens next. Lastly, I want to comment on the Video Games section; they are 1 page comics illustrated by McKelvie, that show a bit of personality from Inanna, Tara, Amaterasu/Brunhilde and the Morrigan. They were fine; I liked the one about Inanna the best. Overall, storywise, the best volume. If the art hadn’t been so inconsistent and all over the place I would give it 5 stars; as is it’s still an important escalation for the series, but not entirely flawless.

goodreads

[emeraldspiral]

So I saw Wonder Woman tonight. It starts off strong, but it really loses momentum and just starts to feel long and slow after a while. Of course developing a headache halfway through the movie might’ve hampered my enjoyment a bit. I really liked Steve and Diana’s characters. I liked the arc they set up for Diana and the message of the film. They managed to make what’s usually the worst part of a fish-out-of-water story the best part of the movie. There’s a lot of really funny moments and some that are just plain cute. One of my favorites is Diana squeeing over the first baby she’s ever seen. They didn’t make Diana or the Amazons obnoxiously preachy or judgemental or load the film with shallow social commentary. They even make it pretty clear early on in the movie that when they refer to “man/mankind” and “men’s world” they aren’t talking about the male gender or The Patriarchy™, they’re distinguishing between two different lifeforms. The film isn’t about blaming or shaming anyone for the ills of the world. The message of the film is essentially that the bad things in the world aren’t what matter. The good is what matters.

Now for the problems.

For starters, you didn’t figure out that Diana, not the sword, was the god-killer immediately, you do not have a pulse. And when the revelation comes, it doesn’t really change anything and it makes you wonder why Hippolyta was so afraid of telling Diana the truth. The whole time I was expecting a Vader reveal where Diana ends up distraught and horrified that her father was Ares and her mother had actually banged him and helped him do horrible things that make her no better than the humans she judged unworthy of their aid... But that’s not what happens. It turns out she’s actually *GASP* Zeus’s daughter... I mean, she already was, but I guess the implication is that he banged her mom and she wasn’t actually made of clay... as if that makes any difference. Or maybe the significance is in the fact that she exists specifically to kill Ares... Except she already thought that was the reason for her existence as an Amazon... That was the entire reason she insisted on going with Steve at the beginning of the movie. So that element of the reveal also changes nothing.

Another thing that immediately bugged me was that somehow they get picked up and moved onto another boat and Diana manages to sleep through it. And then we don’t see Steve making any phone calls or releasing a carrier pigeon or anything and yet somehow he walks into a department store to get Diana some clothes and Etta Candy is just there, and she even walks up to him and says she’s surprised he’s alive, so she clearly wasn’t expecting him. Does she moonlight at that department store when he’s not around? Because I can’t think of any other reason for that to happen if she’s supposed to be employed as Steve’s secretary. Following that, Etta gets left behind (tragic, because she was by far the best side-character in the movie) and we see Steve and Diana make their way toward the battlefield, and Diana’s clearly not carrying her sword and shield, which she gave to Etta for safe keeping. But then they just magically appear in her hands when she decides it’s time to go out and liberate some Belgians.

The action was kinda lackluster. I think the best battle was actually the first one on the beach because it was bright and colorful and pitted skilled, but technologically outmatched warriors against soldiers with guns and reveals that Diana’s the only invulnerable one among them. After that it gets kind of fatiguing going from one washed out gray setting to another, and there’s not a whole lot of tension because it’s an invincible goddess going up against regular soldiers with regular weapons. There’s like, no reason for Steve and the others to set foot on the battlefield when all Diana needs to do is stand around until the idiot Germans use up all their bullets on her. It would’ve been more satisfying to see Diana face obstacles that require some kind of clever or unconventional methods to overcome.

The guy they got to play Ares was... interesting. I mean, it makes for a good twist that it’s not the guy you’d expect, but it’s hard to take him seriously once he and Diana start fighting. I kept waiting for him to shed his disguise, and he never does and they even show him in the past looking exactly the same. The ancient Greek god of war is a skinny ginger dude with a mustache. Also, is he really legit “not the god of war, but the god of truth”? He had the lasso on when he said it.

Another thing I thought was really dumb was how Steve dies and then the movie acts like that’s the Despair Event Horizon and Ares says some dumb shit trying to make it out like Steve’s heroic sacrifice somehow proves that humans are bastards who should all die? Also, he goes all Palpatine and tries to goad her into killing Dr. Poison and it’s like... This is literally that first time they’ve met. I get that Diana knows who she is and what she’s done, but they hardly established a rivalry between them that makes it feel as if it would be really hard for her to resist the temptation to smash her with a tank. But even if she did I mean... Ares ain’t wrong. She does deserve to die. She has no remorse for her actions. Diana has no reason to believe she has any redeeming qualities or any desire to be redeemed, so why would killing her be worse than killing any other soldier?

[lunamusings]

Gravity Well

Chapter 7: The Dual Abyss

A Loki x Lithium Fanfiction (CanonxOC)

Set before the events of Thor, Loki receives as large mysterious crate of alcohol the day before his birthday. What seems like a strange yet benign gift from an anonymous person ends up being more than he, or the woman at the bottom of the crate bargained for.

Chapter Warnings: Loki dwells on cleavage for a hot second, old people accuse Loki of assault in vague terms

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki could not place the exact time it happened but he was certain it did.

He had been actively putting it out of his mind, using his work as the new king as an excuse not to dwell on where his thoughts took him. This was not that difficult, considering his father and brother both left him with a realm on the brink of war. Even in the warrior culture that was Asgard, there was still a great deal that was required to handle this in a way that did not incur tremendous costs.

The moment Lithium floated into the hall with his mother though, waiting for the beginning of a small ceremony that would serve as his coronation, bedecked in a deep shimmering charcoal gray with that brilliant green lining in her long, floating sleeves, all excuses for ignoring what was happening inside him made a mad dash through the nearest set of curtains and into the world. His face was schooled into a polite smile befitting the arrival of his mother and his friend, rather than the awed lopsided grin that existed behind the mask.

Such resplendence is perfectly befitting the woman who should be my queen.

Wait…what?

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and smiled at both women in his life, looking much like sagely day and bewitching night had come watch him take the king's vows. He had been perfectly composed until their approach, and now his palms seemed to be sweating, which did nothing for his grip on Gungnir.

Frigga reached over and adjusted his collar. "It's okay to be nervous."

Had it been anyone but his mother saying this, he would have been confident that the true nature of his unsettled condition was hidden. Frigga saw far more than anyone else he knew so she could either genuinely think him to be nervous, or she could know exactly what vexed him, and may have picked Lithium's dress just to exacerbate the issue.

His money was on the latter, given that carefully chosen hues and neckline with the exact depth of plunge to be enticing, but not so much that she would be considered immodest.

People often wondered where his cunning and trickery came from. They clearly did not know Frigga.

He sighed softly, rolling his shoulders. They seemed to hold his arms heavily as of late. There was so much to work through, that even this small ceremony seemed like just one more obstacle between himself and the hours of preparation needed to bring Asgard back into a safe state. Once that was done, he could rest. He could even hand the kingship back without regrets when his father woke. Maybe then, Odin would be proud of him. He would succeed in doing what Thor had not.

Loki followed Lithium with his eyes as she slipped through the door to take her place in the crowd. She glanced back at him for a brief moment with a bright smile before the guard closed the door behind her. He took one last deep breath and let it out slowly before holding out his hand to his mother.

She took it with a knowing smile. "You wish it was Lithium here with you."

"Whatever do you mean?" Loki's voice was steady, but he knew the moment he looked away, even with how brief it was, that he gave himself away.

"Don't worry my son, you secret is safe with me." Frigga grinned. "Shall we begin then?"

Loki nodded toward the guards to open the door.

Lithium was still standing in her place when the others in attendance had already filed out. He had given the ceremony his full attention, so he was lost on why, the moment everyone else was out of sight, her hands balled into fists, every muscle tensed and her shoulders began shaking. She looked up at him and only when their eyes met did the snarl ease from her face.

He was down the stairs in seconds.

"What's wrong?" He put a hand on one of her trembling shoulders.

She looked up at him, eyes glimmering with fresh tears. "I wanted to punch the smug, self-righteous sneers off of the face of everyone around me…"

"Whatever for?" He let go of her shoulder and took her hand, feeling the trembling start anew. He tucked it into the crook of his arm.

"They were whispering all kinds of terrible things." She followed his gentle tug on her arm and fell in step with him. "About you…"

Loki sighed. To say he was used to such things would be an understatement, but Lithium had only been there a little over a month and had met few people she spent much time with. There were people present who had no idea who she was or to whom she was attached. He was not surprised in the least she heard every doubt and fear muttered by those around her, given her bizarrely keen sense of hearing.

"I am sorry you had to listen to that." He paused to nod to the guard who opened the door to the long balcony just outside the hall for them. "There are those who do not approve of my kingship. Some are more vocal about that than others and most unfortunately, you were likely in a substantial group of those individuals."

They stood at the railing, Loki reluctantly letting go of her hand and she leaned her arms on the railing. They watched a flock of small, jewel-toned birds flow through the air, their freedom in altitude in contrast to the weight of the silence. Then Lithium looked up at him, her face soft yet serious.

"People are entitled to their opinion, sure." Her jaw tightened before she continued. "But they have no excuse for what they were saying…how could they think you would bring Asgard to ruin?  Or somehow at least cause the downfall of traditional values?"

She chuckled wryly, her serious expression cracking at little. "Also apparently I'm multiple women, a whole "collection of ill-used women to sate your lascivious proclivities", and your dressing each of me similarly so no one will notice."

“Lascivious proclivities?” Loki blinked repeatedly, before letting his face fall into his hands. "That would explain the downfall of traditional values. You were surrounded by the more elderly guests."

"Funny that they attribute that to you, when Fandral is a million percent more likely to have a harem." She pantomimed gagging. "Though the man has the worst pick-up lines, so it wouldn't be particularly large."

Loki turned away for a moment, disguising the fullness of his laugh into one hand. While she underestimated the effect Fandral's "pick-up lines" because she laughed in his face the first time he directed them at her, the former part of her assessment was accurate.

"Maybe I should be flattered that they thought me capable of such feat of charm, given the that Thor and Fandral have never been short on such attention, and I am different type of person."

Dark, sullen, effeminate, untrustworthy, deviant…and now a monster…

Lithium shook her head. "I wish it had been more complimentary. They were already predicting succession difficulties with all the bastard children you've supposedly made already."

That would be quite the revelation when these fictional children came out blue…

The ridiculousness of these accusations and rumors would have been genuinely hilarious had they not also been suggesting unsavory things of her. While Asgard was not particularly strict about intimacy outside of marriage relationships, it was strongly encouraged to be responsible about it. It was frowned upon to make children out of the context of a committed relationship. With protective measures for all involved in the making in abundance, there was little excuse for bastard children.

And Lithium had no idea about the implications for herself.

"I apologize for their unfounded assumptions about your character."

Lithium's eyebrow raised and she shrugged.  "I can't exactly rate having your kid in an unconventional context among the top million bad things that could happen to me. My problem is that they assume that you would use magic on people to get what you want in that manner."

She rolled her eyes. "As if you would need to do that."

Loki stared at her as she watched another flock of birds pass them. After a few moments, she turned back to him, her expression mirroring the confusion that was on his own face. She tilted her head, blinking a few times.

"Whatever do you mean, Lithium?"

"I don't know what the stereotypical preferences are around here, but on Earth, you would not be short on attention, regardless of gender." A strange expression flitted across her face, just behind the earnest one. "And I just made this conversation awkward…."

The only thing awkward is that yours is the attention I want, little lady…

Lithium gestured broadly with a wry grin. "Regardless, at least we aren’t alone as the subjects of ol' rumor mill."

I rather would be. I'm used to this.

"I am more concerned that they think such things about you, merely by associating with me."

"Loki, this is small potatoes compare to my brother hitting on me."

He looked sternly down at her. "Both are equally terrible…also…small potatoes?”

"Well, then stop downplaying the fact that they are saying horrible things about you." She gave him an equally stern look right back. "I don't care if you're used to it, lies are lies. Lies are big potatoes.”

He nodded with a sigh. Perhaps I can confide in her and it will take the sting out of their jabs. She listens at least.

And why potatoes?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lithium stayed beside Loki as the cracks began to form, so she continued to as the cracks multiplied, an untold number of fissures across his soul. His mask was impeccable but not so much that she did not see the quickening swirl of emotion that shone through it. She did her best to fill them in when she could, but only a couple hours around dinner were not sufficient to undo the damage being done. She was nowhere near qualified to put a whole man back together by herself, let alone one who had over a thousand years of emotional damage.

And it was not like anyone else could see it.

Not even Frigga seemed concerned, so sure of his abilities as she was. Lithium was sure he had the capacity to lead, but she also had to be realistic about what she was seeing.  Loki has a great head for this, but he had been off ever since he was made king. She was positive something else happened that day, something beyond his father falling into Odinsleep or Thor's banishment..

Something that rattled him to the core.

She sat on the couch in her sitting area, dinner waiting for the two them. He had not been in when the maids tried to deliver it, so they brought it to her. It had not been that long since they had, but she was still beginning to worry. Where had he gone that it would take him this long to come back? He had sent her back to her room after lunch to deal with some matters she did not need to be involved in.

But for him to be this late was not remotely in the realm of normal.

All thoughts of dinner drained from her mind the moment she felt the air shift about her. That same sharp cold scent in the air she remembered not so long ago, at Thor's interrupted coronation. She was out her door so quickly, she barely remembered if her feet touched the floor.

The smell had all but died by the time it led to the chamber where Odin slept. She was there in time to watch Loki blast Thor, of all people, through a wall in a room scattered with the remains of large blue men. Loki turned to her at the sound of her gasp and she saw it.

Lithium did not know the face that looked back her. The feral energy of his green eyes sent a shiver of dread down her spine. It took all her strength not to step back when he approached her. Just past her instincts screaming at her to run, she heard the voice telling her to stay, that if she abandoned him now, there was no going back for him.

Loki had completely shattered.

There was the smallest glimmer of who he was within the chaotic depths of his eyes when they met hers, but so quickly was it swallowed again by the colliding pieces of his decimated soul. She knew that look, that face all too well. She had seen it before.

She had worn it before.

She took a deep breath as he crossed the last bit of tile between them, leaving  only a modest sliver of space. "Loki wha-"

Her feet were out from underneath her in one smooth flash of movement and they were through the corridors. All she could see was a blur of upside down stone and metal. The snarky side of her brain pondered the indignity of being carried over his shoulder past confused servants, but the rest of it was still trying to figure out if there was anything she could do for him.

According to him, apparently whatever that was included a brisk horse ride to the Observatory, with her holding on for dear life. She pressed her face into his cape and let her mind slip into her meditative state she used with her shift practice, though that snarky side of her refused to go there.

This is not at all how I pictured my first horseback ride with a man…there were more scenic forest trails and less mental breakdowns…

Just outside the observatory, he dismounted and put his hands around her waist to help her down. Her face was burning red by the time he had her feet back on the ground, all the more so when it felt so wrong to be thinking such things while Loki was falling apart in front of her.

"Apologies for the sudden trip, but time is not a luxury I have at this moment."

"What's wrong, Loki? What happened to you?"

"Do not worry, little lady, I am going to punish Jotunheim for their attempt to kill my father."

Lithium frowned. "You can't go alone."

"I have no need to go there." He gestured toward the Observatory. "I have everything I need right here to end their treachery for good."

Lithium once again forced herself to stand and face him, but her knees nearly buckled under her. Wasn't this the exact thing that he had criticized Thor for wanting to do? Wasn't it only a little while ago that he said that he wanted to keep Asgard out of unnecessary conflict?

Then again, Odin banished Thor for treason…not genocide…

"Loki, is this really what you want to do?" She fell in step with him as he strode confidently into the control room of the Observatory, where Heimdall was suspiciously absent.

Loki stepped up on the platform. "What else would make Father proud of me? I have saved his life, and now I shall exact revenge on the people who dared attempt to take his life."  

Lithium's eyes flew open. "They did that? How did the get here? IS that why Heimdall is gone?"

The silence he lapsed into was all the answer she needed, but his eyes said more. He activated the Bifrost with the sword Heimdall would have used had he been there, a tree of cold white light erupting from the pedestal. Loki stepped back, admiring it, while it sent shivers skittering up her spine. The sound it gave off set her teeth on edge, eased only by her pressing her hands to her ears.

No words passed between them before Thor blasted into the room.

[wordcreatr]

Here’s another chapter from my book about my brother. I’m not breaking the text up with subheadings like a regular post. This is not a final draft, so there may be some overwriting and rough spots. Let me know your thoughts, particularly if something is unclear or doesn’t work. All feedback, both positive and negative, is appreciated.

Chapter: The Big Reveal

When I was around twenty-three, I picked up the ringing phone in my townhouse one Saturday afternoon; my sister Bridget dispensed with the normal pleasantries and said she had something to tell me. The tone of her voice oscillated between gossipy excitement and shock. An alarmist by nature, I sat up on my bed, where I had been lounging.

“Oh my God, I think Kevie is gay,” she blurted out.

Of all the possible scenarios racing through my head such as salacious affairs, unexpected divorces, or heinous crimes — that wasn’t one of them. My stunted big-brother instinct to protect a sibling kicked in. No way our little brother was gay. Even though I was jealous of Kevin’s good looks, I took a certain brotherly pride in seeing him with beautiful young women who stared doe-eyed at him.

“Don’t be stupid,” I snorted dismissively. “He’s not gay; he’s shy.”

But Bridget stood by her reporting.

Kevin and his fabulous friend Kelly

Now don’t misunderstand my reaction; it wasn’t homophobic (okay — it was a little homophobic but not as bad as it would have been years before). By that time in the early 90s, gay rights had definitely made inroads into the culture as attitudes slowly changed, and I had jettisoned a lot of erroneous nonsense about homosexuality. I felt pretty certain that homosexuals were born, not made, though I still thought of it as a genetic error that might be medically fixable at some point. Obviously, my enlightenment still had a ways to go.

So when my sister revealed her suspicion, did I rise to the occasion like a champion of tolerance and acceptance? Fuck no. I took on the role of a seasoned defense attorney attacking a hostile witness as I asked her if Kevin had told her he was gay. She said no and I pounced.

“Okay, how do you know he’s gay then?”

“Because I was helping mom flip his mattress today and we found a magazine under it. And it was full of naked guys!”

There is a reason I’m not a lawyer because my sister had just counter-punched me into near silence. My weak follow up was their discovery didn’t prove anything.

“Sean! It was called Inches!”

Arrrrgghhhhhh!!

I banged the heel of my clenched left fist painfully against my eye socket in a vain attempt to poke myself in my mind’s eye and prevent any more unwanted images from popping into my head. A disconcerting whirlpool of emotional instability spun me around. Our humdrum family now had something novel in it, but I didn’t feel ready. I felt a twinge of hypocritical guilt. As far as my views on sexual orientation, I considered myself to be a fairly enlightened and accepting person, but at that moment, my sister’s revelation put my beliefs to the test, and I was failing it. Other people had gay brothers, and that was great. But not me. Kevin couldn’t be gay. Could he?

I briefly wondered if all those times punching him the balls as a kid had had any effect.

When you consider my reaction, you have to keep in mind the era when I grew up. In the 70s and 80s, being gay — or even being suspected of being gay — really sucked if you were under the spotlight. In most areas of the country, being gay brought a lot of unwanted attention along with varying degrees of revulsion and hostility. Some states still criminalized certain aspects of homosexuality. Plenty of people openly cracked jokes about gays or mocked them. Some openly harassed them. Some physically attacked them. Popular culture typically depicted gay men as either a lisping, limp-wristed effeminate or a muscular leather boy in chaps and a vest sporting a handlebar mustache, a guy who’d have his way with you, whether you were into it or not, if you walked into the wrong bar. Basically, in the parlance of the day, you were a twinkle-toed fairy or in the Village People. Gays weren’t real people, they were caricatures, and it seemed to be okay to make fun of them and tell fag jokes — hell, as a teen, I laughed at those jokes and retold them. My only defense lies in my immaturity and the culture at the time. But I didn’t personally know any gay people (well, I did, I just didn’t realize it then) and they were just jokes, though I did feel bad if people directed their sharp barbs against an actual person. Of course, I didn’t saying anything in their defense because then people might start thinking I was gay, and I’d had enough of that as a young teen.

Kevin 1st grade 1978

Sean 6th grade 1978

In junior high, my bashful nature made me a natural candidate for teens looking to hassle someone for being gay. Filled with raging hormones, I obsessed over girls but could not act directly on it due to my crippling shyness, intense sensitivity to embarrassment, and an acute awareness of my gawkiness. (Age 12 to 16 was not kind to me). I perfected what I thought was a stealth approach to girls. By being in their proximity, I  and assumed the girls would detect my natural animal magnetism (which of course I assumed I had, hidden beneath my ill-fitting clothes, bad haircut, and prominent Adam’s apple). The Universe quickly disabused me of that notion with a soul-destroying experience where one of my 7th-grade crushes, Alicia, preemptively gave me my first ever ‘We can be friends’ talk in front of other students when I got the courage to sit behind her during free time. She shut that shit down before I even got started. Crushed, from then on, I went to extremes to feign disinterest in girls to avoid further humiliation, which ironically got me targeted for even more humiliation as a potential homo.

[perfectpullquote align=”right” bordertop=”false” cite=”” link=”” color=”” class=”” size=””]Have questions or need help? PFLAG is an international support group of LGBTQ, families, friends, and allies committed to advancing equality through support, education, and advocacy.[/perfectpullquote]

Because the major job requirement for being a boy in junior high is being an asshole, some of my classmates enjoyed exposing my shyness and making me uncomfortable with prying questions about my nonexistent romantic life. For added hilarity, in front of our female classmates, they would press me to declare which girl I liked. Dying of embarrassment, I would try to play it off, which invariably led to someone asking me accusingly if I was a faggot. To get them to leave me alone, I felt compelled to tell them how much I hated gay people. It’s not something I’m proud of, but at the time, I would have disowned my own family to get those bastards to leave me alone. And while I didn’t hate gay people as a teen, I did somewhat fear the unknown. I worried about the myth that being around a homosexual could make you gay, as if they had the vampiric power to turn an unwilling person into one of their own kind.

Anyway, by my early twenties, I’d come a long way in my evolution as a human being. Just not quite far enough. Now, my sister’s revelation had me stuck in a groove, as my brain skipped and repeated like a scratched record.

“I don’t know, man,” I muttered to her. “Do you really think he’s gay?”

Bridge let a sliver of doubt into her voice.

“I think so. I don’t know. The only thing I know is I saw naked men with big willies!”

At that, I cringed as an unwanted image of my brother cavorting with naked guys flitted through my head. I quickly hustled everyone offstage.

Okay, I had to admit to myself, maybe he was gay.

“What did Mom say?”

Over the phone, I could practically sense my sister rolling her eyes.

“What do you think? We put the magazine back and flipped the mattress. She didn’t say a word.”

Yep, that was a quintessential Mom response for something out of her comfort zone, that she needed to think about and process. Pretend nothing happened or if it was too serious to overlook, then hand it off to my dad to do the dirty work. A classic example occurred during the summer of my thirteenth year when her snooping uncovered my share of the porn mags that my brother and his friend, James Zeier, had found in an abandoned suitcase while dumpster diving. Being a newspaper boy, I had brashly hidden a few of the magazines in the delivery bags on my bike so I had easy access to reading material, figuring my mother would be none the wiser. I never found out how she uncovered my scheme — probably some slight change in behavior that set off her mom detector — but she never said a word to me. Instead, she quietly summoned dad home from work to ambush me while she retreated across the street to Mrs. Zeier’s, presumably for a cup of tea to soothe her nerves while dad dealt with his degenerate eldest child.

But this new discovery, this was way beyond a simple dirty magazine. This had universe-altering implications; I had no idea how my dad would react when he found out, but I feared not well. So far, the lack of a sonic boom from his head going supernova confirmed that my mom had not yet mentioned anything about it to him. Personally, I doubted she ever would. Not only was my dad retired military with twenty-eight years of service under his belt, but he came from hillbilly country in the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia — not exactly a liberal hotbed. And while he was not an inflexible conservative, he was not exactly on the cutting edge of social evolution either. I didn’t know where he stood on the whole gay thing, but I suspected it would not be at the front of a Gay Pride Parade.

Christmas UK 1975

July 1984

When we were growing up, neither of my parents had ever mentioned homosexuality in any context at all. I’d once heard my mom’s friend make an off-handed complaint about “queers” during a holiday dinner, but my mother, unfailingly polite, had neither condoned her friend’s comment nor rebuked her and simply went about as if she hadn’t heard it. The possible fireworks when my dad found out about Kevin — I didn’t even want to think about. And I sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

I didn’t find out until years later, but my mom did ask my sister to inquire about the magazine. With the chance to come out of the closet and confide in his closest sibling, Kevin ducked back in and denied ownership of Inches. A senior in high school, he wasn’t ready to deal with his homosexuality. Taking a page out of my playbook, he blamed someone else for the magazine, telling Bridget that our childhood friend Dean Seyfferle had asked him to stash it for him — Kevin claimed to have obliged and then forgotten about it. Now, Dean had stayed over our house a million times since first grade and old man Seyfferle was a church-going Catholic known to apply the belt if his boys didn’t toe the line, so the explanation seemed somewhat plausible, and my sister readily accepted it. The only person not happy with the “Dean is gay” storyline was Dean, who, 30 years later, still occasionally bitches about being framed.

The Layton Kids and Bridget’s friend Susie Rhodes.

Bridget had easily embraced Kevin’s denial, but her friend Tess, always a straight shooter with a 24/7 bullshit detector, kept telling her that Kevin had to be gay. Eventually, my sister pressed him on it and he confessed, though he promised her to silence. And she kept that promise because she sure as hell never bothered following up and letting me in on it. No, I had to confirm it myself.

In hindsight, Kevin’s response to Bridget made total sense. Being Irish Catholics (Dad was a convert, so he didn’t really count), our culture had hardcoded shame into our core, so anything potentially immoral or uncomfortable, we avoided discussing or acknowledging due to the inevitable embarrassment (or fear of being implicated). Our mom, a very loving person, wanted us to be able to confide in her, but unfortunately, we just couldn’t. She would sometimes talk about delicate things like sex in a very general way, such as “Sex between married people is a very beautiful thing.” She couldn’t even tell us about where babies came from but made Bridget and I watch an ABC AfterSchool Special: My Mom’s Having a Baby, while she disappeared over to Mrs. Zeirer’s for a cup of tea. (Actually, by the time my dad passed away, I was 45 and still waiting for my official sex talk). Whenever one of these conversations threatened to break out, I made sure to not to respond in any fashion to deprive it of fuel. Standard protocol involving anything verboten was to keep your head down and your mouth closed and hope it went away quickly. And if someone accused you of anything you denied it — even in the face of overwhelming evidence. In fact, the more evidence the accuser had, the harder you denied it and the more indignant you became as you tried to deflect blame. We would have made excellent politicians when it came to handling scandals.

Anyway, as my phone conversation with Bridget began to wind down, I thoughtlessly blurted out how unfair life was: “You know if God was going to make Kevin gay, why couldn’t he at least swap our looks instead of wasting them on him?”

“Don’t be silly,” said my sister giving me a reality check, “Kevie needs to get dates too.”

Kev looks like he should be in Duran Duran and me Metallica

Huh, well, I had never thought about it that way. Chalk me up for selfish and ignorant. But her comment brought up uncomfortable thoughts about my brother and his possible relationships. That would be weird around the holidays. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

After Bridge and I hung up, I kept thinking about it. My brother was gay. My brother was fucking gay! I couldn’t get over it. When I told my coworker and occasional lover (a complicated relationship that I naturally kept hidden from my family), who’d been around a lot of gay men in her former career as a makeup artist, she confessed she hadn’t picked up on Kevin’s sexuality.

Nothing happened right away after our conversation. On my next visit to my parents, I waited till no one was around and cautiously looked under Kevin’s mattress and sure enough, the boner mag was still there.

I spent a fair bit of time trying to figure out how to get Kevin to fess up that he was gay. The thought of just walking up and asking him never occurred to me. Maybe they did that in other families, but not in the Layton household. We weren’t wired that way. As much as I hated myself for it, I always had to subtly crab-walk my way into a delicate conversation. No, instead I would need to set a trap and lure Kevin into it. So, I fell back on a ruse I’d recently used on my friend Gary Eberhard to get him to admit to me that his older brother Larry was gay, something I’d suspected since junior high. Basically, I told Gary about a fake science fiction story I was supposedly writing where the protagonist was a gay teen whose parents forced him against his will to undergo a gene therapy procedure that made him straight. My fake story had worked then, so I figured I’d give it another shot.

That shot took a while in coming. Kevin had graduated high school and never seemed to be around. By then, I’d moved into another townhouse with my co-worker/occasional paramour and finally, my brother decided to stop by to hang out, which was unusual. I figured I’d never have a better chance, so I waited for the perfect moment to tell him about my story, but I ended up having to awkwardly shoehorn it into the conversation. My brother listened and I could tell he was thinking and then the magic happened: He admitted to me he was gay. It was a huge step forward — even though I’d basically had to trick him into it.

His relief that I didn’t attack him or even say anything snarky was almost tangible. I told him it was cool and that I’d support him and he thanked me.

“Okay, but you’re sure you’re gay then?” (I just had to be sure.)

“Well, as sure as wanting to have sex with other guys makes me,” he answered dryly, and I felt my face redden. Touché.

As we talked, I reminded him about the porn stash he’d found as a kid and how the neighborhood boys would gather in the park with Hustlers and Penthouses for an obscene reading session. He’d appeared to be ogling the naked ladies with the rest of us.

“I was looking at Captain Beaver,” he replied, referring to a faux porno superhero in one of the photospreads who’d used his giant, capitalist dong to defeat two female Communist soldiers from North Korean and force them into orgasmic surrender.

The fact that we were having our first, real adult conversation — albeit a kind of a weird one — felt liberating. I felt we’d made a breakthrough in our relationship as brothers and as human beings. With the floodgates now open, I asked him when he knew he was gay or if he’d always known.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I  didn’t know I was gay as a kid because I didn’t even know what being gay was, but I knew I was different. I was never interested in girls.”

“And you don’t like sports.”

“Ha, Very funny.”

“But you do like musicals — but I like musicals too.”

“You are such an idiot.”

In high school, he said he’d tried to fake liking girls and gone on a couple of dates, but felt no attraction and never slept with one. He’d felt fraudulent and uncomfortable trying to avoid intimate situations without blowing his cover and making some poor girl miserable.

Then I asked him if it was a choice.

His tone became agitated as bitterness crept into his voice.

“Do you really think I would choose to be gay? Would you? Why would I choose this lifestyle just so people can hate me? I fucking hate being gay,” he said. “I just want to be like everyone else. You know, have a family. But I’m just not attracted to women.”

I mentioned that I’d worked with a gay guy at America West Airlines who told me that being gay was a choice. He claimed he’d consciously decided on homosexuality after he got out of the Navy and had divorced his wife. But the guy was a sociopath and done some evil shit, like wooing a nineteen-year-old who was freshly out of the closet while neglecting to mention he’d just found out he was HIV. So I didn’t trust anything he said.

“That pisses me off,” Kevin said his eyes flashing in annoyance. “He’s not gay; he’s bisexual. He can make a choice. I can’t unless I want to live a lie.”

Kev talked about the torture of keeping his secret, of being afraid to tell others he was gay because of how they might react. How some people ostracized him when they found out.

The amount of self-loathing touched a chord in me and I wished I could make things right for my little brother, so he’d be happy. But there was nothing I could do except tell him he had to learn to be happy with who he was.

Years later he would tell me how lonely and confused he’d been at that time because he had no one to talk to. He didn’t know how to be gay. He had no mentors, no gay friends. Afraid and hating himself, he had started relying on drugs more. His friends, the kids we’d grown up with, drifted away because he’d taken his partying to the next level and began using meth; some simply couldn’t accept his sexuality or didn’t know how to deal with it. His isolation became pronounced. By the time he was old enough, terrified, he got up the courage and went to a gay bar, alone. And that’s really kicked his drinking and meth use into high gear.

“Everyone I met was partying. I thought that’s just what gay culture was about. Having fun and using meth. I didn’t know any gay people who were successful and led regular lives. I fell in with the wrong crowd.”

But that lay in the future. While we chatted in my townhouse, Kevin became wistful about the family he would never have and an imaginary daughter he would have doted over.

“She’d be adorable, and I’d name her Violet,” he sighed.

At the time, the name sounded old-fashioned to me.

“Violet? Lucky for her you won’t be having kids.”

He punched me hard in the shoulder.

“Ooo, why do you make me hate you?”

Actually, what I’d almost said out of reflex before I caught myself was “Violet? That is so gay!” Which might have elevated the punch into a headlock.

Suddenly, it dawned on me I was going to have to start policing my vocabulary. I used the words fag and gay a lot. Not in reference to homosexuals — but just as general insults or in reference to someone being dumb or a douche bag. Now there would be no more utterances of “Quit being gay” or walking into a room and saying “So what are you fags up to?” Obviously, things were going to have to change.

Then it was time to get down to brass tacks.

“What are you going to do — are you going to tell mom and dad?”

Kevin got animated.

“Fuck no! Mom would want me to talk to a priest. And I don’t know what Dad would do. Probably disown me.”

And that was the great unanswered question. What would Dad do?

“I think mom already knows,” I warned him, though obviously, I knew she’d found the magazine.  (Bridget would tell me years later that she had already sat down and told Mom, who’d quietly accepted it without really saying much.)

“She probably does. Just promise me you won’t open your big fucking mouth around Dad.”

The implication that I was the weak link mildly offended me, but I had to admit there was a precedence of weasely behavior in my past. So I agreed not to say anything — not that there was any danger of that happening in this particular case. I began telling him what I would do if I were him, which always got under his skin, and he told me to shut up, he’d figure it out.

“I’m not joking. Do NOT say anything to Dad! I’m going to do it when I’m ready.”

Apparently, doing it on his own time meant never because a couple of years later, the fact that Kevin was gay was still the elephant hiding in the closet when it came to my father.

But by that time, the family had bigger things to worry about because Kevin had developed a full-blown drug problem.

Check out these other sample chapters!

Late Night Offerings to Mammon

Car Swimming

Sample Chapter: The Big Reveal Here's another chapter from my book about my brother. I'm not breaking the text up with subheadings like a regular post.