#or whatever the caregivers at the institution were called

[il3x]

final blorbo moment post. chris tucks his hair back behind his headphones because it's long enough for the fringe to go in his eyes and that sets off his sensory issues and obscures his field of view (bad bad bad no bueno). chris' hair is this long because he forgets to cut it sometimes and when a Sister suggests he cuts it he immediately mentally folds his arms and goes Well Now I Am Not Doing That.

[bellshazes]

@nydescynt replied to your post “Ive known this for a while but after an 11 hour in...”:

Is the topic/function to provide a guide to actual existing systems of care, a more theoretical/skills oriented guide for generally receiving/providing help regardless of system, or.. a third topic I'm not thinking of? That sounds. Really helpful, but also an insane amount of work

​it would be somewhat modeled after my art made easy series - a series of ???? posts ????? or whatever medium with the intent of enabling anyone who comes across it to begin to identify components of the system of care, social determinants of health etc. in their own communities. in order to do this, I'd need broad and specific expertise across all core areas, which off the top of my head are:

education, k-12 and university/technical/secondary systems - emphasis on educational rights of students and families

judicial systems - juvenile and adult, courts, judges, bar associations, etc.

residential treatment centers - psychiatric, group home, foster, physical health inpatient, nursing homes, specialty placements (e.g. ED treatment centers, which there are few of in the US lmao)

non-residential mental health institutions - outpatient treatment centers,

medicare, medicaid, and commercial health insurance - benefits, how to know what to get, how you qualify, age restrictions, VABs, case management, inquiry coordinators, incentive programs, what is HEDIS/NCQA/quality metrics

actually quality improvement, PIPs, and other metrics should get their own thing but that's like 201

evidence based and best practice modalities AND their limitations in the context of systems-level thinking

advocacy - both self-advocacy programs, independent living, historical context AND collective advocacy organizations, how to evaluate nonprofits and for-profit community organizations, common types of orgs, how to locate them, national-level resources with state chapters (e.g. Kids Count, CASA, so on)

critical pedagogy and dialectical approaches to collaboration, emphasis on co-learning and sustainable ground-up coalition building

policymaking and lobbying

specific conditions from the perspective of SDOH/health equity - not primers on NAS/SEI or SUD or autism or whatever but how to know your blind spots and what blind spots are critical in different contexts

child welfare entities including state departments, especially the difference between CPS and what in my state we call DCBS (who actually administer placements, foster caregivers, adoption)

types of family placements

the fact that 64% of removals in the US (>130k) as of 2020 were due to neglect, the most preventable of conditions; the need to eliminate statutes that allow removal of children from families due to poverty or homelessness in every single state or at the federal level

medical provider payment structures that can incentivize whole-person quality of care and why that's so fucking hard to make happen especially within medicaid

there's like twelve more but that's the freshest ones. and that's more for me to know better than i currently do; the framing would likely start very simply around something like:

How to consciously identify system of care and SDOH components in your own life

How to identify causes or areas in your own community you care most about

How to find and join up with existing efforts in the causes near and dear to you

Follow up on how to live collective action if directly working with existing orgs isn't an option - example, what people in your life are doing good work and how can you support them?

Highlighting very small-team, high-impact groups like Beargrass Thunder's alley gallery projects here in Louisville that take (in the grand scale of things) very little to do transformative work

Language primers

That alone is a tall order, but I think I could do it. And crucially I (feel like I ethically and professionally) need to know everything about every state, but not necessarily all at once. It will be the work of a lifetime, but I don't know that I can not do it, you know?

[coochiequeens]

In the spring of 2020, as Boston’s first COVID-19 wave raged, I was the gastroenterologist on call responding to a patient hospitalized with a stomach ulcer. Wearing a layer of yellow personal protective equipment over a pair of baggy scrubs, I spent 30 minutes explaining to him that he needed an endoscopic procedure. We built a rapport, and by the end of our conversation about the pros and cons, he seemed to agree with my recommendation. I told him we would be ready to perform his endoscopy within half an hour.

“Well, before we do anything, I’m going to need to discuss it with the doctor.”

I blinked.

When I entered the room, I had introduced myself as the doctor. I had also just explained, in great detail, a highly specialized procedure.

Of course.

He still assumed I was a nurse, or a medical technician, or a physician assistant—anything but a doctor, especially his doctor.

I wish I could tell you his assumption was rare, but it’s not. A recent study in the Journal of the American Medical Association revealed that patients were about 20 percent less likely to assume that a woman wearing scrubs was a surgeon, compared with men. The study also found that patients consider a woman in scrubs to be “less professional” than a man in the same outfit. Because many hospitals, including mine, required workers to wear scrubs and PPE during the pandemic, this became an even bigger problem than usual for female physicians.

My tale of mistaken identity is just one example of the many ways the coronavirus sparked the tinderbox of gender inequity in medicine. Women hemorrhaged from the health-care workforce in staggering numbers; at least 1.4 million left their jobs in April 2020 alone. That number rebounded somewhat, but more than a year later, women still held half a million fewer health-care jobs than they did in 2019. Female doctors are still paid 75 cents for every dollar made by their male colleagues, and since the pandemic began, they have fallen disproportionately ill from COVID-19, turned down more leadership opportunities, spent more time on home and family responsibilities(while writing fewer research papers), and been provided a level of support for child care and maternity leave that is outright insulting, given our field’s supposed calling as caregivers. On top of all that, we’ve had to deal with this new wrinkle in the double standard related to the oldest problem we face: our appearance, specifically our clothing.

For generations, the hallmark of physician attire was a crisp white coat. The coat became an icon of medical authority, cleanliness, and scientific inquiry in the late 19th century, an era when few women had the opportunity to practice medicine. Over time, though, male physicians moved away from the white coat to … well, whatever they wanted to wear, really: a formal business suit, a shirt and tie, or a Patagonia Better Sweater fleece jacket embroidered with their institutional logo. It doesn’t matter. Male physicians can generally count on commanding respect by virtue of their profession alone, whereas the majority of patients still believe that it’s inappropriate for their female physicians to forgo the white coat.

The pandemic rendered all this moot. Concerns about the white coat’s potential to harbor and transmit pathogens led many hospitals to drop it—along with the business-casual alternatives—in favor of unisex scrubs for all. A chance to level the playing field? You’d think so. Instead, the goal posts for women physicians just shifted.

Female physicians don’t even need to be at work to experience sexism related to how we look and dress. In the summer of 2020, during the brief respite between the onset of the pandemic in the spring and the fall surge to come, a medical journal posted an article titled “Prevalence of Unprofessional Social Media Content Among Young Vascular Surgeons.” Under the paternalistic guise of wanting to ensure that early-career physicians were “cautious of their social media content,” three male “screeners” used fake accounts to scour the accounts of their unwitting female colleagues (who make up a paltry 6 percent of their specialty) to evaluate their “unprofessional” clothing; they were off-duty female surgeons accused of “provocative posing in bikinis/swimwear.” (In the middle of a global pandemic, it is unclear how this issue became a pressing scientific question.)

I felt attacked. This wasn’t the work of trolls in some creepy internet backwater. These were our own colleagues publicly passing judgment, in a respected journal, on female doctors—many emerging from the most traumatic experience of their career—who were doing nothing more than posting vacation photos to Instagram. Although the study was met with swift backlash and quickly retracted, the debacle captured the spirit of the quotidian sexism faced by women doctors.

Now, with COVID-19 in retreat once again, hospitals are relaxing their dress codes to pre-pandemic standards—which unfortunately means swapping out one source of appearance-related sexism for another. I am bracing for a return to the kind of distressingly routine encounters that marked my early years as a physician.

One day, during my senior year of residency, I was explaining the etiology of a patient’s heart murmur to my team of seven more-junior physicians, pharmacists, and medical students. I asked my patient how much exercise he was able to tolerate with his condition.

He hesitated, then smiled. “I’m sorry, I got distracted. It’s that little leopard skirt you have on. Can’t take my eyes off.”

I froze. The atmosphere in the room transformed. I was no longer leading a large medical team in a didactic moment but turning red under the male gaze as everyone stared … at my hips.

Immediately, I asked myself: Is my outfit unprofessional?

I was indeed wearing a leopard-print pencil skirt. But the fit was relaxed, and I’d purchased it at a popular store for women’s “business-formal work clothing” where hemlines rarely made it above the knee. Mine was no exception—and no, it was not unprofessional.

Still, should I stop wearing skirts? Why did this man treat me with such disrespect?

I scrambled to collect myself and carry on. But the damage was done. For the remainder of my rounds, I felt like an impostor playing a doctor on TV.

Even before the pandemic, research showed that up to 40 percent of female physicians leave the medical profession within six years of completing their residency. The time and energy we women expend dealing with role misidentification—clarifying our jobs to patients and co-workers alike and questioning our own sense of belonging as we second-guess which clothing would be deemed acceptable—is an insidious diversion that keeps us from focusing on our merits and career advancement. One study found that more than half of female physicians react to misidentification by changing their attire. This is pointless and a waste of time. Instead of worrying about measuring up in ways our male colleagues never seem to lose any sleep over, I hope my sisters in medicine will marshal our pandemic-proven grit and compassion to rise up and speak out against the biases that continue to limit us.

We need you, as patients, to do your part too. Listen when a woman comes into the room and explains her role, regardless of what she’s wearing. Don’t automatically address your questions to the male member of the care team. (He might be just a medical student.) Let us finish speaking without cutting us off; patients are more likely to interrupt female physicians than male physicians. And above all, don’t comment on our outfits. Female physicians want to be judged by the treatment we give you—and nothing else.

It’s about time we all recognized that male and female physicians are cut from the same cloth.

Trisha Pasricha is a contributing writer at The Washington Post and a gastroenterology research fellow at Massachusetts General Hospital.

[levisgirll]

Hi! It's me again the levi hc anon haha.. How are you doing? I was wondering if you could do a hc on Levi having a crush who's good with kids. OR a scenario where he doesn't still know his crush that well and they're in an orphanage and a kid runs to her yelling "Mama!" and then Levi's like 'I lost my chance with her.. She's not single" and then he somehow gets to know that she doesn't have kids and she is single. Thanks!

𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐀𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

→ Text: Omg hello there! thanks for coming back with another request 🥺💕 I am doing alright (just getting so tired nowadays cause of work-) I hope you are well though! also, this is such a cute idea for a request so thank you for sending it! I hope you like it and sorry for the delay <3 enjoy it :,) 

Synopsis: Y/N has started her new job as a nurse caregiver in a orphanage institute, wanting to look after kids who don’t have any family or parents and show them support and love. Levi, mistakes this as Y/N having kids and he is quite upset about it, defeated after he was getting to know her ever since he bumped into her in his tea shop which she usually goes to.

cute fluff, modern au, headcanons imagine ♡ —

Levi has been noticing his rather loyal customer recently in his teashop. She would come in usually all the time around the same time, and get the same tea that Levi would prepare minutes before she comes in.

He developed a small which later grew to a big crush on her and he decided to take his chance to get to know her and chat with her.

“Here, it’s on the house. Also, I didn’t get your name?” Levi said while handing her drink, and then started to clean the counter.

“That’s nice of you, thanks! And, its Y/N. I assume yours is Levi?” Her smile was beautiful to him, he loved how you always gave him that smile to him only after you both have gotten close and having small chats once a while.

He sometimes wished you stayed longer and would hope there won’t be any customers in the store whenever you came in, because of the short time you stayed there, he wanted to spend every minute of it!

“So, what do you do for a living? You seem to work.” He said while crossing his arms and taking a seat right next to you. Y/N could smell in his scent which was a scent of pure black tea which he just brew for you, the scent of fresh green leaves, floral and a nice fresh mint smell. “I am a nurse working in a institute.” You say with a smile and turned to glance at him, looking handsome than ever.

“Oh? I see, that’s interesting.” Levi said, he started to become more curious about you and he was dying to know more about you too. But he decided to take things slow and also because, he did feel kind of nervous when talking to you, especially if he starts to stutter or becomes lost of words every time he makes eye contact you, because to him, you looked pretty in his eyes and he admired your beauty and personality.

“By the way, I will be shutting my teashop for a couple of days so I was wondering. Do you want to hang out tomorrow? Of course, if that is a-alright with you.” 

‘Shit, I fucking stuttered.’ He thought to himself and cursed in his mind when he realized that, and now you could see a slight blush on his cheeks. Y/N chuckled and then got up taking her purse and approaching the door to leave, “Sure, I would love that. I finish work early tomorrow, Soo maybe you could meet me there after I am done with work?”

Levi felt pleased and happy to hear how Y/N accepted his offer, now he can have a longer time to spend with his crush and he was happier than ever, getting a fuzzy feeling inside of him. Wishing tomorrow was here already. “That’s fine with me, I will pick you up then and I will find us a place to hang out.”

“Sounds like a plan! I’ll see you tomorrow, Levi.” You gave him a small wave and left his tea shop place. Oh how he adored you so much, and throughout the day he was thinking of what to wear and even where to take you, and how you would look so beautiful, also how lucky of him being able to even see you.

The next day approached, and Levi was exactly on time, and he was around the parking lot of the institute. “Hm, Reiss Royal institute? Why does that ring a bell.” He wondered but let the thought leave his mind once he started to think of you and how he was soon to see you.

“Hey Levi!” Levi looked up immediately from his phone and looked towards Y/N who was waving at him and walking towards him. He quickly put his phone away and he got off from his car as he was laying against it, and Levi was now fixing his posture, nervous a bit but stood still.

“Oi, Y/N How-” As Levi was about to ask how Y/N was doing, he was caught off guard as he saw a child running towards Y/N and she quickly grabbed her hand.

“Mama! Look I drew this for you!” The little girl said with a big happy smile and Y/N bent down and started to ruffle the girl’s hair. “Awh really? This looks amazing. I will make sure to keep this.”

After hearing that, the little girl got so happy and quickly went and hugged Y/N around her neck, while chuckling. “Thanks Mama! I will draw more for you!”

Levi, now stood there still, all speechless and his eyes widen. ‘Wait it can’t be....Is that her kid?’ He thought and suddenly went sad, feeling quite upset how Y/N might have already been in a relationship and was just thinking of Levi as a friend this whole time.

‘I..I lost my chance with her. She clearly is not single.’ As soon Levi thought that to himself, his trace of thoughts was cut off as Y/N waved her hand towards his face. “Hey, I’m talking to you! What’s wrong? You suddenly went quiet?” Y/N said in a concerned tone, not sure what made him change so quickly.

“Sorry. It’s just, your kid surprised me that’s all.” He uttered and looked away from you, feeling quite let down and how he finally lost his chance with someone he finally had feeling for and actually loved for the first time.

But, Y/N quickly held on his hand to get his attention and he turned around, looking at her. “Wait.” She then furrowed her eyebrows and suddenly started to chuckle. “Haha! Levi, That is one of my students! You don’t actually think this was my child right?”

Now, Levi went red, feeling rather embarrassed how he mistook the little girl as her daughter. Y/N kept on giggling and Levi would beg her to stop but, he felt relieved and smiled. He later then realized that, after getting to know her well that she worked actually in a orphanage institute academy and was a nurse there for the kids, and was loved by all the children that called her ‘Mama’ by how caring, affectionate and kind-hearted she was as she treated them and helped them and this made the kids thinking Y/N was their role model Mum!

Y/N would now then, tease Levi, knowing pretty well how seeing him really surprised by what happened and how he was wondering if it was actually her child or not was cute and funny to her. She then reassured him that she doesn’t have any kids and she was actually single. “O-Oh. I see...” Levi said sitting there with a slight blush, now feeling that his chance is back and he was now getting butterflies in his stomach. It was clear to Y/N that with his response that he was kind of happy to hear that instead, and it made her wonder if what she felt for Levi, was the same with him feeling towards Y/N.

In one of their hangouts, Levi finally takes his chance now, before he loses it and regrets it. He took his shot and finally asked you out as his girl. “Y/N, I want to get to know you better..” He said nervously and he went and grabbed your hand, which he caressed lovingly. Y/N went red and her eyes would widen and Levi looked at it, admiring how beautiful they were as the stars in the evening sky was reflecting it. “I want you in my life, so will you...be my girl? Is that alright.” 

Y/N smiled at him, happy how Levi finally took the step and Y/N reassured Levi that they would be having such a loving and happy relationship and that made his world hearing that, especially from you. Just though your words, made his life better and he knew from then on, he would now be happy with you and he couldn’t be asking for more than that as long as you were by his side.

Now, ever since you both started to date and go out together. Levi would always pick you up from work after you were done. Never missing a day, after all you were his priority. With this, the kids would notice Levi and see him now and then whenever they follow Y/N to the parking lot. And the kids were curious who he was and they would be behind Y/N and looking at him, a bit scared. They then liked him as Y/N explained to them that he was not scary at all and he was actually really kind and sweet. This made the kids call him Dada and some calling him Dad too!

“Wait, I’m not your- Tch, Whatever Brats.” Levi said and ruffled the kids head as he bent down, greeting them with a small hand shake, they all quickly liked him. He lowkey liked that though, at how they referred to him as Dada and Dad but he won’t admit that! “Hey Levi! Don’t call the kids that!”

The kids actually love and ship you both, they always tell Y/N when coming by to her nurse office if she is seeing Levi after school and they would ask to tag along to see him. Giving him some craft arts they made and giving it to him as a gift for always coming by to see Y/N. And, ironically Levi on that same day bought many gifts for the kids such as sweets, their favorite chocolates (since he asked the little girl what kind of chocolate the students liked) and some toys.

You then noticed Levi smiles a lot when the kids come to him and you started to find that cute and when you mention that on your way back, he denies that and goes “No, they are annoying brats anyways.”

Okay this was really cute and sweet to write so thank you for the request anon :,)! And if anyone out there enjoyed this then please leave a like, a message or a reblog! Thanks and I hope you all have a great day ahead  ♡♡♡

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 2

 -you dislike frank dillane’s portrayal of tom riddle only because you don’t think he’s attractive-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION (and this time, featuring a bit of armchair child psych from a student).

Wait, don’t clutch your pearls just yet. Compose yourself.

I am about to explain why it’s not actually that bad, and Dillane’s portrayal is vastly underappreciated.

I definitely agree that his portrayal comes off as ‘creepier’. It’s not helped by the stylistic decisions in the scene -- the smeary, green filter gives the scene a sinister quality. 

Even Slughorn looks suspect here, which is somewhat appropriate, given that he is complicit in this crime. 

Again, this scene is very much intended to be slightly off.

You’ll notice (and I’ll discuss this again when I talk about Coulson’s portrayal) that Dillane is almost always shot from at least slightly below, which makes the lower third of his face look bigger (and thus more menacing). The lighting also makes his eyes glow in a really unnatural way. There’s an echo-y effect to make his voice (and not Slughorn’s) sound unnerving.

People talk about how Coulson would have looked in this scene, and if he was filmed in the same way (monotone, smeary/shadowy filter, and always from below), he’d look a bit creepy, too.

But all of this, imo, is for a pretty good reason. Slughorn isn’t the POV character. Harry is. Harry is learning about how a young Lord Voldemort wheedled the secret of Horcruxes out of an unsuspecting teacher. Unlike in COS, he expects Riddle to be evil. And, so, Harry’s new perception of Tom Riddle literally colors how we perceive him.

Take this shot, for example: he does that head-tilt thing that Coulson does, and it’s actually... kind of... cute???

Imagine Dillane filmed from slightly above, like Coulson usually is, and it looks even more innocent. (I mean, come on, he does not look like he’s killed four people, does he?) It’s not hard to imagine teachers being taken in by this kind of act.

Even that little smirk he does when the camera (aka, Harry’s gaze) pans in, is for Harry’s benefit. No one else noticed that. 

However, I still fail to find this creepy, like, at all. Yes, it’s a fake smile, but he’s portraying a different side of Tom Riddle to Coulson. Whereas, in COS, he’s in his vindictive, murderous element, where he’s free to express himself, in this scene, Tom Riddle is doing what he does best -- manipulating and managing appearances. 

This entire scene is an act. And because Harry knows it’s an act, it should look a bit stilted. 

From the Hepzibah Smith scene in the books: Voldemort smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.

So, Harry is pretty adept at parsing Tom’s fake expressions.

But just look at the expressiveness in his face: he goes from brooding, he blinks, and his entire face changes to this charming (fake) smile. 

At the risk of sounding elitist, I’m a bit tired of seeing the word ‘psychopath’, which is not an actual medical diagnosis recognised by any psychological or psychiatric institution, being tossed about, especially with reference to Tom Riddle (and from a neuroscience perspective, it’s doubly annoying). There’s no such thing as ‘insanity’ or ‘psychopathy’ or being ‘crazy.’

-although I use it too a shorthand in conversation to distinguish ‘canon’ Tom from his ‘softer’ OOC counterparts, I really shouldn’t-

Unfortunately, I’ve seen the ‘psychopath’ comment used time-and-time again as an excuse or a full explanation of ‘why Tom Riddle went evil’ (JKR in fact, has made a weird comment in an interview, basically saying that ‘psychopaths can’t be redeemed or learn adaptive coping skills’ or whatever), which really just goes to show the lack of understanding and compassion when personality disorders, especially, are concerned.

But what I like most about the opening of this scene, actually, is that first, listless expression. And this is where we get slightly into headcanon, but Tom Riddle is the opposite of a happy, mentally healthy teenager. By Dumbledore’s own admission, he has no real friends. He has no parental figures, no real attachments. Yes, he might derive some pride or enjoyment from being good at magic and top of his class and all that, but I really don’t think even Tom finds that truly fulfilling. There is nothing that makes him happy. 

In fact, although some might perceive it as ‘creepy’, I think that listless expression is an accurate window into Tom’s psyche. 

I know people aren’t big on Freud, but I think that he does make some interesting points (also, cut the guy some slack for being relatively open-minded for the Victorian Era, and inventing psychoanalysis and while yes he did say some sexist stuff, good luck finding a field of science that isn’t male-focused and makes crazy generalizations about women, especially back in the day) about the possible origins of thanatophobia, the fear of death.

According to Freud, thanatophobia is a disguise for a deeper source of concern -- he did not believe that people were capable of conceptualizing their own death to that extent. Instead, he believed that this phobia was caused by unresolved childhood conflicts that the sufferer cannot come to terms with or express emotion towards.

Now, I know Freud almost always attributes mental distress to childhood experiences, but I think in this case, it really has some merit.

According to attachment theory, the basis of how we form attachments in adulthood is dictated by learning it from experiences with caregivers in the first two years of life. We know Tom was born in an orphanage, and that he didn’t cry much as a baby, and subsequently, probably received very little attention. Compounded with possible genetic factors and his caregivers being afraid or wary of his magical abilities, he later struggled to form attachments because of this -- I would actually go so far as to say that by the time Dumbledore meets him, Tom Riddle is severely depressed. 

And that flat affect and anhedonia, I think, comes over very well in Dillane’s portrayal. There’s kind of this resignation -- a very deep sadness and loneliness to his character.

Of course, he doesn’t derive any comfort or fulfillment from human interaction, because (to borrow the description from the Wikipedia article on ‘Reactive attachment disorder’, which Tom meets all the criteria for) he has a “grossly disturbed internal working model of relationships.” In other words, he is unresponsive to all offers of attachment because of this unacknowledged trauma.

(You could arguably class Tom as having an avoidant attachment style, but I think in his case the trauma and its effect on him are severe enough to call it disordered.)

RAD isn’t particularly well-characterized (especially neurologically) and quite new in the literature, but here are some links if anyone is interested in doing a bit of digging: Link 1 | Link 2 | Paper 1 | Paper 2

And, instead of trying to resolve this conflict in a healthy way, or at least recognize that this is why he can’t be happy and try to learn how to cope from there, he (a) represses the desire for human attachment and (b) funnels that negative emotion into being the fault of Death, the Grim Reaper (again, to borrow Freudian terms). 

And we all know how that turned out...

(And now, this should go without saying, but psychoanalyzing fictional characters has nothing to do with assigning a morality to mental disorders. Mental illness is neither a cause nor an excuse for criminal behavior -- in the same way that the cycle of violence is a phenomenon, not an excuse. Tom Riddle did not become a genocidal murderer because, in common parlance, he was a ‘psychopath’ -- he was not necessarily ‘predisposed’ to evil and could just as easily chosen to not follow the path that he did -- instead, he willingly made poor choices. This is a descriptive analysis, not a justification -- a ‘how’, not a ‘why’)

Here’s a Carl Jung quote that articulates it better:

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.”

Yes, he’s a bit stiff (and a lot more formal than in COS during his *conversation* with Harry). But, and here comes the controversial bit, this is appropriate for a portrayal of a schoolboy in the 1940s. The upright posture is accurate -- respectful, polite -- everything Tom Riddle would have been expected to be (and even Coulson, in that scene with Dumbledore in COS, is quite stiff). Even the way he looks at Slughorn and maintains eye contact is very *respectful.*

And, Dillane (I think he’s seventeen or eighteen here) actually looks like a believable sixteen-year-old. I’m sorry, I love Coulson’s portrayal as well, but he looks around nineteen in COS; so in HBP, he probably would have looked at least twenty-two or so. (Sorry, not sorry).

This may be influenced by my own interpretation of the character (because I imagine Tom always looks young for his age, and Dillane fits that archetype, but I don’t think that’s very popular), but I think young Tom Riddle is supposed to be *cute* and a bit stiff/shy/awkward (being charming and awkward is very much possible), if you consider the way Dippet and Slughorn treat him. 

To support this, he says very few words to Hepzibah Smith (in the book, that scene’s not in the movie), and is very... bashful and coy during the whole interaction? I think yes, he’s charismatic, but he’s not loud, suave, openly flirtatious or particularly verbose. Tom Riddle should have a quiet magnetism, and to me, that came across in Dillane’s portrayal.

"I'd be glad to see anything Miss Hepzibah shows me," said Voldemort quietly, and Hepzibah gave another girlish giggle.

...

"Are you all right, dear?"

"Oh yes," said Voldemort quietly. "Yes, I'm very well. ..."

Even the ‘ugly, greedy look’ described in the books, when Slughorn starts spilling his secrets, is there. This is how he’s supposed to look! Slughorn glimpses it, but doesn’t understand its significance. Harry does. 

“Slughorn looked deeply troubled now: He was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Harry could tell that he was regretting entering into the conversation at all.”

Remember the context of this moment, as well: He’s just discovered how to create multiple Horcruxes. Excuse him for looking a bit creepy (if not now, then when?).

Here’s two direct quotes of Harry’s impression of Tom Riddle in that scene: 

“But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing.”

“Harry had glimpsed his face, which was full of that same wild happiness it had worn when he had first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human. . . .”

Tom Riddle’s Horcruxes are a direct metaphor for his refusal to allow himself to heal from his trauma -- instead, he continues to inflict destruction on himself and others.

His desire to continue creating more Horcruxes sort of resounds with the fact that self-harm can also become a compulsion.

I’d also like to digress a bit to discuss the Gaunt Ring, while we’re at it. While we’ve talked about his attachment issues in general, this discussion is particularly pertinent to father figures. And while Tom’s attachment issues are extensive, I think there’s ample evidence that as a child, he craved acknowledgement and acceptance from a father figure -- the man who gave him the only thing Tom truly owned -- his name. He would have had a vaguely defined mother figure in Mrs. Cole, perhaps.

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was.... He didn’t like magic, my father ... He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage ... but I vowed to find him ... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name ... Tom Riddle. ..."

We know that by June of 1943 (COS flashback) Tom has already uncovered the truth of his parentage; he knows he is the Heir of Slytherin via the Gaunt line, and he describes himself to Dippet as ‘Half-blood, sir. Witch mother, Muggle father.’

In Part 1, I discussed the high probability that as a presumed ‘Mudblood’, Tom Riddle was treated rather poorly in Slytherin House. But by this scene in the fall of 1943, he is surrounded by a group of adoring hangers-on. Why?

In my opinion; the Gaunt Ring. We know that Tom stopped wearing it after school, so its sentimental value couldn’t have been that great. We know he likes to collect objects (which I believe stems from his attachment issues -- he seeks comfort in things instead of other people).

Signet rings (such as the one belonging to Tutankhamun seen above) were used to stamp legal documents and such, in order to certify someone’s identify -- like an e-certificate, if you will. Like Tutankhamun’s ring, the Gaunt Ring bears an identifying symbol -- Marvolo Gaunt tells us proudly that it bears the Peverell family crest.

By the Middle Ages, anyone of influence, including the nobility, wore a signet ring. Rings in antiquity were auspicious -- they signified power, legitimacy, and authority. And so, I believe that all the Sacred Twenty-Eight families would have worn these, too.

And so, bearing the Gaunt Ring would have established Tom Riddle, symbolically and in the eyes of the Sacred Twenty-Eight (his future supporters and followers), as the legitimate heir to the House of Gaunt. This is why, I believe, Tom coveted the ring as soon as he saw it -- not just because it was a family heirloom, and not just because he thought it was a pretty toy for his collection.

(He curses it so that no one else but him can wear the Gaunt Ring safely.)

This is why, to make the legitimization literal as well as symbolic, Tom murders his father and grandparents. It’s not just an act of vindictive, murderous rage due to his perception of being rejected by his father (although it is that, too). And so, Tom, abandoning his search for a father figure (and possibly also giving up on the possibility to allow himself to heal from his own personal trauma rather than continue to inflict it on others), ‘cleanses’ his bloodline, to make himself truly legitimate. It’s rather telling that instead of affirming his legitimacy as a Riddle, which would have put him in line for a nice inheritance, and hey -- money is money -- (thus accepting his half-blood status), he simply kills them all. He has done all the murdering he needs to become immortal (and he hasn’t had the discussion about multiple Horcruxes yet); but yet, he does it again. Frightening stuff. 

(Just look how the others look at Tom. All but the one to his left -- possibly Nott, Rosier, or Mulciber -- have their torsos turned towards him. Their attention is on him, while he knowingly regards the viewer/Harry. Tom seems a little uncomfortable with the attention.).

“And there were the half-dozen teenage boys sitting around Slughorn with Tom Riddle in the midst of them, Marvolo's gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger.”

...

“Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.”

...

“Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader.”

The ‘gang’ are true hangers-on; Tom doesn’t seem to pay them much attention. 

So, if not via careful flattery or charisma, the attraction must be status.

And perhaps yet more telling...

"I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing." “A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader's famous ancestor.”

That, in my opinion, is as good as we’re going to get as proof that Tom’s shiny new signet ring (and by extension, his new status) made a big impression on his fellow students.

So, when he returns to Hogwarts, he is ‘pureblood’. He is cleansed of his Muggle roots, and becomes the legitimate heir of the House of Gaunt, now well on his way to becoming Lord Voldemort...

Watch the scene again, with a critical eye, and imagine Slughorn’s perspective, instead of Harry’s. There’s nothing creepy about Tom Riddle... unless you know what he is...

Strip away all the effects of Harry’s gaze (and notice, here he’s still looking at Harry), and he’s quite the charmer, actually.

(I will concede that I don’t like the promotional images where they have him looking like he’s up to no good. And I do wish he blinked once in a while.)

My challenge to you: Rewatch the scene with an open mind, and let me know if you agree that Dillane’s portrayal comes off as depressive rather than ‘creepy.’ And if not, why do you dislike his portrayal?

[supercasey]

TMA Child Avatars AU

Alright, so ever since I listened to the episode about Agnes’s origins, I keep thinking about an AU where a bunch of the other Entities, after realizing that it’s at least possible to create an avatar from birth, perform their own rituals and make a bunch of the future Archives gang. This AU has a lot of potential for angst, but since TMA is sad enough, I’ll probably mostly focus on the world building and fluffy/funny stuff (‘cus god knows I’m a slut for that shit).

To all my followers, I’m sorry I keep making kid AUs; I got told in like 2015 or so that I sucked at writing kids and it’s Never Left My Mind, so now I always wanna make stupid AUs in order to practice writing kids better (I also have an original story I wanna write soon with a ten year old as the main character, so yeah, I need all the practice I can get).

Anyways, here’s all I’ve got on the AU this far (explanation under the cut; a very long post is up ahead):

Character Backstories

Jonathan “Jon” Sims - Apprentice Archivist of the Eye

Jon is a very complicated story, at least from everyone outside of the Eye’s gaze. It was Elias’s idea to create him, and were it not for Gertrude getting lucky, no one but Elias, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild would have ever known that Jon existed until he was ready to become the next archivist. Gertrude found out by pure chance when she accepted a live statement from one very frightened Delores Sims, who told the archivist about how a strange man had been stalking her ever since she found out she was pregnant. Out of completely nowhere, her husband died a month after she conceived, and even though it looked like an accident, Delores swore that she saw an arm surrounded by fog push him down the stairs. Things only grew worse for her over the next few weeks, as in the midst of her grieving her dead husband, Delores began seeing green, glowing irises out of the corners of her eyes, watching her every move as she lived her life, which was followed by the stalker in question appearing constantly in her dreams, always watching her from afar, an unpleasant and frankly unnerving grin on his face the entire time.

Suspicious, and finding the description of the stalker all too familiar by the end of the statement, Gertrude investigated Delores’s claims on her own time, going so far as to break into Elias’s office in order to dig up more information on whatever he was up to. No matter what her theories may have been, none of them were anything like what she found in his letters to his associates. Somehow, Elias had conspired alongside the Lukas and Fairchild families to find their heirs/avatars together, and Elias was the last person to acquire one of his own. Gertrude was unsure of the details at the time (and she still unfortunately is), but from what she could gather, the child growing in Delores Sims’ body was somehow touched by the Eye because of something Elias had done, and they would be born with the perfect framework to have the powers that an archivist learns over several years of training at birth! With no time to lose, Gertrude got back into contact with Delores, and after much discussion between the two women, she convinced Delores to come to her apartment when she eventually went into labor, and to give Gertrude the baby after they were born so that she could keep them safe from Elias.

The birth was meant to be done in secret, but the second the first contraction occurred, there was a knock on Gertrude’s door, Elias waiting for her on the other side with an unhappy grimace on his face. He came armed with a gun, and threatened to murder Gertrude if she didn’t allow him to claim the child as his own. Aware she still had many rituals to stop in the near future, and that none of her assistants were experienced enough to stop them by themselves, Gertrude reluctantly agreed to let him inside, but on one condition; the child had to be shared between them. Elias was abrasive to the idea of course, but he eventually complied with his archivist’s demands, not wanting to replace her so early on in her career. The sight of her stalker coming into the bedroom to watch her give birth unfortunately sent Delores into a panic attack while she was still very much in labor, making the rest of the birth a rather dangerous thing, but the child survived, leaving his mother terrified and shaking. Gertrude had planned on letting her go on her merry way after the baby was born, but Elias wasn’t taking any chances, and he shot her as soon as he deemed it safe to.

Since then, Gertrude and Elias have had dual custody of Jonathan- the name was Gertrude’s idea, on the grounds that it was a nice, proper name for a young man- trading him back and forth every other week. It’s been hard, especially with the adults he calls his parents wanting to kill each other, but Jon’s oblivious to most of the fighting right now, assuming his folks are just going through a messy divorce.

Martin Blackwood-Lukas - Adoptive Son of Peter Lukas

Peter ended up running very behind in the whole child avatar thing (a first for his family, something Simon reminds him of on a daily basis), and he really struggled with creating a baby avatar that would actually be able to “keep up” with the other young messiahs that were coming to be. Eventually he realized that his family’s usual method would take too long, so out of desperation he went to Elias and Simon for help. It was Simon’s idea that worked; he suggested that since the normal methods weren’t working, and kids usually don’t become lonely until they’re older, that Peter should try his own summoning ritual like the Lightless Flame did with Agnes. Peter was hesitant at first, but he gave in quickly, sacrificing a number of lonely souls to his entity in a well-timed manner, until finally, he found a small, swaddled baby in the midst of the fog; a supposed gift from the Lonely for his loyalty.

Peter was delighted by this discovery, and so were his colleagues, the men relieved that their hard work had actually paid off for once. After naming the little boy Martin- it was Elias’s idea, though he didn’t have much of an exact reason for the name, simply claiming that it “suited” the child- and before long, Peter began raising his newfound son much the same as he was; in almost total isolation, save for a variety of rotating nannies and caregivers. Unfortunately for Peter, this went horribly wrong almost as soon as he got started, as by the time that Martin was six months old he had accidentally forced five different nannies into the fog out of fear of them leaving like the ones before them had. With no other options available, and being able to actually leave the fog if Martin threw anymore fits, Peter was forced to raise his son by hand, which again went wrong, but for very different reasons, as to his shock, he became quite attached to his adopted child.

This evolved into Peter having doubt of the Lonely for the first time in his life, but he refused to acknowledge it for as long as he could. But he was finally forced to when, after Martin turned five years old, the rest of the Lukas family insisted on performing a test on the child to see how well Martin could handle the fog without any guidance. He had been inside the fog before of course, with Peter holding his hand or carrying him through the dense chill, but the family wanted to isolate Martin inside for a full month. This secretly scared Peter like nothing else ever had, but out of fear of what his family might think, he didn’t say anything at the time, simply watching from afar as his son was dragged into the fog and left to fend for himself. The ritual went wrong within the first week, Martin having a full-scale breakdown and nearly hyperventilating to death, and yet the family kept him in there for another week before the intervention.

The results of the test of course disappointed the other members of the Lukas family, who suggested that they simply leave Martin to disappear into the fog and look for a new, more sufficient messiah to serve their god. The news hit Peter incredibly hard, and despite his previous inhibitions and fear, he knew he couldn’t let the Lonely consume his one and only son. So, without telling anyone of what he was up to, he ventured into the fog, rescued Martin, and fled to live with his estranged ex-husband the Magnus Institute. Since then he’s been living with Elias at his house and avoiding his family at all costs, all while young Martin has grown up alongside the other entity kids and has struggled to figure out his role in everything, but at least he has his dad on his side through all of this.

Sasha James - Chosen Daughter of the Mother of Puppets

(Note: I headcanon the Mother of Puppets as a giant spider, so that’s how I’m writing her… sorry if this is inaccurate, but I’m only on MAG 152, y’all. Besides, I think this is cool af.)

Sasha was very much planned, even more so than Agnes was so many years beforehand. The Mother of Puppets had her minions gather hundreds upon hundreds of orphaned infants and bring them to her nest. She swaddled each every one in her webbing and kept them like this for several weeks, allowing them time to adjust to the webbing and adapt. Unfortunately, most of these children weren’t cut out for the Web’s influence, and while a few indeed held their adoptive mother’s mark, almost none of them were marked deep enough to become a fully realized avatar. The unsuccessful batches were subsequently sent off to orphanages across the world and replaced with new babies, this process repeating for years and years, until finally, Sasha was born. There was nothing special about her parents, yet she not only bore The Web’s mark, she seemed to have it embedded into her very soul. This, of course, was met with celebration from the Web, and plans were quickly made as to how to raise her moving forward, as no one wanted Sasha to end up like Agnes did.

Annabelle Cane ended up being the one chosen to home Sasha for the first few years of her childhood, and she was dutiful in her new, rather honorable role, as she not only cared for the child well, but she treated Sasha as her own, though she was careful to be seen more as an older sister than a mother to the girl; that role was, of course, reserved for Sasha’s real mother. When Sasha finally turned five, the Mother of Puppets announced further plans for the young avatar, calling on Annabelle to take Sasha to the Magnus Institute and give her to one of their hidden agents there so that she could learn more about how the Web uses it’s influence over other entities. This worried Annabelle, who wanted to keep the child near her and prove that she was the most loyal of the mother’s children, but she would never disobey a direct order from the being that had given her life such meaning. So, rather reluctantly, Annabelle gave Sasha to another member of the Web, watching from the shadows as this unworthy follower took the blessed daughter into the institute for further training.

This went wrong within only a few months. Gertrude ended up finding out who the Web’s spy in the institute was, as she had suspected that another entity was trying to control her from the shadows, and after disposing of the threat and searching their home for anything useful that she could use against the Web, she found Sasha. The archivist was tempted to kill the supernatural child on sight, but while she can murder her assistants and enemies without much remorse, on the grounds that it’s always for the greater good, killing a child is a very different story. So she took Sasha in, raising the Web’s child as her own alongside the Eye’s own prodigy Jon, all while trying to help Sasha control her slowly budding powers. The Mother of Puppets has been trying to get Sasha back ever since, enraged that the child is so close to her yet just out of reach, but with no luck, though there’s no telling how long that will last.

Timothy & Daniel Stoker - Dancer and Future Ringmaster of the Stranger

Both Tim and Danny are chosen ones of the Stranger, created as soon as their god had gained enough spare power to create them. Tim was born first, being the Stranger’s first attempt at birthing an avatar that might be powerful enough to help lead the Unknowing, but Gertrude interrupted midway through the ritual. By some miracle, Tim survived the ordeal, but he was left “incomplete” to some degree, leaving him simply marked and not fully connected to the Stranger. The entity’s followers ended up keeping him around though, both because Nikola Orsinov was too fascinated by the newborn baby to give him up, and because his parents wanted him to survive, but it was agreed that another attempt would be made, this time with more planning involved. Four years later, Danny was born, and with Gertrude too preoccupied to intervene this time around (and because she didn’t realize they’d try again so soon), the ritual went much better and created a far more suitable vessel for the Stranger’s powers.

After that, Tim and Danny’s parents died, fully succumbing to the Stranger’s transformation and leaving them orphaned. Not that their presence was strictly necessary after the kids were born, as Nikola Orsinov was more than happy to take over in most of the child rearing, genuinely growing quite fond of the two boys, particularly Tim, as despite his lack of supernatural abilities, she found him to be rather endearing, which is probably the closest she can get to genuinely caring about someone. Both brothers were raised more or less the same way, save for Danny being showered with more praise and being trained as a future ringmaster while Tim was mostly ignored and trained to be a dancer. Some followers of the Stranger feared that Tim might harbor resentment towards his little brother and try to kill him someday, but to their surprise, Tim only grew more protective of him over the years, swearing to keep Danny safe as he grew up to fulfill his destiny and help their family mold the world in their image.

Eventually though, when Tim was eleven and Danny was seven, Tim realized what was actually happening behind the scenes, and not wanting his brother to risk being sacrificed for the world’s destruction, he told Danny everything, leading to the young messiah to run away with him to London (they were raised primarily in Russia, but moved with the circus a lot, and were in France at the time that they finally ran away). There, Tim found the infamous Gertrude Robinson, who he knew had the power to stop the Unknowing, as she had once saved him from becoming the Stranger’s avatar, and inadvertently led him to having a little brother. Tim and Danny have since moved in with Michael, and they visit the Magnus Institute whenever they get the chance, as both boys have grown to become friends with the other avatar kids. You’d think that the Stranger’s followers would be furious about all of this- don’t worry, many of their acolytes are- but Nikola has laughed it off entirely and keeps insisting that the boys are just having a “sleepover” or are away at “summer camp” (in fucking January, apparently).

Melanie King - Cadet of the Slaughter

Honestly, the Slaughter wasn’t as into the whole “let’s make an avatar from scratch!” thing that the other entities’ followers were doing, but hey, sometimes child avatars just kinda wind up on your doorstep, ya know? Melanie ended up being found at about four years old, sobbing on her hands and knees outside of a burning hospital and calling for her mommy and daddy to come back to her, but no one answered her cries, and she was left to weep for quite some time before someone found her. The hospital, you see, had been overrun by the Corruption and promptly burned to the ground by the Desolation, neither of which bothered to stick around for some worthless child. Melanie’s parents were both inside when the entities clashed, leaving her orphaned and scared, and while Alfred Grifter, who had been on his way to a show with his bandmates at the time that he found her, had intended on just leaving her be, he saw the overwhelming rage and blood-lust in her crying eyes, and realized in that moment that she was touched by the urge to kill, just like he was.

Melanie was promptly taken in by Alfred Grifter and the band, who honestly had no idea what the hell they were doing. On one hand, Alfred knew that keeping a kid around was unbelievably dangerous for all parties involved, but on the other, he really didn’t want to leave Melanie all by herself, for fear of what she might do if left without any guidance from “people” who knew what she was going through, at least to some degree. That isn’t to say Alfred and his bandmates were all that great at raising her- they mostly just brought her to gigs and let her play on her Gameboy backstage while they started massacres- but they did at least try to give her somewhat of a home. It wasn’t until five years into this that some other Slaughter followers found out about Melanie’s existence, to which they told Alfred to give her to them for proper training. Knowing her life would be horrible with them, Alfred gave his ward a backpack full of everything she ever owned, a kid sized guitar, her Gameboy, and sent her on the run.

Melanie was scared out of her mind at first, having grown to see Alfred and his bandmates as her new family; she had already lost her parents, so why did she have to lose the band, too!? But there were no other options, she had to run, so she did just that, attacking any adult who tried to stop her along the way. She didn’t actually know about the Magnus Institute when she made her way to London, and Alfred didn’t tell her to go there or anything, but she ended up being spotted by Adelard Dekker while she was looking for a place to stay in the area. Seeing that Melanie was an avatar of some kind, Adelard managed to convince her that he was safe, and to let him take her to someone that could help her. He brought Melanie straight to Gertrude Robinson, who agreed to house the child since Adelard couldn’t, though she ended up letting one of her unofficial assistants (*cough* Gerry *cough*) take her to live in his flat so she wouldn’t be as easy for Elias to monitor/get ahold of.

Julia Montauk & Alice “Daisy” Tonner - Children of the Hunt

(Watch as I fuck with timelines so badly that the people who keep track of this shit will order a hit on me) The Hunt found both of their avatars in strikingly similar yet different ways; Julia was first, born from the womb of another entity’s follower, but bound for so much more than anything the Dark could give her. Years after her destined birth, Julia’s mother was viciously murdered by the People’s Church when she was just five years old, her father Robert Montauk going down the path of becoming a fully-fledged Hunter, and in the process he unknowingly marked Julia with his newfound entity, which in turn unlocked an unprecedented potential inside of her, not that it was fully realized until another tragedy struck her. This next tragedy, unfortunately, claimed Julia’s father. Mr. Pitch was mistakenly summoned, and in it’s rage, it destroyed Robert while he was in the midst of a sacrifice. The monster would’ve gotten Julia next, had it not been for the intervention of a nearby Hunter.

Trevor Herbert honestly didn’t mean to get involved, but when he witnessed a little girl screaming as she ran out of a house, a giant mass of darkness chasing after her, and no one willing to so much as call the damn cops, he knew he had to rescue the poor kid. In a flash he ran over, picked Julia up, and ran away with her to safety, managing to get her in his car (which he stole, but that’s not important) and drive as far away from her old home as possible. In the aftermath, Trevor had no idea what to do with Julia, since he had never actually wanted any kids of his own, but… well, he ain’t heartless, and that monster was still out there somewhere, just waiting to sink it’s cursed teeth into this young child’s flesh. Trevor ended up keeping her after that, becoming her adoptive father as he traveled with her around the UK, slowly but surely training her to hunt the same monsters that claimed her beloved parents.

You’d think that would be the end of Trevor Herbert adopting little girls marked by the Hunt, but nope, he just can’t catch a fucking break! He found Daisy about a year later, when Julia was eight and becoming more adjusted to her new lifestyle. Again, Trevor wasn’t really planning on going on any hunts at the time that this happened, he was just traveling through the area, but upon finding a bloodied up, terrified little girl being chased by a boy who looked possessed… well, it wasn’t like Julia wasn’t lonely, and again, Trevor isn’t heartless, and he sure as hell can’t let things go. So yeah, he kidnapped another child touched by the Hunt, even though this one actually had a living parent, and once again he took to traveling the UK with his adoptive daughters, secretly reveling in his new role as a father. Daisy, while scared at first, quickly grew fond of her new family, and even fonder of her new nickname after Trevor patched up her wounds, and noticed a flower-shaped scar on her back, prompting him to start affectionately calling her Daisy.

Yep, things were going pretty good for the family of three, but of course, shit eventually caught up with Trevor, not that he thought he could avoid it forever.

The police eventually caught wind of “Trevor the Tramp” traveling with two little girls who looked an awful lot like the missing thirteen and ten year olds Julia Montauk and Alice Tonner, and in his desperation to keep from getting arrested and having his children taken away, Trevor fled to downtown London in order to lie low for awhile and raise his daughters in relative peace, only ever going out for food runs and the occasional hunt. It was through one of these hunts that he ended up meeting Gerard Keay, the two of them chasing after the same book that had been summoning shadow people to wreck havoc on the city, and after a bit of back and forth banter over the campfire that was once a Leitner, Gerry convinced Trevor to move in with him so that the girls and him would be safer and actually have a home. Although he was hesitant to accept an offer he thought was too good to be true (also, he’s not gonna lie, he thought Gerry was a vampire when they met), Trevor agreed and moved into Gerry’s flat with his daughters, and has since helped Gertrude and her assistants with monster hunts.

Oliver Banks & Georgie Barker - Fetchlings of The End

Georgie and Oliver are an odd story, with the latter of the two having gained his powers as a mere toddler, being plagued with horrible, ghastly dreams that would keep him awake through the night, leaving him absolutely haggard by morning. His father tried everything to help Oliver through this torment- counseling, medication, bedtime rituals- but nothing worked, and before long, Oliver’s beloved father was claimed by his nightmares, dying of a heart attack that he couldn’t stop. Alone and misunderstood by everyone who tried to raise him, Oliver ran away countless times, coming across Georgie during his last attempt. He found the little girl to also be on the run for similar reasons, but unlike him, she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t a bawling mess like he was. Together, the two of them struggled to survive, relying on kindhearted drifters for support while they avoided the police until, at long last, something took pity on them, that something being a large, fat tabby cat.

As it were, the tabby cat- dubbed The Admiral by Georgie- wasn’t a normal cat in the slightest, and although it couldn’t speak, it’s intentions were clear; it was there to help these lost, orphaned children. Oliver was skeptical of course, but Georgie wasn’t about to look a gift cat in the mouth, so Oliver reluctantly followed the cat and his little sister to an apartment building, and from there, into an unoccupied flat. Since then, the two children have been living with Admiral in that very same flat, the cat providing them with a fully stocked fridge, warm beds, and running water. It’s still unclear what the Admiral is, but he seems kind enough, and is obviously quite protective of his newfound children, accompanying them on their outings and occasional visits to the institute.

Michael Crew - Prodigy of The Vast

Out of all avatars to be raising children for their entity, Simon Fairchild absolutely has had the most fun with it all, treating it almost like a fun game or pastime. He was the first (save for the Lightless Flame having Agnes, of course) to “create” an avatar child, and from minute one he was overjoyed with the results. A few years after news broke of Agnes’ origins, and the followers of other entities were all arguing over whether or not to follow suit, Simon didn’t bother waiting for anyone’s input or permission, simply throwing himself into the deep end and praying he could make his plan work. Seemingly overnight, Simon somehow acquired a baby later identified as the missing and presumably dead infant Michael Crew, who he referred to as Mike when he finally introduced him to his friends/associates. He still hasn’t told anyone how he even got the kid- not even Peter or Elias know what he did!- but by some means, he illegally adopted Mike and took to raising the kid like a duck takes to water; a bit unsure at first, but growing to love it fast!

When Mike was introduced to the rest of the entity followers community, many were shocked (excuse the pun) to see that the infant had a long, frightening Lichtenberg scar running down his right arm, his back, and his right leg, the scars glowing a bright blue whenever he took to the sky or, as Elias learned the hard way after accidentally annoying Mike by bouncing him on his knee for too long when he was a toddler, used his powers to electrocute people. Even with his child being such an oddity, even among other avatars, Simon took it all in stride, proudly bragging about Mike to anyone who would listen, most of these people being victims of the Vast, who were hardly able to hear Simon’s excited rambling over their own shrieks of terror. He usually also insisted on bringing Mike with him, even when he was a mere infant, though he at least kept the kid in a tight harness on his chest. In all honesty, Simon being such an excited parent was what kick-started a lot of other avatars to start acquiring their own child avatars, as he made it look so easy!

However, things weren’t always perfect, especially on Mike’s end as he grew older. Being the eldest and more or less “firstborn” of this new generation of entity-made avatars put a lot of pressure on him at a very early age, pressure which Simon tried to help him deal with by not acknowledging it, which unfortunately didn’t help in the slightest. Thankfully Mike started to feel less unsure of his place in the world as he reached his teen years, seeing as the younger kids were now getting all the attention and giving him a chance to breathe. Even now that he’s an angsty teenager, Mike loves Simon like a father, referring to him as such without hesitation. This, of course, delights Simon to no end, and makes all his peers low-key high-key jealous of the awesome relationship he has with his son.

Helen Richardson - Droplet of The Spiral

Not much was known about Helen when Michael first found her. After being sent into The Spiral by Gertrude on what he thought to be a suicide mission for the greater good, Michael was half certain he wouldn’t find anything but his end in that place. Instead he found a small, strange toddler where he was meant to find… well, he didn’t actually know what, but certainly not a baby, that’s for sure! With no one watching baby Helen, and therefore making him believe that she had been abandoned by The Spiral’s other creations, Michael had no reservations against scooping her up and taking her back to the physical world with him, where he was met be a very confused Gertrude Robinson. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on killing/abandoning a baby after he got out, so he and Gertrude brought her back to London with them in hopes of finding out more about the odd child. Along the way, it became clear that the baby was gifted with The Spiral’s powers, the giggly toddler continually screwing with reality, though she wasn’t aware she was doing so.

Back home in London, it took another three weeks of research, but Gerry eventually found out more about the child Michael had more or less adopted. Her name was originally Helen Richardson, and her father, a rookie paranormal investigator who had once been marked by The Spiral, was obsessed with the distortion, and was willing to do anything to become more than simply marked by it. He ended up finding a map similar to Gertrude’s, and a few years before she even knew it was possible, the father went into The Spiral and used his own daughter as a vessel for the entity, hoping she would be a good enough sacrifice to earn it’s favor. This of course ended in disaster, with the father “disappearing” while Helen absorbed The Spiral’s power, but seeing as she was so young, it couldn’t manifest properly, even after two and a half years spent trying to “raise her” within the deepest depths of it’s domain.

With research still being done on what to do about the child, and whether or not the team can remove her powers without killing or permanently injuring her in the process, Michael has agreed to take Helen in, secretly delighted to be raising a baby. With the Stoker Brothers already under his roof, Michael has his hands rather full with them and baby Helen, but the boys take her antics in stride, having learned quickly how to deal with the apartment they live in occasionally “growing” some new doors and changing color at random. Luckily for Michael, he has back-up in the forms of Gerry and Gertrude, who occasionally take Helen and the brothers off his hands for him so he can take a break/fix whatever Helen may’ve accidentally broken with her powers.

Character Roles in this AU

(Feel free to add your own OCs/other characters if you wanna do stuff with this AU, I’m just naming characters I know about/remember!)

Avatar Kids: Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Timothy “Tim” Stoker, Daniel “Danny” Stoker, Melanie King, Julia Montauk, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, Oliver Banks, Georgie Barker, Michael “Mike” Crew, and Helen Richardson.

Avatar Kids Semi-Reluctant PTA Group: Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson, Peter Lukas, Gerard “Gerry” Keay, Trevor Herbert, Michael Shelley, and Simon Fairchild.

PTA Allies: Basira Hussain (Daisy’s best friend and the local Normal Child™), Agnes Montague (Everyone’s emergency number for avatar child advice), Alfred Grifter (Just shows up to hang out with Melanie and cause problems on purpose), The Admiral (Guardian to Georgie and Oliver and occasionally the other kids; best babysitter), Adelard Dekker (Comes around the archives sometimes and always brings presents for the kids + assistants), and Rosie (Elias’s assistant and the only sane and sensible adult in this Chili’s tonight).

PTA Enemies: Nikola Orsinov (Tim and Danny’s “Mom” who keeps kidnapping Jon on accident), Annabelle Cane (Hates the institute and wants Sasha back), Jude Perry (Hates the kids but loves Agnes; worst babysitter),  and Jared Hopworth (Nightmare flesh man that needs to fuck off; mediocre but funny babysitter).

Character Descriptions

(Feel free to tweak the physical designs if you want; I’m just going off my own headcanons, and seeing as my drawing skills are pretty shit, it’s not like I’m gonna be doing much art for this outside of writing. So yeah, go off with your own headcanons if you want to!)

Full Name: Jonathan “Jon” Sims-Bouchard-Robinson Age: 7 Birthday: October 26th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Eye, Marked by Literally Fucking Everything Guardian(s): Alexander Sims (Biological Father - Deceased), Delores Sims (Biological Mother - Deceased), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current), Elias Bouchard (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin, worryingly short for his age, dark brown eyes that glow bright green when he’s using his powers, long black hair with a few green and grey hairbands tied in, constantly “borrows” Martin’s sweaters to wear, occasionally wears skirts but most of the time he wears slacks, constantly looks sleep deprived, has a very intense stare, and occasionally he can be seen carrying his stuffed moth around. Personality: You’d think he’d be a quiet kid, considering his entity, but no, he has Questions and he wants them Answered, goddammit! He wasn’t raised around many kids his age, being home-schooled by Elias and Gertrude all his life, so he struggles to connect with the other avatar kids. Is only close to the S1 gang at first, but he gets closer to everyone else over time. Idolizes Gerry and thinks he’s the coolest guy ever. Appears rather cowardly at a glance, but he’s braver than most people give him credit for. Would die for his friends/family.

Full Name: Martin Blackwood-Lukas Age: 8 Birthday: February 29th (Pisces) ((This one’s for you, Dane)) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Lonely, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): William Blackwood (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Edna Blackwood (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Peter Lukas (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Polish heritage and pale as a fucking ghost, average height for his age but growing fast, pretty chubby, covered head to toe in little red freckles, short and curly red hair, bright brown eyes, wears big round glasses, wears sweaters and comfy trousers almost 24/7, carries a backpack full of “emergency tools” wherever he goes, usually has a cup of tea in-hand, and sometimes wears a small sailor hat that Peter gave him. Personality: Incredibly reserved, much like Mike, but he’s been trying to come out of his shell more. He’s “Best Friends Forever” with Jon, and gets along well with Tim and Sasha as well. Fears Melanie and Daisy. He likes hanging out with the other kids, but he often gets talked over, leading him to withdraw for awhile if it’s bad enough. Adores his dad, and is so much braver than anyone knows. Incredibly snarky when he feels like it.

Full Name: Sasha James Age: 10 Birthday: November 18th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Web, Marked by The Eye, Marked by The Stranger Guardian(s): Francis James (Biological Father - Deceased), Patrick James (Biological Father - Deceased), Annabelle Cane (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Caucasian with dark brown skin, slightly taller than average for her age, long dark brown hair, wears big round glasses, sometimes wears a little make-up if she can get away with it, wears a lot of turtleneck sweaters and long skirts, always has at least one cobweb on her, carries around a stuffed spider that she brings with her to the archives every day, and she wears a headband most of the time. Personality: Easily the most level-headed of the kids, as she’s been raised around paranormal stuff the longest and is rarely bothered by the stranger things that happen. She hates Artifact Storage with a passion, but other than that, she loves exploring the institute and occasionally stealing Gertrude’s laptop to mess with it. Very tech savvy, and even more curious! Incredibly smart, to the point that she can even outclass Gertrude and Gerry with her quick-wittiness.

Full Name: Timothy “Tim” Stoker Age: 12 Birthday: August 3rd (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Marked by The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, slightly on the taller side for his age, messy/spiky black hair that looks impossible to comb, dark brown eyes, is described as a “handsome young man” by strangers, has a very charming smile, wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts and shorts (even during the winter), needs to wear glasses but he refuses to wear them in the archives out of self-consciousness. Personality: Probably one of the brightest personalities of the avatar kids, Tim comes off as very cool and funny, but underneath all of that he’s rather paranoid, afraid that the circus will come and force his baby brother into becoming a monster. Protective of his little bro and the archive kids, but he still teases them to no end. Smarter than he looks, and isn’t afraid to break his cool guy persona to tell someone off.

Full Name: Daniel “Danny” Stoker Age: 8 Birthday: August 1st (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, about a head shorter than Tim, somewhat neat black hair that sticks up in odd places, eyes are impressively dark and glassy looking, slight gap between his front teeth, is described as being a “handsome young man” by strangers, wears a lot of tank tops and shorts as well as the occasional hoodie if it’s cold, and loves running around barefoot. Personality: A lot of people describe Danny as being a “smaller and cuter Tim”, but that’s just not true. Danny is a lot like his older brother in many ways, but he has a much more refined taste for adventure, constantly getting himself into trouble with Jon on the grounds of “exploring” or what have you. He idolizes his big bro to the moon and back, and loves hanging out with him alongside the other kids. More of a follower than a leader, but he doesn’t mind. Secretly fears the day that the circus will come back to make him into their future ringmaster.

Full Name: Melanie King Age: 9 Birthday: June 7th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Slaughter, Marked by The Corruption, Marked by The Desolation, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Boris King (Biological Father - Deceased), Carrie King (Biological Mother - Deceased), Alfred Grifter (Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard Keay (Guardian - Current) Appearance: Irish heritage but not terribly pale, rather short for her age, incredibly thin from malnutrition, short brown hair with the ends dyed bright blue, bright brown eyes, brings her leather jacket and her guitar with her everywhere she goes, wears a lot of pink/blue skirts and band t-shirts, wears black leather boots, has a lot of bandages on her knees and knuckles, and always has a camera ready to record things. Personality: Melanie is probably the most disconnected of the avatar kids (save for Helen), seeing as she only just recently joined the group, but already she’s beginning to befriend Sasha and Basira. She’s very protective of the other girls, and she keeps challenging the boys to fight her (only Danny ever agrees; he always loses). Secretly idolizes Julia and Daisy, but will never admit it. She sees Gerry as her big bro and Alfred Grifter as her adoptive dad; she misses Alfred more than she let’s on. Would stab as a warning.

Full Name: Julia Montauk Age: 13 Birthday: April 19th (Aries) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunt, Marked by The Dark, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Robert Montauk (Biological Father - Deceased), Linette Montauk (Biological Mother - Deceased), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Indigenous heritage with dark tan skin, tall for her age, skinny enough to look malnourished, close-cropped red hair that gets her mistaken for a boy a lot, metal grey eyes, a scar runs diagonally across her right eye, often wears medium length skirts and oversized t-shirts, always wears athletic shoes, has a lot of scrapes and bandages on her knees most of the time, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Before the deaths of both of her parents, Julia was considered rather normal for her age, being interested in horses, dolls, and dress-up games. After her mother died, she became more tomboyish, which only became more extreme after her father’s death. Since being taken in by Trevor, Julia’s been trying to act more like an adult in an attempt to seem less vulnerable, to varying degrees of success. She adores Trevor to the moon and back, and sees Daisy as her little sister. A bit standoffish around other children, but she’s got a good heart.

Full Name: Alice “Daisy” Tonner Age: 10 Birthday: March 15th (Pisces) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunter, Marked by The Slaughter, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Greyson Tonner (Biological Father - Deceased), Antoinette Tonner (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Welsh heritage with cream colored skin and a light tan, average height for her age, short and shaggy blond hair, has a number of tiny scars all over her face and hands, has a huge scar on her back that Trevor has told her looks like a daisy, striking green eyes, wears a lot of sleeveless shirts and shorts, refuses to wear dresses or skirts, prefers to be barefoot, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Is already rather hot-headed at her age, especially after her encounter with Calvin while he was being possessed by a spirit of the Slaughter. Even so, she’s protective of her newfound family of Trevor and Julia, and while she misses her mother, she believes it’s best if she stays where she is. She loves playing outside whenever she can, and will spend hours chasing after squirrels and rabbits if left alone for too long. A bit argumentative, but she gets along really well with Julia and Basira.

Full Name: Oliver Banks Age: 10 Birthday: June 14th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): June Banks (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Isaac Banks (Biological Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark skin, has an array of pitch black freckles on his face, short and neat black hair that reaches just below his ears, ghastly grey eyes that look almost clear and turn black when he’s using his powers; used to be dark brown, worryingly thin from years of malnutrition, wears a lot of baggy and long-sleeved shirts, wears sweatpants, has boots on everywhere he goes, and he’s almost always shivering. Personality: The more distrustful of the “End Siblings”, the only person Oliver even sort of likes is Jon, and even then he’s still scared of him. Constantly fidgeting and yawning from both his paranoia and fatigue. Is protective of Georgie, but more out of obligation than friendship. Prefers to be alone, and rarely visits the archives. He knows something bad is coming, but he’s too scared to do much about it. In the end, he knows he’ll do the right thing, but for now he’s hiding until the bombs finally fall.

Full Name: Georgie Barker Age: 7 Birthday: December 9th (Sagittarius) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): Georgie Grounding Sr. (Biological Mother - Deceased), Sarah Grounding (Biological Mother - Deceased), Jason Barker (Adoptive Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Indian with dark brown skin, fairly chubby, has an array of light brown freckles all over her arms, back, and face, has long and curly black hair done up in poofy buns using colorful hair bands, paints her nails all the time with different colors every week, cutest little smile you ever did see, wears a lot of ghost-related clothing (mainly t-shirts and jeans), and she brings her ghost backpack with her everywhere she goes (it has her stuffed leopard inside). Personality: Despite being an avatar of the End, Georgie has a very upbeat personality, having no time for her adoptive brother’s endless worrying and fearfulness. In fact, all her fear has been gone since she was little, so she’s never scared to explore something new and parade into danger! She’s very close friends with Jon (even if he’s distant sometimes) and best friends with Melanie, though she gets along with most everyone else as well. She may be a chipper person, but look out, she’s carrying more baggage than she let’s on. Loves The Admiral more than life.

Full Name: Michael “Mike” Crew Age: 14 Birthday: May 13th (Taurus) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Vast Guardian(s): Ramsey Crew (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Whitney Crew (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Simon Fairchild (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Caucasian and pale as a ghost, shaggy white hair that’s almost always wind-swept, strikingly pale blue eyes, smells of ozone and burnt hair, incredibly short for his age, very bony and thin, tends to wear a lot of oversized hoodies on the grounds that they make flying more fun, clothes are almost always pristine and clean, his back, right arm, and right leg are covered in a Lichtenberg scar that glows bright blue when he’s using his powers, permanent bags under his eyes. Personality: A very, very quiet kid, at least around strangers. He’s much bubblier around Simon, but otherwise he’s viewed as an “old soul” by most adults. He does have a sense of humor though, taking a bit too much pleasure out of sending people soaring into the air against their will, especially if they insulted or annoyed him beforehand. Secretly a bit protective of the other avatar kids, and has been known to take them flying if they promise not to let go of him when they do so. Nice kid, but don’t make fun of his height or he might just electrocute you out of spite.

Full Name: Helen Richardson Age: 3 Birthday: February 23rd (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Spiral Guardian(s): Tiara Richardson (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Dexter Richardson (Biological Father - Deceased), Michael Shelley (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin (has the beginning patches of vitiligo on her face and hands), fairly chubby but Michael swears it’s just baby fat, has bright purple eyes with swirling yellow irises, has short but frizzy black hair that cannot be tamed, is often dressed in very colorful onesies and footie pajamas alongside the rare dress, and occasionally she’ll have a child leash vest on (though it often disappears because of The Spiral). Personality: She honestly doesn’t have much of a personality yet, being a toddler and all, but she’s a very giggly child, and loves nothing more than making Michael “be silly” with the use of her powers. Speaking of which, she has very little control of her abilities, and although she’s too young to understand their impact on the world, she still feels bad when she accidentally goes too far and gets Michael hurt. She adores Michael and Jon, and loves it when Michael brings her to the institute with him. Very playful and mischievous.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! I wanna write some fics for this at some point (particularly I wanna write a fic that has all of the kids’ origin stories in better/more detail), but for now anyone is free to fuck around with this AU, so long as you’re not doing too much shipping between the kids (hints at ships are fine, but they’re still kids, y’all) and ESPECIALLY not any shipping of the kids with the adults/guardians. Feel free to PM me or scream about this AU in the notes/tags; I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!

[hearmeouteliza]

So here’s the scene that’s come so far from this post where I’ve been thinking out loud about Pepper’s origins and the Phantom Blot bonding with her and wanting to help her.  For once, I actually do know where I’m going with this (LOL, instead of getting started with an idea and then just winging it), but I want to catch up with some other stories I have out there before taking the full tale on...

Though he’d worked his way into the upper echelon of the organization, Phantom Blot had no real love for F.O.W.L.  They were a means to an end; they gave him the most accurate intelligence regarding significant sources of magic and the resources to track them down. Plus, they weren’t fond of Magica DeSpell either, so they wouldn’t stop him from eliminating the threat she posed once he had the chance.  His working for the organization was an arrangement of mutual benefit and nothing more.  Frankly, after he captured Magica and destroyed all magic to avenge his village – and, more importantly, his family – he didn’t care what F.O.W.L. did or didn’t do.

Over the years, however, Blot had learned a number of the agency’s secrets.  The Eggheads, F.O.W.L.’s grunts and resident fashion disasters, had mostly been the products of one of F.O.W.L.’s earlier projects.  They had taken in a number of orphaned and abandoned children, raising them to become loyal to the organization and join its workforce.  Whether it was truly rescuing them was debatable; many of them might have been adopted by actual families had they not been claimed by F.O.W.L. And the ethics of raising a child for the express purpose of filling a job were questionable.  But, on the other hand, though they had been raised in a very institutional environment, the children had never been abused and the Egghead’s wages were reasonably competitive when compared to similar positions in the outside world.  Blot had decided he had no real opinion on the program one way or another.  Was it ideal?  No.  But the children had been safe and secure, something their so-called families certainly hadn’t worried about when abandoning them.  The orphans were a different situation, and he felt for them, but they hadn’t had any family step up to claim them either.  As someone whose own children had been stolen from him, their lives snuffed out before he could stop it, he had absolutely no tolerance for anyone who would abandon a child to the whims of an often-cruel world.

Something else he’d learned and didn’t particularly care about was that ducks and other species with a predisposition to imprint upon their initial caregivers had something known as an “imprint memory.”  It was a vague memory of their early moments after hatching, involving the caregiver they’d imprinted upon.  There were rarely specifics, just general feelings and a sense of what had been going on around them at the time.  If the initial bond with their caregiver was broken, another could be formed with a different caregiver, provided the child was given the time and support needed to do so.  Those who suffered from what psychologists termed “fractured imprinting” that had never built a subsequent bond in their formative years tended to have significant adjustment and mental health issues in adulthood.  That certainly explained why majority of the Eggheads were so…well, cracked, as the slang went.  They would have probably had those issues anywhere else, especially if they hadn’t been lucky enough to be adopted, but while their physical needs had been met, they hadn’t been particularly coddled.

All of that had been in a mental file Blot had labeled “Not My Problem” previously; it was a broad category that encompassed most things that had little to do with his primary mission.  However, one particular Egghead had wormed her way into his life with her boundless enthusiasm.  She also happened to be a “graduate” of the program.  Despite himself, Blot had become fond of Pepper, even beginning to consider her a friend.  He certainly hadn’t had many of those since his village had been destroyed so long ago. He had insisted to F.O.W.L. she become his permanent mission partner, something Bradford Buzzard had immediately agreed to since there was literally no one else volunteering.  (Why did that bother him?  He’d never cared who liked him or not before.)  And now, between tasks, they’d begun to talk about topics that had previously been off-limits, such as his family.  Pepper’s eyes were wide and sympathetic as he told her of the joy they’d brought him, his beloved wife and their two little girls.

“They sound pretty great,” she said quietly.

“They were,” Blot agreed.  He watched, mildly amused as she toyed with her blonde curls that refused to be contained once she took her helmet off.  With a name (or was it a nickname?) like Pepper, he’d expected her hair to be red the first time he saw it, but that only went to show how far assumptions got anyone.  It occurred to him he knew little about Pepper, other than that she’d been one of F.O.W.L.’s foundlings.  Before she’d snuck her way into his heart, he wouldn’t have cared.  “Do you know anything about your life before you came here?” He wasn’t sure how else to pose the question.  The odds were that her story wasn’t a happy one and he didn’t want to push her to share it if she wasn’t ready.  However, given the way she opened up to him like a flower at the least little bit of affection (or even attention), he suspected she’d tell him.

Pepper shrugged.  “F.O.W.L.’s the only family I’ve ever known…you know, like most of us.  I guess there are a few Eggheads who answered a want ad – bet they had no idea what they were signing up for – but the rest of us were rescued.”

“I don’t know that my opinion will count for much,” Blot told her, “but I find it despicable that anyone would abandon their own offspring.”  He was still trying to figure out this whole “friendship” thing, but sympathizing with her situation was a start.

Pepper grinned.  “Oh, it does count.  And thank you.  It’s…well, it does help, at least a little.”  She sighed, her gaze trailing off to gaze at nothing in particular.  “It’s just…”

Blot frowned, even if Pepper might not have been able to see it beneath his cloak.  One thing Pepper had never been was at a loss for words, so whatever she had on her mind had to be significant.  “It’s just what?”

“Well, we’ve talked about our imprint memories before, me and the others.”  Pepper twisted her fingers together as she talked.  “Most of the others, they’re what I’d guess you’d expect – lonely, sometimes cold…just sad, really sad.  And I feel a little bad that mine…isn’t?”

“You shouldn’t feel bad for that,” Blot insisted, but he wasn’t surprised that she did.  She was the most empathetic of all the Eggheads he’d spent any significant amount of time around; perhaps that had to do with the fact that she might not have had as rough a start as her peers.  Had she been one of the orphans?  “Did you want to…talk about it?”

Pepper nodded enthusiastically.  “It’s really…nice, actually.  I remember a woman – she must have been my mother – holding me and singing to me.  Just…safe and warm.”  Her smile quickly morphed into a frown, however, the rest of her face falling with it. Blot had never seen her look so dejected and he found he hated it.  “I don’t know why she left me.  They said they found me in a box, just a few days old.  Was I a difficult baby?  Did something happen where she couldn’t take care of me?  Or was she even my mother?”

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with you.”  That, Blot could promise her, even if he had no information to answer her other questions.  “You were an infant.  There was nothing you could have done to deserve being abandoned like that.”

Slowly, Pepper’s smile returned, tentative though it may have been. “Thanks.  That’s…really nice of you to say.”  She shrugged, her expression a little sheepish.  “Sometimes when I got lonely, when I was little, I used to pretend she realized she made a huge mistake and was looking for me.  Or…I was really a princess of some country somewhere and she had to hide me away to protect me from an evil sorceress.”

Given that Blot had dealt with more than one evil sorceress in his time and was currently in pursuit of the most menacing one of all, he couldn’t exactly call her fantasies ridiculous.  “Perhaps she did.  Or…perhaps you’re an orphan after all and she never meant to leave you behind.”  It was still an unhappy ending, true, but maybe it would sting less for Pepper to consider.

“Yeah, maybe!”  Pepper perked up.  “You know, you try to be all tough and menacing, but I think you’re a real softie underneath it all.”

Blot glared at her, but it lacked the heat he usually summoned for those who had irritated him.  “I am not.”

“I think you are,” Pepper teased, her voice becoming more singsong.

“Am not,” Blot insisted.  Childish as it may have been, she had goaded him into playing along.  He couldn’t help but be reminded of similar arguments his girls had…and the memory was a balm instead of a dagger to his heart.  This ridiculous little duck just seemed to bring out that sort of thing in him.  Privately, he resolved to do some additional research into Pepper’s origins.  Surely there would be files that could help him put together the pieces and give her some answers.  

It was nice to have someone to care about again.

[allaboutjoseph]

Patris Corde - Apostolic Letter of Pope Francis

https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/apost_letters/documents/papa-francesco-lettera-ap_20201208_patris-corde.html

APOSTOLIC LETTER - PATRIS CORDE

OF THE HOLY FATHER, FRANCIS

ON THE 150th ANNIVERSARY OF THE PROCLAMATION OF SAINT JOSEPH AS PATRON OF THE UNIVERSAL CHURCH

WITH A FATHER’S HEART: that is how Joseph loved Jesus, whom all four Gospels refer to as “the son of Joseph”.[1]

Matthew and Luke, the two Evangelists who speak most of Joseph, tell us very little, yet enough for us to appreciate what sort of father he was, and the mission entrusted to him by God’s providence.

We know that Joseph was a lowly carpenter (cf. Mt 13:55), betrothed to Mary (cf. Mt 1:18; Lk 1:27). He was a “just man” (Mt 1:19), ever ready to carry out God’s will as revealed to him in the Law (cf. Lk 2:22.27.39) and through four dreams (cf. Mt 1:20; 2:13.19.22). After a long and tiring journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem, he beheld the birth of the Messiah in a stable, since “there was no place for them” elsewhere (cf. Lk 2:7). He witnessed the adoration of the shepherds (cf. Lk 2:8-20) and the Magi (cf. Mt 2:1-12), who represented respectively the people of Israel and the pagan peoples.

Joseph had the courage to become the legal father of Jesus, to whom he gave the name revealed by the angel: “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Mt 1:21). As we know, for ancient peoples, to give a name to a person or to a thing, as Adam did in the account in the Book of Genesis (cf. 2:19-20), was to establish a relationship.

In the Temple, forty days after Jesus’ birth, Joseph and Mary offered their child to the Lord and listened with amazement to Simeon’s prophecy concerning Jesus and his Mother (cf. Lk 2:22-35). To protect Jesus from Herod, Joseph dwelt as a foreigner in Egypt (cf. Mt 2:13-18). After returning to his own country, he led a hidden life in the tiny and obscure village of Nazareth in Galilee, far from Bethlehem, his ancestral town, and from Jerusalem and the Temple. Of Nazareth it was said, “No prophet is to rise” (cf. Jn 7:52) and indeed, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (cf. Jn 1:46). When, during a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Joseph and Mary lost track of the twelve-year-old Jesus, they anxiously sought him out and they found him in the Temple, in discussion with the doctors of the Law (cf. Lk 2:41-50).

After Mary, the Mother of God, no saint is mentioned more frequently in the papal magisterium than Joseph, her spouse. My Predecessors reflected on the message contained in the limited information handed down by the Gospels in order to appreciate more fully his central role in the history of salvation. Blessed Pius IX declared him “Patron of the Catholic Church”,[2] Venerable Pius XII proposed him as “Patron of Workers”[3] and Saint John Paul II as “Guardian of the Redeemer”.[4] Saint Joseph is universally invoked as the “patron of a happy death”.[5]

Now, one hundred and fifty years after his proclamation as Patron of the Catholic Church by Blessed Pius IX (8 December 1870), I would like to share some personal reflections on this extraordinary figure, so close to our own human experience. For, as Jesus says, “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Mt 12:34). My desire to do so increased during these months of pandemic, when we experienced, amid the crisis, how “our lives are woven together and sustained by ordinary people, people often overlooked. People who do not appear in newspaper and magazine headlines, or on the latest television show, yet in these very days are surely shaping the decisive events of our history. Doctors, nurses, storekeepers and supermarket workers, cleaning personnel, caregivers, transport workers, men and women working to provide essential services and public safety, volunteers, priests, men and women religious, and so very many others. They understood that no one is saved alone… How many people daily exercise patience and offer hope, taking care to spread not panic, but shared responsibility. How many fathers, mothers, grandparents and teachers are showing our children, in small everyday ways, how to accept and deal with a crisis by adjusting their routines, looking ahead and encouraging the practice of prayer. How many are praying, making sacrifices and interceding for the good of all”.[6] Each of us can discover in Joseph – the man who goes unnoticed, a daily, discreet and hidden presence – an intercessor, a support and a guide in times of trouble. Saint Joseph reminds us that those who appear hidden or in the shadows can play an incomparable role in the history of salvation. A word of recognition and of gratitude is due to them all.

1. A beloved father

The greatness of Saint Joseph is that he was the spouse of Mary and the father of Jesus. In this way, he placed himself, in the words of Saint John Chrysostom, “at the service of the entire plan of salvation”.[7]

Saint Paul VI pointed out that Joseph concretely expressed his fatherhood “by making his life a sacrificial service to the mystery of the incarnation and its redemptive purpose. He employed his legal authority over the Holy Family to devote himself completely to them in his life and work. He turned his human vocation to domestic love into a superhuman oblation of himself, his heart and all his abilities, a love placed at the service of the Messiah who was growing to maturity in his home”.[8]

Thanks to his role in salvation history, Saint Joseph has always been venerated as a father by the Christian people. This is shown by the countless churches dedicated to him worldwide, the numerous religious Institutes, Confraternities and ecclesial groups inspired by his spirituality and bearing his name, and the many traditional expressions of piety in his honour. Innumerable holy men and women were passionately devoted to him. Among them was Teresa of Avila, who chose him as her advocate and intercessor, had frequent recourse to him and received whatever graces she asked of him. Encouraged by her own experience, Teresa persuaded others to cultivate devotion to Joseph.[9]

Every prayer book contains prayers to Saint Joseph. Special prayers are offered to him each Wednesday and especially during the month of March, which is traditionally dedicated to him.[10]

Popular trust in Saint Joseph is seen in the expression “Go to Joseph”, which evokes the famine in Egypt, when the Egyptians begged Pharaoh for bread. He in turn replied: “Go to Joseph; what he says to you, do” (Gen 41:55). Pharaoh was referring to Joseph the son of Jacob, who was sold into slavery because of the jealousy of his brothers (cf. Gen 37:11-28) and who – according to the biblical account – subsequently became viceroy of Egypt (cf. Gen 41:41-44).

As a descendant of David (cf. Mt 1:16-20), from whose stock Jesus was to spring according to the promise made to David by the prophet Nathan (cf. 2 Sam 7), and as the spouse of Mary of Nazareth, Saint Joseph stands at the crossroads between the Old and New Testaments.

2. A tender and loving father

Joseph saw Jesus grow daily “in wisdom and in years and in divine and human favour” (Lk 2:52). As the Lord had done with Israel, so Joseph did with Jesus: he taught him to walk, taking him by the hand; he was for him like a father who raises an infant to his cheeks, bending down to him and feeding him (cf. Hos 11:3-4).

In Joseph, Jesus saw the tender love of God: “As a father has compassion for his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear him” (Ps 103:13).

In the synagogue, during the praying of the Psalms, Joseph would surely have heard again and again that the God of Israel is a God of tender love,[11] who is good to all, whose “compassion is over all that he has made” (Ps 145:9).

The history of salvation is worked out “in hope against hope” (Rom 4:18), through our weaknesses. All too often, we think that God works only through our better parts, yet most of his plans are realized in and despite our frailty. Thus Saint Paul could say: “To keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me: ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness’” (2 Cor 12:7-9).

Since this is part of the entire economy of salvation, we must learn to look upon our weaknesses with tender mercy.[12]

The evil one makes us see and condemn our frailty, whereas the Spirit brings it to light with tender love. Tenderness is the best way to touch the frailty within us. Pointing fingers and judging others are frequently signs of an inability to accept our own weaknesses, our own frailty. Only tender love will save us from the snares of the accuser (cf. Rev 12:10). That is why it is so important to encounter God’s mercy, especially in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, where we experience his truth and tenderness. Paradoxically, the evil one can also speak the truth to us, yet he does so only to condemn us. We know that God’s truth does not condemn, but instead welcomes, embraces, sustains and forgives us. That truth always presents itself to us like the merciful father in Jesus’ parable (cf. Lk 15:11-32). It comes out to meet us, restores our dignity, sets us back on our feet and rejoices for us, for, as the father says: “This my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (v. 24).

Even through Joseph’s fears, God’s will, his history and his plan were at work. Joseph, then, teaches us that faith in God includes believing that he can work even through our fears, our frailties and our weaknesses. He also teaches us that amid the tempests of life, we must never be afraid to let the Lord steer our course. At times, we want to be in complete control, yet God always sees the bigger picture.

3. An obedient father

As he had done with Mary, God revealed his saving plan to Joseph. He did so by using dreams, which in the Bible and among all ancient peoples, were considered a way for him to make his will known.[13]

Joseph was deeply troubled by Mary’s mysterious pregnancy. He did not want to “expose her to public disgrace”,[14] so he decided to “dismiss her quietly” (Mt 1:19).

In the first dream, an angel helps him resolve his grave dilemma: “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Mt 1:20-21). Joseph’s response was immediate: “When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him” (Mt 1:24). Obedience made it possible for him to surmount his difficulties and spare Mary.

In the second dream, the angel tells Joseph: “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him” (Mt 2:13). Joseph did not hesitate to obey, regardless of the hardship involved: “He got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod” (Mt 2:14-15).

In Egypt, Joseph awaited with patient trust the angel’s notice that he could safely return home. In a third dream, the angel told him that those who sought to kill the child were dead and ordered him to rise, take the child and his mother, and return to the land of Israel (cf. Mt 2:19-20). Once again, Joseph promptly obeyed. “He got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel” (Mt 2:21).

During the return journey, “when Joseph heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. After being warned in a dream” – now for the fourth time – “he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth” (Mt 2:22-23).

The evangelist Luke, for his part, tells us that Joseph undertook the long and difficult journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem to be registered in his family’s town of origin in the census of the Emperor Caesar Augustus. There Jesus was born (cf. Lk 2:7) and his birth, like that of every other child, was recorded in the registry of the Empire. Saint Luke is especially concerned to tell us that Jesus’ parents observed all the prescriptions of the Law: the rites of the circumcision of Jesus, the purification of Mary after childbirth, the offering of the firstborn to God (cf. 2:21-24).[15]

In every situation, Joseph declared his own “fiat”, like those of Mary at the Annunciation and Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.

In his role as the head of a family, Joseph taught Jesus to be obedient to his parents (cf. Lk 2:51), in accordance with God’s command (cf. Ex 20:12).

During the hidden years in Nazareth, Jesus learned at the school of Joseph to do the will of the Father. That will was to be his daily food (cf. Jn 4:34). Even at the most difficult moment of his life, in Gethsemane, Jesus chose to do the Father’s will rather than his own,[16] becoming “obedient unto death, even death on a cross” (Phil 2:8).  The author of the Letter to the Hebrews thus concludes that Jesus “learned obedience through what he suffered” (5:8).

All this makes it clear that “Saint Joseph was called by God to serve the person and mission of Jesus directly through the exercise of his fatherhood” and that in this way, “he cooperated in the fullness of time in the great mystery of salvation and is truly a minister of salvation.”[17]

4. An accepting father

Joseph accepted Mary unconditionally. He trusted in the angel’s words.  “The nobility of Joseph’s heart is such that what he learned from the law he made dependent on charity. Today, in our world where psychological, verbal and physical violence towards women is so evident, Joseph appears as the figure of a respectful and sensitive man. Even though he does not understand the bigger picture, he makes a decision to protect Mary’s good name, her dignity and her life. In his hesitation about how best to act, God helped him by enlightening his judgment”.[18]

Often in life, things happen whose meaning we do not understand. Our first reaction is frequently one of disappointment and rebellion. Joseph set aside his own ideas in order to accept the course of events and, mysterious as they seemed, to embrace them, take responsibility for them and make them part of his own history. Unless we are reconciled with our own history, we will be unable to take a single step forward, for we will always remain hostage to our expectations and the disappointments that follow.

The spiritual path that Joseph traces for us is not one that explains, but accepts. Only as a result of this acceptance, this reconciliation, can we begin to glimpse a broader history, a deeper meaning. We can almost hear an echo of the impassioned reply of Job to his wife, who had urged him to rebel against the evil he endured: “Shall we receive the good at the hand of God, and not receive the bad?” (Job 2:10).

Joseph is certainly not passively resigned, but courageously and firmly proactive. In our own lives, acceptance and welcome can be an expression of the Holy Spirit’s gift of fortitude. Only the Lord can give us the strength needed to accept life as it is, with all its contradictions, frustrations and disappointments.

Jesus’ appearance in our midst is a gift from the Father, which makes it possible for each of us to be reconciled to the flesh of our own history, even when we fail to understand it completely.

Just as God told Joseph: “Son of David, do not be afraid!” (Mt 1:20), so he seems to tell us: “Do not be afraid!” We need to set aside all anger and disappointment, and to embrace the way things are, even when they do not turn out as we wish. Not with mere resignation but with hope and courage. In this way, we become open to a deeper meaning. Our lives can be miraculously reborn if we find the courage to live them in accordance with the Gospel. It does not matter if everything seems to have gone wrong or some things can no longer be fixed. God can make flowers spring up from stony ground. Even if our heart condemns us, “God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything” (1 Jn 3:20).

Here, once again, we encounter that Christian realism which rejects nothing that exists. Reality, in its mysterious and irreducible complexity, is the bearer of existential meaning, with all its lights and shadows. Thus, the Apostle Paul can say: “We know that all things work together for good, for those who love God” (Rom 8:28). To which Saint Augustine adds, “even that which is called evil (etiam illud quod malum dicitur)”.[19] In this greater perspective, faith gives meaning to every event, however happy or sad.

Nor should we ever think that believing means finding facile and comforting solutions. The faith Christ taught us is what we see in Saint Joseph. He did not look for shortcuts, but confronted reality with open eyes and accepted personal responsibility for it.

Joseph’s attitude encourages us to accept and welcome others as they are, without exception, and to show special concern for the weak, for God chooses what is weak (cf. 1 Cor 1:27). He is the “Father of orphans and protector of widows” (Ps 68:6), who commands us to love the stranger in our midst.[20]  I like to think that it was from Saint Joseph that Jesus drew inspiration for the parable of the prodigal son and the merciful father (cf. Lk 15:11-32).

5. A creatively courageous father

If the first stage of all true interior healing is to accept our personal history and embrace even the things in life that we did not choose, we must now add another important element: creative courage. This emerges especially in the way we deal with difficulties. In the face of difficulty, we can either give up and walk away, or somehow engage with it. At times, difficulties bring out resources we did not even think we had.

As we read the infancy narratives, we may often wonder why God did not act in a more direct and clear way. Yet God acts through events and people.  Joseph was the man chosen by God to guide the beginnings of the history of redemption. He was the true “miracle” by which God saves the child and his mother. God acted by trusting in Joseph’s creative courage. Arriving in Bethlehem and finding no lodging where Mary could give birth, Joseph took a stable and, as best he could, turned it into a welcoming home for the Son of God come into the world (cf. Lk 2:6-7). Faced with imminent danger from Herod, who wanted to kill the child, Joseph was warned once again in a dream to protect the child, and rose in the middle of the night to prepare the flight into Egypt (cf. Mt 2:13-14).

A superficial reading of these stories can often give the impression that the world is at the mercy of the strong and mighty, but the “good news” of the Gospel consists in showing that, for all the arrogance and violence of worldly powers, God always finds a way to carry out his saving plan. So too, our lives may at times seem to be at the mercy of the powerful, but the Gospel shows us what counts. God always finds a way to save us, provided we show the same creative courage as the carpenter of Nazareth, who was able to turn a problem into a possibility by trusting always in divine providence.

If at times God seems not to help us, surely this does not mean that we have been abandoned, but instead are being trusted to plan, to be creative, and to find solutions ourselves.

That kind of creative courage was shown by the friends of the paralytic, who lowered him from the roof in order to bring him to Jesus (cf. Lk 5:17-26). Difficulties did not stand in the way of those friends’ boldness and persistence. They were convinced that Jesus could heal the man, and “finding no way to bring him in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and let him down with his bed through the tiles into the middle of the crowd in front of Jesus. When he saw their faith, he said, ‘Friend, your sins are forgiven you’” (vv. 19-20). Jesus recognized the creative faith with which they sought to bring their sick friend to him.

The Gospel does not tell us how long Mary, Joseph and the child remained in Egypt. Yet they certainly needed to eat, to find a home and employment. It does not take much imagination to fill in those details. The Holy Family had to face concrete problems like every other family, like so many of our migrant brothers and sisters who, today too, risk their lives to escape misfortune and hunger. In this regard, I consider Saint Joseph the special patron of all those forced to leave their native lands because of war, hatred, persecution and poverty.

At the end of every account in which Joseph plays a role, the Gospel tells us that he gets up, takes the child and his mother, and does what God commanded him (cf. Mt 1:24; 2:14.21). Indeed, Jesus and Mary his Mother are the most precious treasure of our faith.[21]

In the divine plan of salvation, the Son is inseparable from his Mother, from Mary, who “advanced in her pilgrimage of faith, and faithfully persevered in her union with her Son until she stood at the cross”.[22]

We should always consider whether we ourselves are protecting Jesus and Mary, for they are also mysteriously entrusted to our own responsibility, care and safekeeping. The Son of the Almighty came into our world in a state of great vulnerability. He needed to be defended, protected, cared for and raised by Joseph. God trusted Joseph, as did Mary, who found in him someone who would not only save her life, but would always provide for her and her child. In this sense, Saint Joseph could not be other than the Guardian of the Church, for the Church is the continuation of the Body of Christ in history, even as Mary’s motherhood is reflected in the motherhood of the Church.[23] In his continued protection of the Church, Joseph continues to protect the child and his mother, and we too, by our love for the Church, continue to love the child and his mother.

That child would go on to say: “As you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me” (Mt 25:40).  Consequently, every poor, needy, suffering or dying person, every stranger, every prisoner, every infirm person is “the child” whom Joseph continues to protect. For this reason, Saint Joseph is invoked as protector of the unfortunate, the needy, exiles, the afflicted, the poor and the dying.  Consequently, the Church cannot fail to show a special love for the least of our brothers and sisters, for Jesus showed a particular concern for them and personally identified with them. From Saint Joseph, we must learn that same care and responsibility. We must learn to love the child and his mother, to love the sacraments and charity, to love the Church and the poor. Each of these realities is always the child and his mother.

6. A working father

An aspect of Saint Joseph that has been emphasized from the time of the first social Encyclical, Pope Leo XIII’s Rerum Novarum, is his relation to work. Saint Joseph was a carpenter who earned an honest living to provide for his family. From him, Jesus learned the value, the dignity and the joy of what it means to eat bread that is the fruit of one’s own labour.

In our own day, when employment has once more become a burning social issue, and unemployment at times reaches record levels even in nations that for decades have enjoyed a certain degree of prosperity, there is a renewed need to appreciate the importance of dignified work, of which Saint Joseph is an exemplary patron.

Work is a means of participating in the work of salvation, an opportunity to hasten the coming of the Kingdom, to develop our talents and abilities, and to put them at the service of society and fraternal communion. It becomes an opportunity for the fulfilment not only of oneself, but also of that primary cell of society which is the family. A family without work is particularly vulnerable to difficulties, tensions, estrangement and even break-up. How can we speak of human dignity without working to ensure that everyone is able to earn a decent living?

Working persons, whatever their job may be, are cooperating with God himself, and in some way become creators of the world around us. The crisis of our time, which is economic, social, cultural and spiritual, can serve as a summons for all of us to rediscover the value, the importance and necessity of work for bringing about a new “normal” from which no one is excluded. Saint Joseph’s work reminds us that God himself, in becoming man, did not disdain work. The loss of employment that affects so many of our brothers and sisters, and has increased as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic, should serve as a summons to review our priorities. Let us implore Saint Joseph the Worker to help us find ways to express our firm conviction that no young person, no person at all, no family should be without work!

7. A father in the shadows

The Polish writer Jan Dobraczyński, in his book The Shadow of the Father,[24] tells the story of Saint Joseph’s life in the form of a novel. He uses the evocative image of a shadow to define Joseph. In his relationship to Jesus, Joseph was the earthly shadow of the heavenly Father: he watched over him and protected him, never leaving him to go his own way. We can think of Moses’ words to Israel: “In the wilderness… you saw how the Lord your God carried you, just as one carries a child, all the way that you travelled” (Deut 1:31). In a similar way, Joseph acted as a father for his whole life.[25]

Fathers are not born, but made. A man does not become a father simply by bringing a child into the world, but by taking up the responsibility to care for that child. Whenever a man accepts responsibility for the life of another, in some way he becomes a father to that person.

Children today often seem orphans, lacking fathers. The Church too needs fathers. Saint Paul’s words to the Corinthians remain timely: “Though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers” (1 Cor 4:15). Every priest or bishop should be able to add, with the Apostle: “I became your father in Christ Jesus through the Gospel” (ibid.). Paul likewise calls the Galatians: “My little children, with whom I am again in travail until Christ be formed in you!” (4:19).

Being a father entails introducing children to life and reality. Not holding them back, being overprotective or possessive, but rather making them capable of deciding for themselves, enjoying freedom and exploring new possibilities. Perhaps for this reason, Joseph is traditionally called a “most chaste” father. That title is not simply a sign of affection, but the summation of an attitude that is the opposite of possessiveness. Chastity is freedom from possessiveness in every sphere of one’s life. Only when love is chaste, is it truly love. A possessive love ultimately becomes dangerous: it imprisons, constricts and makes for misery. God himself loved humanity with a chaste love; he left us free even to go astray and set ourselves against him. The logic of love is always the logic of freedom, and Joseph knew how to love with extraordinary freedom. He never made himself the centre of things. He did not think of himself, but focused instead on the lives of Mary and Jesus.

Joseph found happiness not in mere self-sacrifice but in self-gift. In him, we never see frustration but only trust. His patient silence was the prelude to concrete expressions of trust. Our world today needs fathers. It has no use for tyrants who would domineer others as a means of compensating for their own needs. It rejects those who confuse authority with authoritarianism, service with servility, discussion with oppression, charity with a welfare mentality, power with destruction. Every true vocation is born of the gift of oneself, which is the fruit of mature sacrifice. The priesthood and consecrated life likewise require this kind of maturity. Whatever our vocation, whether to marriage, celibacy or virginity, our gift of self will not come to fulfilment if it stops at sacrifice; were that the case, instead of becoming a sign of the beauty and joy of love, the gift of self would risk being an expression of unhappiness, sadness and frustration.

When fathers refuse to live the lives of their children for them, new and unexpected vistas open up. Every child is the bearer of a unique mystery that can only be brought to light with the help of a father who respects that child’s freedom. A father who realizes that he is most a father and educator at the point when he becomes “useless”, when he sees that his child has become independent and can walk the paths of life unaccompanied. When he becomes like Joseph, who always knew that his child was not his own but had merely been entrusted to his care. In the end, this is what Jesus would have us understand when he says: “Call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven” (Mt 23:9).

In every exercise of our fatherhood, we should always keep in mind that it has nothing to do with possession, but is rather a “sign” pointing to a greater fatherhood. In a way, we are all like Joseph: a shadow of the heavenly Father, who “makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Mt 5:45). And a shadow that follows his Son.

* * *

“Get up, take the child and his mother” (Mt 2:13), God told Saint Joseph.

The aim of this Apostolic Letter is to increase our love for this great saint, to encourage us to implore his intercession and to imitate his virtues and his zeal.

Indeed, the proper mission of the saints is not only to obtain miracles and graces, but to intercede for us before God, like Abraham[26] and Moses[27], and like Jesus, the “one mediator” (1 Tim 2:5), who is our “advocate” with the Father (1 Jn 2:1) and who “always lives to make intercession for [us]” (Heb 7:25; cf. Rom 8:34).

The saints help all the faithful “to strive for the holiness and the perfection of their particular state of life”.[28] Their lives are concrete proof that it is possible to put the Gospel into practice.

Jesus told us: “Learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart” (Mt 11:29). The lives of the saints too are examples to be imitated. Saint Paul explicitly says this: “Be imitators of me!” (1 Cor 4:16).[29] By his eloquent silence, Saint Joseph says the same.

Before the example of so many holy men and women, Saint Augustine asked himself: “What they could do, can you not also do?” And so he drew closer to his definitive conversion, when he could exclaim: “Late have I loved you, Beauty ever ancient, ever new!”[30]

We need only ask Saint Joseph for the grace of graces: our conversion.

Let us now make our prayer to him:

Hail, Guardian of the Redeemer, Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary. To you God entrusted his only Son; in you Mary placed her trust; with you Christ became man.

Blessed Joseph, to us too, show yourself a father and guide us in the path of life. Obtain for us grace, mercy and courage, and defend us from every evil. Amen.

Given in Rome, at Saint John Lateran, on 8 December, Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in the year 2020, the eighth of my Pontificate.

Franciscus

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

17. A Song About Simon

Word Count: 4369. I don’t think that there’s any triggers in here besides the fact that Grace is still in the institution (which will be maybe another chapter or two, depending on how writing goes), and her and Hazel’s issues from previous chapters. I just want to announce here, like I’ve already told fandom familiars... I do not hold any of you to trying to read this story or any story that I may write. I do appreciate if someone reads, but I also understand that everything is not for everybody, I’m not for everybody, and my work isn’t either. At no time do I feel entitled to your reading and nobody should feel pressured to try to read anything that I write. I will love to hear from y’all and know that you enjoy reading, but if you can’t or don’t, that is your right, Folks. This is an ugly story with ugly content and hard topics, but even if it wasn’t, you still wouldn’t have to read, review, or reblog. I just want to make that clear for those of you in my space. Thanks for your time.

Previous

Whenever she first arrived, she was scared to get the help that she knew she needed. She always thought about how her parents had shot down the idea of it whenever her old driver was concerned. How they seemed to feel like it would mean that the work that they put into her as parents would be ruined if she needed mental help. Then, she would think about her 16th birthday, when her mother said that maybe he was right… the way it felt like her mother was saying that at that moment, she knew that Grace was a waste. “You’ll regret it…” her voice echoed in Grace’s mind. “If only someone had warned you…” The last day that she saw her. 

Months had passed. Her parents didn’t even visit. Someone still controlled her social media. Because videos of her singing at the facility and captions insisting that she was getting the help she needed would show up. Grace didn’t know who was responsible for that, at the time, but all of the comments were disabled on all of her accounts. She didn’t want to imagine what people would have to say about her trying to recover.

Eventually, she warmed up to her doctor and the staff. She warmed up to her treatment, to the fact that she had to get better before anybody would let her go anywhere. Her goals became forgiving Simon, accepting responsibility for the things that she did and potentially reaching out to him to suggest that he try to get help as well. She knew that the first and last ones would be the hardest for her, so focusing more on self growth and accountability became her brand of help, at the moment. At least, she went through the motions.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes, she got onto the computer in the library and searched his name. He seemed like he was doing fine, in terminology, but he didn’t look great. That was a lie. He looked great. He was a little more muscular and his hair had grown out. He looked like maybe he had tattoos, though she couldn’t see what. But, he didn’t look happy. Good, she told herself. Even if she wondered in the back of her mind if that was an accurate observation, wishful thinking or unconditional love causing her to worry. Sometimes, she checked his social media pages to see what he was talking about. 

She watched him receive badges, be crowned prom king, be valedictorian, travel to go to MIT… He really seemed like nothing was bothering him. He had thrown her to the wolves and just smoothly carried on… She would always be mad all over again, that he didn’t even care. It wasn’t even everything that he did to her! It was… but more importantly, it was the fact that he was able to do it and live like it was nothing to him. 

But, that usually made for a very progressive therapy day, and a productive music session. She’d asked her caregiver about the posts on her social media. That was who she eventually found out was responsible for curating the content during her stay in here. “What about my rights?” Grace wondered. She had been creating a lot lately and whenever something got posted, she didn’t know the copyright status or anything legal pertaining to her very personal art! 

“Your team takes care of all of the details like that. I basically just post and properly word updates about your healing process and progress. Your team decides which posts to make public or private. (I always post them privately, and sometimes someone comes in later to make things public).”

“It just doesn’t seem fair. I’m being my most authentic self, trying to be my best self and things that I use to get there are now being subjected to my mother and her team of handlers for me.”

“I can’t speak on feelings about it, but as of right now, you are still a minor and still in our care. That means that your welfare and decisions are decided by your parents, who are your legal guardians and us, who you’re a ward of. Whenever you turn 18, if you are mentally capable enough, you will be able to have more control over that type of thing.”

“I’m 18 pretty soon! But… mentally capable… I mean… I feel like I’m mentally capable enough to discuss my legal rights to my art, but I don’t know if I’m capable of like… rejoining society…”

“Well, whenever you do turn 18, we’ll talk about how you’re feeling and assess what you’re capable of. In the meantime, you can always tell me if there’s something that you just want to keep for you, and I promise, I won’t post it. But, your music and the fact that you’re creating in here is inspiring a lot of young people struggling with mental illness and it is warming people up to you since the scandal that led to you being here.”

“I… don’t care about those people right now. I just… want to heal and create.” 

“Fair enough.”

Stingray Lyrics

You were burrowed in the sand.

I didn't know that you were there.

I reached out my hand, 

only to connect with someone…

But you weren't prepared for my touch.

You didn't know that I would never hurt you.

I dug in a little too much,

And in your startled state you made me regret it.

Like a stingray, you were so cute.

Just living life, just doing you.

But I had to reach for something else, I HAD to have you for myself and it stung me.

Getting too close to you really stung me.

She scribbled the words down, humming the melody. She wasn’t sure if Simon was out there somewhere being bothered to even think about her, but if he was, she wanted him to have to see or hear things about himself.

There wasn’t sheet music in here, but she could use her notebook and sort of guess where the lines would be. She had requested sheet music weeks ago! She was trying to teach Hazel how to read music, too. They usually were able to spend time together twice a week. Technically, they weren’t assigned to the same areas, but one of the caretakers would always make an exception and help them to see each other, because they just seemed to be really good for each other. Neither of them had any other friends there. 

They weren’t antisocial, but they just only really clicked with each other, and Hazel had not been thinking she was a turtle nearly as much since she met Grace, and Grace’s almost entire first year there had been monotonous and for the most part stagnant until she met Hazel. Hazel seemed to make her want to be better, want to move forward on something other than the pendulum of attacking herself and defending herself for things she did and didn’t do. Hazel helped her to really seem to grasp empathy. 

.

They were stretching, silently, getting ready for the dance lessons that Grace would give her near the playground, during activity time. Grace was really quiet, with Hazel was singing to herself. Suddenly, she wondered, “Grace, did either of your parents sing to you when you were a child?”

Grace scoffed and shook her head, “No. Neither of my parents did any of the TV parent stuff. My dad was a lawyer, politician, and ambassador. My mom was a high paid performer turned model turned socialite, the daughter of someone just like my father. Most of their parenting was instilling a certain image on me, or having a nanny take me away if I didn’t quite fit the bill in time enough for guests or appearances.”

“What’s ‘appearances?’”

“It’s like when you have to go somewhere just to be seen. For my dad’s job, there were political or business meet and greets, sometimes charity functions, auctions and stuff like that, and at times it was simply an extremely elegant dinner party or some dignitary’s kid’s birthday event. My last birthday party was…” She frowned, thinking about how that night ended. The beginning of the end in her mind. She looked at the charm bracelet that she had managed to still never take off, despite everything. 

“Was what?” Hazel wondered.

“Too much. It was too much. I’ve always lived pretty extravagantly, but I think whenever I leave here, I might like to get an isolated place and sort of just live there with maybe a pet or something. I’m never going to have guests over for dinner parties or house any ambassadors.”

“Can I come over?” Hazel wondered, timidly.

“Yes! Of course, if your parents let you…”

“I’m never gonna have parents.”

“Hazel!” Grace called. The younger girl just shrugged her shoulders. Grace sputtered air out of her lips and shrugged too. “Well, who needs them, anyway?” 

Hazel threw her a look. “I do, Grace. I need them. I’m 6.”

Grace frowned. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right. I have a really bad habit of saying whatever I think is gonna make people I care about feel better. It's one of the things that I need to work on. Of course you need parents. Every child needs parents… which is why I’ve gotta believe that you’ll get some! And whenever you do, they’ll hopefully let us be friends. We have a very big age gap, so I don’t know how comfortable they’ll be with you just coming over.” Hazel looked like she was thinking about something as she stared ahead, but she was still standing, so Grace figured she wasn’t a turtle right now. “Ready to learn our new hip hop routine?” Now, she blinked and looked at Grace with enthusiasm, nodding vigorously.

.

Making time to put together figures was hard, but Simon had all of his figures with him whenever he moved from his family house shortly after the clash with the void. The fame that he had risen to over his scandalous book deal and all of the allegations against it had gotten him a very comfortable situation. He was wealthy, in his own right, and schools that he might have needed Mr. Monroe to get into previously were no longer something to be dangled in front of his face. He actually missed the Monroes. Mrs. Monroe less than her husband, but both of them. They really weren’t as bad as she made them out to be. He believed that much. But… they belonged to her. He could have them on his side for a while, but not after all of this. He hated not having Mr. Monroe to bounce things off of. He’d sacrificed a mentor to get rid of the void. 

He had tried not to pull them into it, but eventually, the narrative began that her parents were using him, as well. That he was something to taper their wild-child and as soon as he stood up for himself was financially cut off. Mr. Monroe had been very public about the fact that unfortunately, they knew nothing of their daughter’s extreme condition until she viciously attacked her mother. Simon would have paid money to see that cat-fight. Simon felt bad for them, having lost their daughter to the void, so he withdrew accusations of the crimes, though several of them couldn’t be taken back, as the victims wanted to sue personally. But, the Monroes fared fine, after all of the settlements or wins. Simon wondered whatever happened to the charm bracelet, but he pushed that from his mind. 

He still carried the name The Apex, though many companies used that or had it in their name, so he couldn’t trademark it, but the general of his Apex was that if you were tagging The Apex, Simon Says was also there.

He took his book opportunity as his big chance to move forward with his other works. They didn’t sell as well, but he could say at 17 that he was a bestselling author for Free From Grace, and that by 18, he had published several books from throughout his adolescence and had a huge trilogy deal that he intended to have released by the time he was 20. 

Senior year in high school was a blast. He was worshiped and kids who had only held allegiance to him via the void either came around or were fun to alienate as nulls. Shana rose to popularity and the two of them continued their banter, a little will they won’t they brewing, as far as he was concerned. She got rid of her weave and replaced them with braids for going natural. Apparently, she was going to be going to an HBCU and she wanted to finally wear her hair “the way it was intended,” when she got there. It made her look ever more like Grace to him, despite the fact that Grace had never worn braids, only locs, and the full out afro she had whenever she left. 

Maybe he was just weakening again… missing her… “Hey, Shana - we should attend the prom together,” he said, as they sat across from each other at their desks in the newsroom.

She looked up at him with only her eyes, not lifting her head from her work, but he could still see the disdain in her eyebrows. “For what reason would I ever even consider something like that?” 

He laughed and leaned back in his seat. “We’re the apex of the student body.” She groaned at the word that she was BEYOND sick of hearing. “You’re the most popular girl in school now, and while not my equal, the best of what we have. We both know that you and I will be class favorites and prom king and queen. Might as well make an entire thing out of it.”

She raised her head now and he was confused by her expression, because it was still clearly disdainful. “Simon. I don’t care if I was going to win a cash prize of a million dollars. I would never even so much as think about attending anything with you. Thanks for asking.” She shook her head in disbelief and continued working.

“Why not? Did you not hear the reasons this works out perfectly?”

“I heard the reasons that you think I’m a status symbol that for whatever reason would actually want to be seen with you. They weren’t reasons that I would overlook who you are as a person and how I feel about you as such to put on some sort of publicity show for a bunch of kids that I’m never going to see again, because if I ever come to a class reunion, it would be to see if Grace showed up and how she’s doing.”

“Nothing that you said makes any sense. Me as a person? I…”

“You’re a bad person,” she said. He laughed, then stopped. Oh, she’s serious? “Simon… I, along with the entire student body watched you destroy a girl that we knew you were once like this with.” She crossed her fingers. “We watched you lie on her, make her out to be worse than she was, and bring her so low that she’s in an institution!”

“You hated Grace, and now you’ve taken her place as the boss bitch.”

“Grace and I did not get along. We argued. We dissed each other. We competed. We hurt each other. We were mean and nasty to each other, and even I can see that what you did to her was fucked up.”

“You didn’t try to stop me.”

“That’s not my business. But what IS my business is the company I keep. It would never be somebody who would turn on even his day 1. Nobody even would have cared about you if it wasn’t for Grace and I still to this day think that you’re the one who shared that video of you two. Your lost and found again laptop story was always corny to me.”

“You seemed to get a kick out of it at the time.”

“Yeah, of humiliation! She got a kick out of it whenever my father was arrested for white collar crime! Fucking with each other was our dynamic! But you were supposed to be the girl’s friend, and you didn’t just fuck with her, you fucked her up. Everybody thinks it’s so funny? They’re only amused because they’re scared that you might fuck them up too. If you did it to her, there’s no telling what you’d do. You’ve got people thinking that the old rumors are true..” He furrowed his eyebrows and glared at her. The old rumors. That he killed his sister. They were true, but it was an accident. “In short, I don’t care about any of your reasons. You asked me to prom. I decline. End of discussion.”

“So… you don’t like me anymore because I stood up to Grace, something you did all of the time. We’re on the same side now!”

She stared at him and for a moment, he saw fear. That wasn’t something that Shana showed very much. She cleared her throat and wondered, “When… When did it ever cross your mind that I would EVER like you, Simon? You have been a jerk the entire time that I’ve known you. When Grace and I were rivals, you were disgusting to me. You’ve called me out of my name, tried to tear me down about my looks and my family. Where in the world would you ever get an idea that I could possibly like you, even as just a person that I know of?”

“Because of our banter…”

“Arguing.”

“All of the flirting…”

“Clearly happened in your mind, but did not happen in mine.”

“The way that you always blush whenever we talk! I know what it looks like when somebody your skin tone blushes. I knew Grace like the back of my hand.”

“And you tossed her in the trash like nothing. I don’t like you. I have never liked you, and I have never BLUSHED when we talk. What you should know, as the young genius that everybody tries to make you out to be, because this is science related, biology, if you will… Is that what you’re describing as blushing, is actually heat rushing to one’s face. My heartbeat accelerates, I may even sweat a little as I get hot and my blood rushes. That’s not because I have a crush on you. It’s because you are one of the most infuriating people to have a conversation with. Because in addition to being a rude jackass, you are a delusional egotist. Every conversation I have with you makes me want to punch you in the face. And I know that if I do, they’ll toss my ass out of here and that will mess up me following my mother’s footsteps as a Spelman College Delta Sigma Theta! You, Simon Laurent have never been worth anything to me, certainly not my future. I’m sorry for Grace that she didn’t know that, but my parents raised me with the utmost love and confidence. I don’t need anybody like you to upgrade me, and I love myself too much to even entertain you as a friend. And my father, who you love to try to weaponize against me, after serving his time is still worth at least five times as much as yours…”

Simon threw over things from her desk and she jumped. His eyes went wide. He surprised himself with that outburst. Shana was moved for a moment, when she thought he was about to attack her, but when he didn’t, she got up. “Please pick up this mess, Simon. I will not mind reporting you for it.” She left the newsroom for a breather. Simon rushed to pick everything up before anybody else came in and wondered what happened, but a lot of Shana’s words cut him for a moment. She’s lying. Girls lie, he reminded himself as he picked things up from the floor. But, he wasn’t going to beg her to go out with him. She declined. Okay, whatever. He’d have been doing her a favor.

Sometimes, he thought about her words, though. Blushing because she was infuriated by him… That made sense after a while, especially when he conflated her with the void, who he knew never loved him. He and Shana were prom king and queen, but she declined dancing with him and said on the microphone, “We all know this is Grace Monroe’s sloppy seconds.” There was an uproar of laughter in his mind. 

Actually, only a few people laughed. Some looked shocked and horrified that Shana would make fun of who they believed to be an abuse survivor. Shana shrugged her shoulders like Kanye and doubled down, “You all know good and well that Grace never harmed a split ended hair on this boy’s head! She was as obsessed with him as he was with her. You’re all wild to go along with that narrative. You would never believe all that mess about a white girl..” The dean snatched the microphone from her and gave her some warning that the other students couldn’t hear. Simon was livid. He waited for her outside.

“Shana,” he said. Shana yelped in fear whenever she saw him at her car, then reached into her clutch for a weapon. She didn’t have much, but she did have a nail file. Whenever he came near her, she stuck him in the neck with it and he groaned. She set off her car alarm trying to get inside of the car before deactivating it and Simon just smiled at her as she did. Shana was driving and crying and that was the last time that Simon saw her. 

He was questioned about assaulting her in the parking lot, but informed them that he only wanted to talk to her about what she had said in front of everyone and that she actually assaulted him. Now… once, people might believe, and people might even have believed that Shana was entirely capable of it. But, most of the kids and staff knew that Shana was a mean girl, but never violent. The only physical exchanges she had were the ones with Grace Monroe and now Simon Laurent. She finished out the end of school how Grace had finished her junior year. Simon finished it out with people beginning to doubt some of his stories about Grace. But, that didn’t matter! 

He hated that school, those rich kids, the system that worked for them but made him work for it. He was on his way to becoming better than all of that. He still wanted to make time for his art - writing, photography, creating figures and scenes… but he had gotten really into the robotics program whenever he was in engineering and decided that was what he was going to focus his education on. MIT was his first choice and he had been accepted by the end of junior year. He got his small living space as close as he could, since he prepared on spending the bulk of his time enrolled. He knew that he was destined for greatness. 

But, sometimes, his social media would think he needed to see something, like today, when he opened a video of Grace, playing a piano at wherever the undisclosed facility she had been at was, singing something captioned as “Stingray,” and looking… beautiful. He watched it more times than he would ever admit. 

He opened his own treasure chest and pulled out images of her, them… things that he had made and just didn’t have the strength to destroy when he purged the void. He picked up a photo from the pumpkin patch, when they were 14. She had her tongue stuck out at him and he was blushing. It was one of his favorite photos of them. 

“You should take every photo of me, from now on!” She said, looking at her ones on her page that had gotten her the deal. “You always seem to make me look my absolute best in every photo you take of me. Like, you have a real eye for it.”

“I have an eye for you,” he corrected. “Two…” He blushed a lot. He hadn’t meant to say THAT.

“You’ve got eyes for me, Simon?” she teased, making him blush more and his heart rate speed up. And in the midst of him trying to collect himself, she grabbed on to him, pulled him into a hug and took another of her many selfies. She groaned, “I just can’t make any photos look as good as you can… but you’re adorable in this,” she said and showed it to him. “I’m putting this on my Christmas cards this year.” 

She didn’t lie about that. He tossed it back into the box and picked up the torn out foreword that she had written for his fantasy novel. He went through the entire box before locking it back up and throwing it into the trunk of his car. One day, he was going to find the strength to throw it in a river or burn it, or something. It’s just that… she was his entire world… for half of his life…

“And you tossed her in the trash like nothing,” he heard Shana’s voice say… or was it Grace’s voice? He was starting to forget it. Like… of course he knew what it sounded like, but his head couldn’t place it in the chorus of girls’ voices that haunted him: his sister, his mother, the void, Shana… Shana was interchangeable with the void. His brain kept trying to tie them together and perhaps that was why her words affected him. Or maybe it was because they sounded so true, when he knew that they couldn’t be. The Void betrayed him. He counterattacked. “Getting too close to you really stung me.” He heard her singing. Simon bit his lip, picked up his phone and took a deep breath before liking the Stingray post.

Next

[i-am-parsec]

                                                                                                              10/30/2020

Nine hundred days.

I’ve existed in a world without you for nine hundred days. Our daughter is almost as tall as me. Our son now uses words that seem too big for his small mouth. They’ve grown so much and...

This is pointless. This is fucking stupid. I don’t want to do this. I know I have to and there’s this tiny voice in the back of my head that whispers I should be grateful that I get to see Esperanza and Samuel again, that I get to sleep in my own bed again, that I should simply do as I’m told and enjoy whatever few freedoms I’ve been granted and I know that’s the smart thing to do, ok? But I’m so sick and tired of this, of all the repetition, the exercises, the meetings, all for nothing! Nothing! I’m broken, that’s it! They can not fix me and every pill they push down my throat and every appointment with a new therapist they write on that stupid white board and every damn piece of paper they make me fill up, incessantly, like a child in detention is just a fucking waste of...time…

Now that I’ve written it down, I have to admit it is quite ridiculous that I’d be complaining about wasting time since that seems to be the only thing I have plenty of. The only thing I have, period. So, no, I don't want to do this, but given that I have absolutely nothing else to do and that the new nurse they assigned me appears to be bitchier that the rest and I am in no mood to argue with a very young, recently graduated, awfully entitled CNA, I guess...we are doing this.

I guess I’m writing you one more letter.

I do appreciate the fact that I get to write whatever I want and keep it to myself instead of filling up one more “How are feeling today?” form, full of disgusting stickers and smiley faces, that I have to hand in but...I honestly don’t even know where to start - the world kept moving alright, just not in a direction most of us could’ve seen coming.

I guess I'll simply say it: we are in the middle of a pandemic, Chase. It’s been around for about 8 months now and it’s partly the reason why I’m back home, other than good behavior. Oh, there’s also that, the fact that I was “away”. See, I was first hospitalized for a couple days and then locked up in a mental institution since, after our little “meeting” of sorts, I had a rather predictable existential crisis and went a bit, what in the medical field is referred to as, apeshit crazy. Now that it’s been over a year since said incident, I have to admit I’m slightly proud of having gone so insane that seven grown men were required to hold me down. I guess crossing planes of existence is, as you’d say, a hell of a drug. Worst trip of my life, no doubts about it, but quite memorable.

In other news, Ana is now the only legal guardian of our children. Trust me, this displeases me as much as I can imagine it displeases you, but it does make sense. I’ll be the first to admit I’m absolutely incapable of taking care of them. Whatever happened that night, it changed me. I love them as much as I did the day I walked into that forest, I don’t believe there’s a force in this or any other universe that can take that away from me...but pretty much everything else I once was...it’s gone. My sister tries her hardest to get a meaningful reaction out of me, a chuckle, an insult, a knowing look, even a sigh, something familiar, something that tells her that the little girl that she once adored is still here, that I’m still here.

But I’m not. I suppose I don't have to tell you that.

Nonetheless, she works hard to maintain the husk of a woman I am these days in decent shape. Once I was found after spending an undetermined amount of days in the wilderness, famished and horribly dehydrated - which only makes the fact that, even in those conditions, I gave a 6 feet tall men a black eye so much more impressive -, she had me admitted at the best hospital she could afford, never asking our accountant for a cent. When I finally started engaging with my caregivers, she surrounded me with all sorts of doctors to help my obviously fractured mind navigate reality. I am certainly not easy to handle so many have thrown the towel and walked away from me but Ana quickly replaces them with someone new, who she claims has even better qualifications and is more fitted to my needs. My needs. I would like know what she thinks my needs are. I would like to know what I need. I would like to need something at all. To want something. To feel the things I logically know I used to feel but I simply forgot how to.

The way even breathing felt off at the beginning...the unnatural taste behind every small human action, it fades, slowly but not fully. I eat, but there’s no flavor, there’s no way of filling up my stomach. I smile, but I literally had to retrain my facial muscles in order to do it again so I wouldn’t scare my own kids. I have emotions, I do, but it is almost as if I went from having a massive range to only four: love for my children, rage for the world, apathy for my sister and her battalion of therapists and...something for Sean and Henrik. Something almost like hunger or lust...it’s a pull, warm, sticky and elastic that drives most of my thoughts in their direction. A normal, sensible mind would claim it is a need for some well deserved answers, some closure, but my insensible self knows better than that. This wanting isn’t normal, or mine. It doesn’t belong to me, but it lives within me.

I guess it’s a good thing for Henrik I am not allowed to leave my home without a chaperone and even better for Sean that travelling abroad is straight up banned. I guess it’s a good thing for me that this silent plague has slowed down the world for a while, giving me time to catch my breath after the shit show that went down last year. But the gears of Life are trying to speed up, everyone is eager to leave the quietness behind and sooner than later, the pull in my soul will find a chance to drag me where it wants to go. I don’t know what will happen then. I wish I could say that I’m afraid to find out, but I’m not. I suppose I don't have to tell you that.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Link to all the chapters in chronological order, here. Link to the last chapter, if you can even call it that, here.

Heeeey, did u read all of that? You did? Do u wanna know what the Fuck is going on, if there’s gonna be more of this bullshit coming soon? Well, for starters, there’s another new chapter here, that I’m gonna be posting like right after this one, and secondly, If go and read that one and hit the keep reading thingy there’s a bit of rantin’ with some info, so u can go there! see u tomorrow <3

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[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

So here’s a thing that happened, tumblr.

Many moons ago, I was in the Neuro ICU for a while. I was actually in there twice--for a week at first, then out, then in again for about two weeks. In between: “Nothing’s wrong! It’s resolved!” As you might imagine, given the spoiler there about how I went to the Neuro ICU twice: in fact, Something was wrong, and it was not resolved (then).

(it is resolved now, thank you)

This post is not actually ABOUT that, but we must start there, out of order.

This is a post about art and rivers and boys in cars. But we start in the Neuro ICU.

I don’t like talking about this time in my life. I would have been skittish and mysterious ANYWAY--I was raised like that--but I’m extra skittish and vague about my timeline because I don’t want to talk about it, you know? I survived something I had no business surviving. I had to relearn how to walk. That took months and that was the easy part. Because I am a big tiddy goth girl, and because I was very young then, people love to assume that the problem was drugs, and I did it to myself, as if that somehow makes anything less tragic.

I was 23 years old with a brain bleed due to a congenital defect, and even at the time, I had to defend myself: no, I’m not on drugs, I don’t do drugs, I didn’t do coke, I’ve never done coke.

I am also Colombian, which, I suppose, might play into their calculus about the coke, but WHO KNOWS. I was busy gibbering and almost dying at the time, which left little energy for noticing potential microaggressions.

Is it a microaggression, I guess, when you’re dying? Who knows.

I have never even been drunk, tumblr. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t snort. I never have. This is mostly because I’m a paranoid loon with an off again, on again anorexia, ya know, thing, so occasionally I get really hung up on irrational concepts of bodily purity. People think it’s a flex when I try to explain this, that I’m relishing in some kind of moral superiority. I’m not. I admitting to SEVERAL defects (“quirks”) of personality there. The eating disorder. The deep distrust: I will not be vulnerable in the presence of others, I will not dull my senses, I will not allow myself to be weak. A certain perfectionism. A certain tendency towards slow burn self harm. Grand ideas made of nothing that sometimes take hold.

My point is that this big disruptive thing happened.

I survived, which is AWESOME. And yeah, I had to relearn how to walk, and some other things, but you guys know that I do yoga and aerial silks and lyra and ran off to Thailand to train kickboxing for a summer on fighter street and I STILL do not shut the fuck up about it.

So, cool, cool cool cool cool.

And I don’t even want to talk about that part, the medical drama, the body horror, the institutional whatever. My neurosurgeon was fantastic and like a week after my discharge I was high as SHIT on prescribed painkillers my caregivers insisted I take and wrote him a gushing effusive letter about how he was MY HERO because I was ALIVE and anyway that basically makes you BATMAN, DOCTOR LEWIS, I FUCKING LOVE BATMAN.

Again: high as fuck, ok.

 My point is: I hate talking about this.

Because once you’re a survivor in people’s minds, that’s all you are. You are reduced to this one event that had very little to do with you. You are defined by this thing that happened to you.

And this isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s happened TO me! But still. Happened TO me. Not something I did. Not my action. Barely even my reaction.

But again, personality flaws. What does it say about me that I look at social norms about comfort and inwardly I snarl that I want no one’s pity?

Except I’m not actually that mean. I don’t snarl.

I just withdraw.

This is a tactic that has served me well in life a BUNCH of times. Is it always the answer? No. Is it often worth a shot? Listen. Yeah. Yeah, it is. Sometimes you flee an abusive home life because that’s the only option, and you don’t want to die. Hypothetically speaking: sometimes all you can do is run.

But sometimes you flee people with mostly good intentions, maybe.

This is all very high minded but what’s prompting me to write this isn’t exactly the upcoming (many year) anniversary of the event. It’s something way more mundane and dumb.

I have not logged into my facebook account since this happened. I never bothered deleting the account(s), either. I presume they still exist. I have no idea HOW to log back onto them, and, more importantly, no desire.

“So what?”

So, okay, back when I had my first stint in the Neuro ICU? Like, totally out of nowhere, I just disappeared from people’s feeds. (you all know I do this) Somehow part of the story got out and SOMEHOW, I have no idea how, a small group of my friends managed to independently track down the hospital I was at. And this is on next to no info, across state lines, like--I have no idea how the fuck they did it.

I also don’t fucking know who they were.

I was told, at the time. I have a vague idea of who two out of (I think) four were, or might have been. I was kind of busy at the time, with the dying.

And when I say I don’t like talking about this time: I don’t like even THINKING about it. I avoid it.

Fleeing. See?

So I don’t have a memory of the names. I don’t have memories of the memory.

“So what?”

So, I know from groups other than this one, groups less dedicated than this one, that people actually get REALLY fucking mad at you for not accepting their get better soon wishes. And like, I get it! You were very worried and I did nothing to reassure you.

I WAS BUSY.

I was busy dying. Almost dying. Not dying. I was busy sleeping 20 hrs a day. I was busy being unable to walk. I was busy re-learning to walk. I was busy relearning how to write with pen and paper and for months I COULD NOT DO IT, do you have any idea how that feels to someone who is and has always been and has always wanted to be a writer? Fuck it. Fuck you.

The initial disappearance. I am not to blame.

But then doing nothing to reach out to anybody for YEARS and YEARS--

Okay, maybe a dick move on my part.

“So what?”

So I think one of the people who managed to track me down in the hospital was my best friend from high school, a terribly sweet Brazilian boy who mostly called me not by my name, but simply: The Devil.

I dig it. Always did.

And it’s high school, right. Everybody is thirsty as fuck for their friends, one way or another. We never dated--we were both always dating or pursuing other people--but we had the typical high school bestie unresolved romantic tension deal going on.

This is important so remember it for later: the problem was not attraction. The problem was not one sided unresolved sexual tension. I had a particular thing for how he looked while driving, shades on, one arm slung over the wheel in that terribly and typically male lounging driving pose that’s probably a safety hazard.

We spent a lot of time in his car.

I didn’t drive, at the time, because my mother didn’t allow me to learn, and I got kicked out of my house and disowned when I was 17. This dude spent a LOT of time driving me places. Boys in cars is practically a genre of erotic poetry, thanks to Richard Siken. This is because boys look Cool driving cars, wearing sunglasses, pretending they’re not paying attention to you while you know they are.

So he was fun.

More importantly, I guess, the fact that he picked my ass up at like 6 AM over and over and over again for a big chunk of my senior year is one of the few reasons I managed to graduate despite being technically homeless.

He was not a morning person. I am not a morning person. He did it anyway.

Why didn’t we date, I wondered, years later, for a fraction of a second, and then I forgot about it.

“SO WHAT?!”

So I’m grown up and happy and fulfilled and in a lovely long term relationship (remember! we’re buying a house!), so it’s not about “what if?” It’s that I’m happy and grown up and I write books sometimes.

But there it is.

I write books sometimes.

Artists are constantly stealing ideas from everywhere and this is good. Artists also steal from themselves, grubby little hands on secret parts of our hearts.

So I’m writing this book, right. My Great Work. My Break Out Novel. My SERIOUS FUCKING BUSINESS book. My “this is the thing I’ve worked the hardest on in my whole entire LIFE” book.

And in this book there is a male love interest. He is a political statement. I’m writing him as sexy and heroic as possible. I want this to be the MOST attractive man I’ve ever written.

Latino. Sexy as fuck. Not a criminal. Overly responsible. Action ready, and terribly nurturing.

Hot Single Dad and Reluctant Necromancer is my masterpiece. A passionate statement and stance against the depiction of Latino men in media. A war cry to examine our own subconscious biases. A weapon raised against an unjust system.

I stole parts of him from Frank Castle. I stole parts of him from Geralt. I stole (MANY) parts of him from this one IRL hot dad former Army Ranger guy, Mexican American with a tattoo on his arm of a jack o lantern one of his kids drew. I stole parts of him from this cute Marine in my DMs who gave me story advice about guns and gear. I stole parts of him from indigenous leaders from centuries ago, from the peoples he is descended from. I stole parts of him from every man I’ve met who worked in dog rescue. I stole parts of him from myself, hiding secret parts of my heart in the male character so that no one will know.

Lovely. All good so far.

I got like two whole drafts in before I was thumbing through some printed out pages, idly thinking: how funny that I don’t have any real life, personal to me models for this guy.

All my prior male love interests, you see, are based on someone. In the werewolf trilogy, they’re BOTH based on someone--different someones. The villain, too, is jokingly referred to as the “evil werewolf ex boyfriend” for a reason.

Everybody is someone.

So how funny, I thought, that necromancer hot dad lacks any references from my own--

OH, wait, fuck--

Overly responsible brown dude with sad dog eyes drives the female lead/occult specialist around while good naturedly complaining that she’s weird as shit.

Oh, damn.

And suddenly a bunch of teensy little backstory details made sense.

Cool.

“So what?”

Bonus round of self realization: my own understanding of this time in my life radically shifted, turning, lurching, sickly rotating on a new axis.

Why didn’t we date?

Somewhere between then and now, post ICU but pre novel writing time--

This one time I overheard somebody talking to somebody else and it had nothing to do with me but sight unseen, on the other side of the stacks in a used bookstore, one dude said to another: “you know that if you were lighter, you’d have a chance with her, right?”

How terrible, I thought, and I forgot about it.

Why didn’t we date?

Because my mother told me, when I was very young, that boys from Brazil were all very wild, and I should avoid them. And she told me this so early and so plainly that I never thought to question it. When I was older she took harder stances that I easily ignored because I knew they were wrong--don’t you dare bring a black boy into this house. You’re dating a Jew? I can’t believe you did this to me. What are you going to do next, kiss a girl?

WELL, Ma, as it turns out, I mean, not til college, but yes.

But the smaller, more mild statement was so much more insidious.

I wonder if he knew. I don’t think he did. I wonder if he figured it out later. I have no idea, because we were friends when we were still essentially children, and now we are grown. Not everybody thinks about this kind of thing, and I don’t blame them.

How much damage did I do?

Does it matter?

Does he know?

I know.

I know, now, that my rallying cry against a system’s unfairness is also a cry wrenched wetly from my own subconscious depths. YOUR biases against? Yes. But more accurately: my biases against.

“So what?”

So this kind of epiphany shit leaves you breathless about it and you wanna scream. You wanna SHARE it. You must infect others with this knowledge.

But you can’t out of nowhere foist this apology on someone. That’s selfish. That’s about redeeming yourself in your own eyes AND asking someone else to confront unpleasant emotions on your behalf, even though they’re the wronged party. Selfish. Tell me I’m not a bad person, baby. Tell me I never hurt you, not even a little. Forgive me if I did. Wade through this pile of astral shit for me just to make me feel better. Reassure me. Hurt yourself for me in the here and now.

So I’m not going to do that, obviously.

“So what?”

But there’s that other part of it, right? Not the apology. The surge of emotion. The realization that all those morning drives back then added up to something deep within me, something so foundational to my concept of care and maybe even the start of something like love--the knowledge that this person gently carved some ideals for you, so long ago, so subtly that you never questioned it, never even realized, because it felt so natural, because something about it is so inherently good and right.

Despite everything--despite society, propaganda, colonialism, the prejudice of my upbringing, my own unexamined complicity, ALL of it--

Despite everything, this person taught me something so deeply about love and the shape of it, something so foundational that I built all my art on it and didn’t even see the beams of it until halfway through my most ambitious and soul bearing undertaking.

This is how you care for another, went the lesson, and I wrote pragmatic actions over words romantic male leads all the way down.

This is what love might look like, and in my own life, ever ambitious, I chose a poet talented with words and actions and good fight choreography, because I think that’s sexy and dichotomies are mostly bullshit, or at least things that happen to other people.

But I didn’t learn what love looked like from my childhood home life, obviously. How could I?

Without you, though, without you and your mirror sunglasses at 6 AM and your exasperated teasing, devil, witch, bruja, without any of those, where would I have learned? How long would it take me, to find someone who would teach me a wholesome lesson?

I’m small and cute and predators love a victim with a lack of context. I give myself and my wit some credit, but what’s pattern recognition worth if you never get any good data points?

Deep lessons.

Again: this kind of epiphany makes you wanna scream. Who to infect, with all this new knowledge?

Maybe no one. Probably no one.

But maybe, just a little, you wonder--

How would that conversation even go?

Hey, so I wrote this book--no, it’s my fifth, not my first, but thanks--so I wrote this book, and there’s this character, right, and he’s--well, hahah, I mean, he’s not exactly--I just--funny story, really--no, god, no, you don’t have to read it--it’s just--he’s just--I mean, no, you, you’re just--forget it, actually, just--

Like, what the fuck is there to say?

“I couldn’t have written this without you.”

And

“Did you check on me? When you thought I was dead?”

and

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice, at the time, that I meant anything to you.”

or is it really

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize until now that you meant something to me.”

What to do with all this emotion? Or more accurately--like rivers carve out gorges, here is the shape of something that once was. This shape will always be here. Even without a single drop of water ever again: we see the river.

What to do with the shape of all this emotion?

I consult the great Richard Siken via a feat of bibliomancy. Advise me, O Oracle. The oracle is War of the Foxes (2015), turned over blindly in my hands, opened randomly to The Worm King’s Lullaby, pg 45, verse 1:

The holes in this story are not lamps, they are not wheels. I walked and walked, grew a beard so I could drag it in the dirt, into a forest that wasn’t there. I want to give you more but not everything. You don’t need everything.

This advice is too good. I close the book.

The advice does not tell me what to do, but it’s too good. The verse reaches into my chest and carves out my heart, slices it open. Inside my heart: pomegranate seeds. Tiny jewels, fit for a dragon, snacking on garnets and rubies, and the apple of Eden wasn’t an apple, because it was the desert, wasn’t it? It was a pomegranate. Something with scales, maybe snakes. The serpent, the devil.

What to do with all this love?

I swallow the pomegranate seeds. I buy myself some time. I want to give you more, but not everything. Do you need everything? I don’t know. I don’t have it to give to you, in any case. Does it matter?

Why are you doing this, me?

Because art is messy. Art is cutting yourself open over and over again. You clean up most of the mess, try to bottle the fluids and label them nicely or deliberately misleadingly, fit for someone else’s consumption, but either way, you’re bleeding.

Maybe this urge is bleed with me or maybe it is oh, you already did.

I swallow the seeds. I buy some time.

I’m not done yet. I’m not.

Maybe all this adds up to nothing.

Maybe if I do this right, it adds up to a lot.

Maybe if I do this right it will feel real, maybe what I want is to gift the shape of these rivers to somebody else, all emotionally intimately with strangers. This is a shape that love can be. This is a silhouette you may recognize.

Maybe that’s a tribute, or a tributary.

But it’s not about you, not really, so don’t get too big headed about it. This is about Art and something like Justice. Big things. This is a book about big things, about history and dogs, history and gods, crimes and lies, slaughter and slander.

Right, yeah.

An act of faith, an act of will.

I swallow the pomegranate seeds. I buy myself some time.

It’s not harvest season yet. Not yet, not now, not yet.

If not now, then when?

When it’s ready.

There is no ready. Perfection is an illusion.

Yeah, sure, but page count is REAL.

You’re evading. That’s another word for fleeing. Do you know that?

Yes. I do.

How long will you run?

Just a little bit more. Just a little. I promise.

[mantra4ia]

Convert a racist white person to a non-racist white person

"I want to feel safe."

White people are joking about the images that are giving black people anxiety.

White people are counter signalling "black lives matter" and "I can't breathe."

White people inherited privilege, and black people inherited oppression, two things that cannot exist without each other.

This message hit me hard: if you are a person of privilege who is struggling to find an effective way to use that privilege to convey that Black Lives Matter, this is both the least and greatest thing you can do, in my opinion.

What I mean by that, from my singular perspective as a white, privileged, short woman with a physical disability — who doesn't have the answers, and whose greatest asset in a physical altercation would be to take a running trip into the opposition of an escalating protest — is that confrontation of racist prejudices in all environments is necessary, especially with the people whom you would rather push to a 10ft pole distance. It is easier to purge relationships than it is to convert, but it is vital to pick the harder path. The minimum bar is not, "I am not a racist," it's "I'm going to practice anti-racism, daily, by making my actions about the goal of changing minds."

Confrontation is a challenge, it is scathing, it will trim your ego. In the work place it may cost you the support of colleagues, the favor of your boss, your responsibilities, or your position. In your family it may cost rifts, arguments, discomfort, disquiet and disillusion. Among your friends or acquaintances, it may cost you ire, resentment, personal attacks to your face or behind your back. But the absence of accepting such a challenge can cost, in degrees of separation that you might never witness, the ultimate loss of someone's freedom and life.

Confrontation is not often won or lost in one moment. It may be a series of conversations, clashes, realizations, moments of embarrassment, and intervention. The process of converting racist beliefs in any given person is probably not a linear progression. And there is never going to be a "good time" or "good setting" for the stars to align and make your anti-racist argument finally click and stick. Use that as liberation to mean that any and every time you witness racism is a time for challenging and changing someone's mind.

Challenging racism, and the institutions that allow it to proliferate, is going to be a different confrontation with each person depending on who they are and what institutions they're part of, even if the message is the same. It's not always the dropping of truth and fact bombs, though it helps, that will yield the result you want from your message. Sometimes it'll be a question, or a barrage of questions that forces introspection and opens ears and eyes that were previously closed. Sometimes you won't achieve your goal, but your effort will put the opening in that person's defenses for someone else in their lives to get the message across the end zone.

It can take years to change someone's mind, but if more people even one generation ago took on the task of anti-racism, what would be the state of institutional brutality and abuse of power / oppression against black people today?

March, talk, confront, give of your time and resources, and most importantly, keep the momentum by perpetually doing so.

And a special request to the ministers. When I use that term, I am talking anyone who attends to peoples' needs: spiritually, mentally, physically. Parent, teacher, pastor, mentor, caregiver. Make anti-racism, and education about what racism is, your priority. Because you have established trust, because you understand what need is, it makes your calls for the need for proactive anti-racism all the more meaningful.

Action matters. Take the time to examine whatever is in you. But don't not do something.

Racism is the mess of white people. We should to clean up our mess.

If you're a white person, push through any instinct of defensiveness or fragility that might arise in you at that last thought. Acknowledge it, and move past it towards changing hearts and minds. Because you can breathe. And while you can breathe, you can do it.

[lokiarsene]

While researching Japanese orphanages, I came up with a few thoughts regarding Goro Akecho's past that are probable, and a headcanon or two here and there. If anyone has more knowledge with the subject, please feel free to correct me if any of this information is off the mark.

All my sources are listed at the end of the post. If you check any of them, please make it source #8, as that is a video where children in orphanages/foster institutions and the institution workers speak for themselves about their experiences, as well as what it’s like to be a part of Hinatabokko, a support group.

ETA: For clarity’s sake, the age of majority in Japan is 20. Not 18. Not 16. Goro and the PT are not considered legal adults until they are 20.

Also, Goro turns 18 in the game. He’s in his third and final year of high school, which would place him in this age bracket as per how Japanese students are assigned to school year. It is unlikely that he would have skipped grades, as that system doesn’t even exist in Japan:

“In Japan, there is no system for skipping grades during the compulsory education period. A student advances from one grade to the next. After completing their compulsory education, in order to get into a [senior] high school, students are usually required to pass an entrance examination.” (Source)

The “senior high school” bit here just means a high school that runs from first to third year. This is why Futaba has to take an entrance exam if she wants to continue her education past junior high.

We know that Goro approached Shido when he was 15/16--which is around the age some children are forced from their orphanages/foster homes (it ranges from 15~18). I'd go so far as to say that Goro approaching Shido was one of the most bitter pills he probably had to swallow. If he wanted to survive, he had to reach out to the father who had used his mother and abandoned the both of them. His other options would be extremely limited, if not non-existent. Most Japanese orphans and foster children end up unemployed or outright homeless once they're forced out of their homes, or they cycle through low-paying jobs with little hope of stability.

We know that Goro had planned a big elaborate revenge set up on Shido after gaining his trust and working with him, and I think many people, mostly critics of Goro, completely overlook just how many obstacles he had to clear just to get to Shido in the first place. Goro would have had no contacts, no social connections, and no political clout whatsoever that would allow him easy access to his father. I wouldn't be surprised if the only reason why Shido first gave him the time of day was a cruel whim.

Personally? My headcanon is that Wakaba Isshiki's research on Palaces, the Metaverse, and Treasures involved orphans and other such people that would easily be overlooked by society. While it sounds really crass to assume that orphans would be experiment victims, please note that I don't make that statement or offer it as a headcanon lightly. It's something I pieced together based on @jacks-plays-persona5​'s already existing argument for Wakaba’s research to be shady, as well as information gleaned from my research into Japanese orphans and foster children--that being they have little to no rights, and no one actively or even legally interested in their well-being or protection. What's more, children in these care facilities are often still beholden to their parents or relatives' control, even if they are not caring for the children.

From source #6: A care worker at an institution in Tsukuba said, “In Japan, the interest of the parents is seen as more important than the interests of the child.”

This refers to how children in these systems are often placed there by parents who can no longer care for them, but also refuse to actually legally give them up. Because of this, these children can never be formally adopted as they are still legally within their birth parents' custody.

To bring this back to the Wakaba headcanon: for parents who give up their children due to financial hardship, who's to say that they wouldn't thus be paid to give their children over to this research? There's even an instance of birth parents using their daughter to help mitigate their own financial troubles, such as the case of Kana-chan during Futaba's confidant link. Kana is not an orphan, nor was she placed in foster care, but the abuse and mistreatment she suffered was born from her parents' financial desperation and their callous insistence that Kana's life was theirs to do with as they pleased.

With the above information in mind, and with an in-game example of birth parents mistreating their own daughter for financial gain, I think my headcanon that "thrown away children" were sold for research to help their struggling parents is well within the realm of possibility. I also find it extremely difficult to believe that Wakaba would find willing, voluntary participants in such risky research, especially since it sounds like batshit crazy science on par with the Kirijo group's experiments in Persona 3.

Regardless--us not knowing exactly why Shido gave Goro the time of day is a frustrating oversight on the part of the plot, because by all rights Shido shouldn't have given an absolute shit about Goro unless something about him stood out from the get go. I highly doubt it could have just been Goro saying, “hey I have special powers for you to use.” Goro would have needed something else as a foot in the door before that revelation, or Shido would have already had to assume Goro capable of such a thing. Thus my headcanon that it was Goro's surname that caught Shido’s attention--perhaps Shido recognized it from Wakaba's research data? Or his own memories about Goro's mother?

It’s possible I’m totally overlooking something in canon that Shido says about this, as I haven’t yet gotten up to Shido’s fight in my replay and I have a totally abysmal memory. I’ll come back to this and edit in any information that either refutes or backs up this headcanon.

Now, back to the fruits of my research: Many children in these orphanages receive little to no education on top of spotty care from overworked and underfunded foster caretakers and the qualities of the homes themselves. For Goro to be as intelligent as he is--articulate, quick-witted, talented, and educated enough to work with the police while he's still a teenager--is downright miraculous. It strongly indicates that he desperately dedicated himself to his studies, most likely out of fear of where he'd end up if he wasn't smart enough to succeed. He himself admits he worked so hard so someone would accept and need him, but this doesn't answer how he had the resources to do so--it's very likely he did it all himself, which is another miracle considering that most children in orphanages don't continue past junior high, and they’re raised to do exactly as they are told, with little emphasis on individual decision-making. And even with all this, Goro is in a prestigious private high school in Tokyo. I know this is likely due to Shido's influence, but for Goro to have the knowledge to succeed in that school is still downright staggering.

Also gained from this research is the information that the hierarchy of bullying within Japanese orphanages is a tyranny of its own. Older children often antagonize and bully the younger ones, forcing them to 'stay in line' and listen to what the older children say. There is also very little privacy guaranteed to the children in these care homes--most have to live in very small spaces close together, and have to share bathrooms.

This information provides yet another necessary detail we can safely assign to Goro's background, one that leads nicely (re: heartbreakingly) into his reaction to hearing Ryuji talk about abuse in episode 3 of the anime. As an orphan, Goro would very likely have been a victim of bullying at some point, if not for the majority of, his stay in the facility.

From source #6: Japan’s alternative child care system suffers from overly large institutions where physical space is limited and chances for bonding are scarce; poor physical conditions of facilities; physical and sexual abuse by both caregivers and other children; and insufficient mechanisms for children to report problems.

With this in mind, abuse would very likely be no new thing for Goro at all, nor would it have been something he could easily or even reasonably do anything about. This could and very likely does explain how fervently he clings to his ideal of justice, as he was denied any hope of it for a long time. It also makes his Personas of Robin Hood and Loki all the more fascinating and hurtful: Robin Hood was a champion for the downtrodden and abused. Loki is responsible for the doom of the gods that imprisoned him and massacred his children.

I also don’t want to dismiss the very real damage that Goro would have endured from knowing that his mother committed suicide from the shame of giving birth to him.

To quote from source #8: Takao Inui, Deputy Head at Izumigaoka Gakuin Institution: “Of the 82 children [in the facility], 88% were previously abused. The term “abuse” cannot fully describe the scar they carry in their hearts when they come here.”

My research has also led me to the discovery of an organization called NPO "3keys," which is a fairly recent foundation that strives to help educate and support children in orphanages. When I say recent, I mean it was founded in 2009. If we choose to assume that the developers had this information in mind when writing Goro’s background, he would be in his early tweens at the time of 3keys’ founding, and thus still in an orphanage. It's possible that he was helped by an organization like/inspired by NPO 3keys, and perhaps this is why he's so intelligent and highly educated. But even this is a stretch, because it would assume that 3keys would have (1) had access to whatever orphanage he was living in, and (2) that his orphanage was within Tokyo or Yokohama (where 3keys operates)--as well as (3) that the writers even had this in mind in the first place. I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt here and assume yes.

Even if that's what happened, that still doesn't change the likelihood of Goro having been abused and mistreated on top of the already existing neglect and trauma of his mother's suicide, and Shido's obvious disinterest in taking any responsibility. What's more, Goro's knowledge of even how to live in society or function in the world likely would have come at a great mentally and emotionally exhaustive cost.

To quote Kiyomi Moriyama, from source #8: “I have friends now, but when I’m by myself I feel lonely. I can’t get used to being alone. Even now, I still don’t know how to spend time on my own. So I get quite lonely.”

Goro’s public personality of a charming, eloquent young man is thus both more impressive and heartbreaking when you realize he had no one actually caring for him, raising him, or helping him grow up at all. This is knowledge he would have had to learn by careful study and observation, or by imitating someone he idolized (very likely Naoto Shirogane and other idol personalities).

I'm basing this assumption off of this excerpt from source #5:

Masashi cared about his appearance – he wore fashionable, albeit worn, clothes and had styled his hair – but a sense of isolation clung to him.

“A day feels like it never ends,” he said, sighing.

It gradually became clear that, growing up in an institution, Masashi hadn’t acquired the knowledge and life-skills necessary to live independently. Nor had he received the continuing support he needed to re-enter Japanese society.

This is a lot of information to take in, and none of it’s easy or light. I’m honestly crying as I go through these sources, seeing what happens to these children and how painful and lonely it must be. To know that this was the basis of Goro’s backstory only makes what happens in Persona 5 all the more infuriating and hurtful.

If I can try to end on a somewhat positive note here, I would like to put forth the slightly desperate plea that the anime does not fail Goro like the game did, and that the anime gives him some sort of hopeful ending, or at least a path to rehabilitation for a young man treated like a throw away child, a young man who was never given a chance for love or support or happiness until the final months of his life.

... I don’t know how else to end this post, besides to ask those who read it to consider Goro’s character from the context of all this difficulty and loneliness, and to perhaps do what they can with this knowledge and put it forward into some kind of real world effort. And to pass along the link once again to 3keys, as donations are always helpful.

Source: Economist.

Source: Quora

Source: JapanToday

Source: Time

Source: HRW

Source: HRW, 2

Source: HRW, 3 (This is 119-paged report, by the by)

Source: HRW, 4 (This infant care institution is called Futaba, by the by)

Source: JPNinfo

Source: JapanTimes

[innermysteries]

The Greek word for soul was psyche, what we call the soul is the unconscious mind. What is the unconscious mind? It is part of the brain that is not connected to the network of neurons that make up our waking, resting state of consciousness called the default mode network, or the ego. It is interesting, as you will soon see, that Psyche was a female character. Another very intriguing Greek concept was the Daimon, the origin of the word demon. It is the inner genius, the spirit guide within. I offer you an explanation of what they could have meant by this. What follows is an investigation into the neuroscience of the soul and my experiences of self-discovery.

Carl Jung stated that civilized man has become soulless, let us investigate how we could have lost our soul.

The majority of civilized humans are born in a hospital, snatched from their mothers and tortured with needles, circumcision, etc. This is profoundly traumatizing. The way that infants have been treated in the civilized world is so different from the way that our hunter-gatherer, tribal ancestors treated infants for millions of years throughout hominid evolution. Humans in the civilized world come away from childhood seriously traumatized and brain damaged.

Tribal societies breastfeed for three years, this is natural birth spacing. Early weaning is neglect and abuse, it causes weaning conflict, oral fixation, sadomasochism, self-destructive tendencies and the secret death wish. Tribal societies certainly would not leave an infant alone and abandoned in a crib to cry itself to sleep. We are told that infants are to be left alone to cry themselves to sleep until they learn to soothe themselves, but what is actually occurring in the infant mind is a splitting. This is called primitive dissociation and is the root cause of all severe personality disorders such as borderline, antisocial and narcissistic personality disorders. The infant has only one option as a defense mechanism against the nightmare existence within which it finds itself unable to escape from while being neglected by its caregivers, as it is completely helpless and dependent upon them for its nourishment and psychological well-being. That defense involves the severing of the incoming connections from the source of negative emotion, the right hemisphere. This gives birth to the unconscious mind as the default mode network is constructed to protect the infant mind from the pain of its existence. This also occurs when one takes Prozac. The default mode network is a Prozac network.

This is not a great way to start out life, and in a culture of rampant narcissism most of us are victims of narcissistic, parental abuse. People think that you can do whatever you want to babies because they won't remember, this is an utterly cringe-worthy and ignorant approach to parenting and the handling of babies in a hospital setting. A baby's brain is going through an intense period of development during this time that will shape their psychology for the rest of their lives. The corpus callosum undergoes the greatest period of its development during the first twenty-four months after birth.

The reason for the epidemic of opioid addiction has to do with the fact that opioids are naturally released in the brain of all animals, including humans, when a child is nurtured by its mother.

This infant neglect, this narcissistic wound, or what Freud called the primal wound, makes us long eternally, even as an adults, for this nurturing from the mother, and so we crawl into the comforting embrace of an addiction, or try to replace the mother with romantic partners. It is no wonder that the United States has become a welfare state as we look to the Democratic party, the archetype of the mother, to provide social welfare programs to care for its childlike demographic. All baby animals need a sufficient amount of nurturing or they will die. Is it any wonder that what we call civilization is, in reality, a toxic, suicidal, theme park.

This is absolutely no different from the rats of NIHM experiment that was performed in the 1950s. The national institute of mental health created rat utopias in which the rats were given unlimited food and nesting materials. When the rats reached a certain population density they became insane and the colonies collapsed. This was due to the males becoming hyper-territorial and then began guarding the females who were then unable to nurture their young, so the young died.

Infant trauma is not the end of the story, when a child In our society reaches a certain age they are thrown into a heavily left-brain biased educational system In which imagination, one of the most significant mental faculties that distinguish the human from all other primates, is discouraged in favor of language and mathematics. Language and mathematics are also incredible mental faculties that separate us from other primates, but if you think about it, how many languages and branches of mathematics are we spending our youth learning? All fields of study require us to learn a specialized extension of language, whether it be chemistry, physics, political science, anatomy, biology, psychology, etc. These fields of study require us to learn a whole new set of terms and symbols in order to understand and work with the formulas and concepts involved in that field. We are not just learning basic math, we are learning pre-algebra, algebra, geometry, trigonometry, calculus, statistics, and the list goes on. Students who are imaginative, creative and staring out the window in boredom are stigmatized as having learning disabilities or ADHD and are prescribed drugs to make them fit into the system so that the system does not have to adjust to accommodate, properly nurture and encourage the creative geniuses in our society. The left hemisphere is a conformist, the right hemisphere is an individual. This is most likely why Carl Jung called the process of psychic integration the process of individuation. Creative geniuses and independent thinkers are a threat to a system of conformity and control that is designed to dumb down the population in order to shape them into tax paying, corporate, consumer slaves who perform repetitive, menial tasks In order to scratch out a living, existing on a hamster wheel, never getting ahead and working until they're dead. I do not think it is a coincidence that the retirement age is the average age of mortality among males. We are not supposed to figure this out, we are supposed to be grateful for our jobs and the crumbs that we are thrown from the towering heights occupied by an elite class that parasitically feeds on the laboring masses.

After school we enter into a left-brain biased working world. The brain continues to develop until age twenty-five and we spend most of this time using left-brain functions, almost completely neglecting right-brain functions. Our culture exacerbates and perpetuates this bias.

If you look at the stages of ego development you will notice that at the earliest stage, the impulsive stage, the characteristics are indistinguishable from those of borderline personality disorder. This is the most dissociated and most severe disorder. This is the psychology of a toddler, not having developed the executive function of the prefrontal cortex, It is completely unstable. It throws temper tantrums, having no emotional control or ability to communicate its needs in a more sophisticated way, seeing others In the most primitive way, as either nice to me or mean to me. Antisocial being the next severe, the self-protective and opportunistic child, doing whatever it can get away with, he gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar and blames his sister. The next stage shows the characteristics of narcissistic personality disorder, the conformist, the diplomat. This is adolescent psychology In which the right hemisphere is still largely repressed into the unconscious as a defense against the instability of the underlying borderline personality disorder. The left hemisphere is a narcissist and the default mode network is left hemisphere biased.

These personality disorders show the least amount of neural integration between the right and left hemispheres. Jungian psychology is about integration of the psyche. Carl Jung didn't know anything about the brain or hemispheric lateralization, and yet, somehow, he was profoundly insightful. When he referred to the Anima, the female psyche, he was referring to the right hemisphere which has become unconscious in civilized man. In split brain patients, the right hemisphere will refer to itself as female. The left hemisphere shows many masculine characteristics such as murderous aggression and rationality whereas the right hemisphere is irrational, the source of dreams, compassion, empathy and pro-social emotions.

Every stage of ego development, whether you look at Loevinger's model, Suzanne Cook-Greuter's model, Spiral Dynamics, among others, you will see a gradual integration of the characteristics of the right hemisphere into consciousness. There are ten stages of ego development and I would consider it a spectrum of narcissism, with the tenth stage being that of a taoist master, or enlightenment. Each stage displays a greater amount of self-awareness and humility that come along with meta-cognition, introspection, self-reflection and self-criticism. These are functions of the right hemisphere, as are empathy and imagination.

The reason for our condition, the unenlightened, psychological condition of civilized man, is a disorder of the corpus callosum. This information highway between the two hemispheres of the brain has a lack of communication in one direction. In traumatized infants this condition is called fractional anisotropy. What we don't realize is that what is considered to be a normal, healthy brain among civilized people is actually neurologically damaged.

Brain scans of experienced meditators show a significant increase in the thickness of the corpus callosum, a deactivation of the default mode network and an activation of the insular cortex, the command centers of the brain. The insula, which exists in both hemispheres, sends and receives signals to and from the entire brain. This is how one can achieve enlightenment, or, what I call whole-brain neural integration. This is our natural state of consciousness, the Zen mind. It is the hunter-gatherer state of consciousness. Meditation is a simulation of what a hunter-gatherer does all day long, hunting and fishing with a calm, clear mind yet alert and completely aware of his surroundings. This is mindfulness or what is commonly referred to as being present in the moment. A mind that is not thinking, planning or ruminating on the past and future, or about how others perceive us, a mind without self-consciousness, an undisturbed mind. This is what the Tao Te Ching means by returning to the primal identity. Unfortunately, in order to do this one must leave civilization behind because civilization will never allow you this state of mind with it's endless requirements of left-brain functions, fast-paced modality and stress. Now you see why the enlightened masters are usually forest hermits.

Our civilization, our society, displays every characteristic of the narcissistic, left hemisphere. Narcissism is a defense against a deep feeling of vulnerability and insecurity from childhood neglect and abuse. Unfortunately, the left hemisphere is not the wiser of the two brains. It evolved to make quick and dirty decisions and is certainly not where consciousness should take its residence. It is obsessed with material acquisition because it evolved as the part of the brain that seeks out food. It has an incredibly narrow way of seeing the world, It sees the world as a cognitive map composed of primitive symbols.

The fact is that we have two people inside our heads, when the right hemisphere finally breaks through into consciousness, It can be quite frightening, as Carl Jung described when he stated that the encounter with the Anima may cause petrification and even death.

I personally, experienced panic attacks as my right hemisphere began to break through into consciousness, as I experienced intuition, which is defined as thoughts that originate beyond conscious reasoning.

My encounter with the Anima sent me on a journey of homelessness, vulnerability, nature therapy, meditation and solitude. These things are necessary in order to deactivate the default mode network and activate the command centers of the brain in order to use the entire brain, or as Carl Jung put it, to become whole, to become the Self. This is the individuation process, to disconnect from the herd and become an individual, to develop one's inner world. The right hemisphere does not live in a box, figuratively and literally. It does not want to be confined in an artificial, domesticated prison. Like all animals, humans do not thrive in a cage, and the right hemisphere, when it makes its appearance on the stage of consciousness, makes no bones about this issue. The right hemisphere is open-minded, it evolved to confront the unknown such as predators, mates, unfamiliar territory. It then creates a cognitive map of the unfamiliar to be stored in the left hemisphere, which evolve to concern itself with the familiar. This is why a left-brain biased society is highly neurotic. The definition of neuroticism is fear of the unknown and seeking validation from others. The left hemisphere is also very concerned with where it fits in to the social hierarchy of status and dominance. Openness is one of the big-five personality traits, and it is synonymous with curiosity. In my view, openness, curiosity and facing the unknown are all the same thing. Once you free your mind from its prison then you will be outside the box and you will not want to live in a box. You will want to be in the natural environment where we evolved for millions of years before the sickness of civilization overtook the mind of man.

In order to reconnect with the right hemisphere of the brain, one must process traumatic, repressed memories and emotions, and confront and accept the negative, rejected aspects of one's unconscious personality. This is what Carl Jung described as the confrontation with the Shadow. This is the psychoanalytic process. These blockages must be cleared away, this is what the Tao Te Ching referred to as untying your knots.

A strange phenomenon, realizations, epiphanies, bolts from the blue, will suddenly occur to one who has begun to experience the integration process. Carl Jung stated that this begins after the disillusion of the persona, which I interpret as being an identity crisis, or the collapse of the self-narrative, the self-construct, which is usually composed of distorted beliefs about oneself. When one realizes that these beliefs are invalid, conditioned, brainwashing then this self-construct can come crashing when this happens a person can easily feel that they have absolutely no idea who they are anymore. This is what happened to me when I realized that I had been a scapegoat child of a grandiose narcissist father who had gaslighted me into believing that I wasn't good enough, I had an inferiority complex.

These flashes of insight indicate that intuition has begun to come online. This is a function of the right hemisphere, this is how it communicates. There is so much information that the right hemisphere wants to communicate but was unable to. I will never forget how it made my hands shake, It felt as though information was being downloaded to my mind from the universe. Carl Jung referred to this as the flooding of unconscious contents into the conscious mind, and warned about it overwhelming the conscious mind. He called it ego inflation. A person feels as if they are a god or the universe itself. This inflation will pass.

The right hemisphere is also musical and will communicate with songs. If a song suddenly appears in your mind, think about the lyrics and what they could mean in the context of whatever situation you are in, a decision you are trying to make or a conflict you are attempting to resolve. Most of the time these songs are light-hearted, sarcastic and humorous. Implicit meaning, IE; metaphor, sarcasm, irony, and humor are functions of the right hemisphere, wow the left hemisphere can only interpret things explicitly. An example of explicit interpretation is the way fundamentalist Christians interpret the Bible literally and not as a metaphorical mythology. When this function of the right hemisphere begins to come online you will suddenly realize the hidden meaning of all kinds of movies and stories. This is one of my favorite functions of the right hemisphere and was an incredible time for me when this began to occur.

It is very strange to have a conversation going on in your mind instead of an internal monologue, but the hardest part is awakening to the horrors of reality. This is taking the red pill, Awakening from the dream world of left brain optimism. This is a period of great darkness that one must endure as one begins to realize the truth of the human condition and the massive problems with society. As one's eyes become open to how suicidal we all are, how reckless and unenlightened civilized man has become. Civilized people live in a state of somnambulism, they are sleepwalkers, they live in a dream world of left hemisphere biased optimism and grandiosity while they unconsciously work to destroy themselves, destroy their environment and enslave, imprison and domesticate themselves. In fact the situation is quite grim and there is little cause for optimism. We have destroyed our ecosystem and are now facing our extinction.

There is no good news for the human race that comes with enlightenment. Awakening means facing reality. This is the great burden that one must carry. This is where stoic philosophy comes into play, Nietzsche's pessimism of strength. This is the Freudian transition from the pleasure principle to the reality principle that would normally occur in the adolescent mind during the rite of passage into adulthood in a tribal setting. This element is missing from the modern, civilized world, and so we remain psychologically childlike, regressed, in a state of arrested development. We have attempted to eliminate suffering from our existence but suffering is necessary for psychological development and, ultimately, we create much more suffering by trying to eliminating it.

This psychological process of accepting the call to adventure, leaving ones comfort zone, venturing into the unknown, into the dark underworld of one's unconscious mind, facing the demons there, overcoming resistances and recovering the treasure hard to attain is what the myths are about, the myth of the hero's journey.

[dmozal-cancer-walk-in-50states]

Sharing Relay for Life in the Beautiful Carolina’s

As I start the final of my 50-state relay goal in 2018 I want to say how exciting this year is going to be. With only 8 states left it will be a busy year. I apologize for the huge delay in writing this blog as the first of my relays didn’t start off as expected. I fell less than 3 weeks before the first of my relays. I fractured my tibia and it slowed me down quite a bit. It made it more difficult to talk to other people because I was on crutches and was a bit uncomfortable. It was a great reminder, however, of the gifts I enjoy everyday. Health, the ability to walk without pain, the friends I have made over the year, etc. 

Shallotte, North Carolina - May 4th, 2018

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­I must apologize for not being able to spend as much time as I would have liked with the wonderful survivors who attended the Brunswick County relay. As I mentioned, I fractured my tibia a few weeks prior to the event and walking on crutches slowed my “walking” down quite a bit! Because of that I am using photos from the Brunswick RFL Facebook page. https://www.facebook.com/Relay-For-Life-of-Brunswick-County-NC-200772466654653/ (Besides they are great)

Opening ceremony

There were many survivors at this relay compared to some I’ve attended. Each person sitting here is a survivor. They are a group of people who are strong, funny, caring, tenacious and welcoming. Thank you for letting me be a part of your relay. I was able to chat with a couple of the survivors from this group. Their stories are shared below.

Photo copied from https://www.facebook.com/Relay-For-Life-of-Brunswick-County-NC-200772466654653/

The chaplain that shared the opening prayer is also a survivor. Bill Boynton is a man of many occupations. Husband, father, grandfather, chaplain for the Brunswick County Sheriff’s Office, Lead Pastor at Church Builders of Brunswick County, and survivor (I’m sure I’m missing several more). I was so blessed to be able to sit and speak with Bill. He is a man with a very special message. But first, I want to share his story.

Me and Bill Boynton – Brunswick RFL, Shallotte, NC

Bill was diagnosed with prostate cancer a little over a year ago (June 13th). Bill had retired from his job for almost 6 months and had a physical set up that he really didn’t feel like he needed to attend. He had this feeling that he should go though. He mentioned to his doctor that he was having some issues with frequency in urination. He had no pain, no other issues, and figured it was part of getting older but his doctor is what Bill calls “thorough”. The doctor wanted him to have a PSA blood test and a digital exam. After a bit of headshaking and saying he really didn’t think it was necessary, Bill gave in even though the doctor felt there were probably no issues.

Bills PSA results were 10.2 instead of being around the normal range of 4. Because of the elevation the doctor wanted the test to be repeated. The results were a little lower but not much. Bill’s primary sent him to a urologist.  

The urologist repeated the PSA bloodwork and it was elevated again so a biopsy was the next step. Bill is the type of person who researches whatever he is questioning so he is well informed. He found that this urologist only biopsied about ½ of the cores that most doctors do. After much thought he changed doctors and his new urologist was more thorough. She and Bill’s personalities matched better as they are both people who speak “matter of fact”. She took more biopsies including some that were painful to extract. She told him that these were probably the ones that were cancerous.

The results of the biopsy came back that he had a more aggressive type of cancer. Bill said he just shut down. He is a man of faith so he not only believes in God, he also knows where he is going when his time on earth is done. He was ready to give up and let whatever was going to happen just happen. He was tired and didn’t feel the fight was necessary.

Bill continues to be thankful for his gift from God, his wife! Her strength and support as his advocate and caregiver, along with the support of the rest of his family (including those who are “non-blood related”) is what pushed him to do something. Bill said these wonderful people flooded him with phone calls and messages (locally and from several states), letting him know that he needed to fight this disease. They would NOT let him shut down and give up!

After about 3 or 4 weeks of people reminding him of his importance, he contacted the doctor. His urologist sent him to his radiologist-oncologist to see if  radioactive seeds would work. After discussion Bill, his wife, and the doctor decided on a prostatectomy. Bill is doing great and has had terrific bloodwork over the past few months.

“Men need to take care of themselves and not depend on doctors to bug them to be checked.” Bill said that men, especially men of color, do exactly what Bill did…..they shut down, they try to ignore what is happening, they don’t take care of themselves as they should. This is such an important message that Bill wants to share with everyone. He said “remember that your family needs you, friends need you, God has a plan but we need to take the step of taking care of ourselves”. Bill said it is important to get checked. It isn’t fun, but it is highly necessary. He also said by getting this type of check up, especially the blood test, you are choosing to take care of yourself and care for others. Bill also said if you don’t feel you have the money find a clinic that will do the PSA test for free or a minimal charge.

He also said fear puts handcuffs on you and you actually lose the ability to make a choice. Death from prostate cancer is not pleasant. 

Bill has passed on the lesson he learned from his father to his children and now his grandchildren which is “nothing beats failure but a try”. What an amazing man, he cares for others, has amazing faith and shows love to everyone he meets. Again, he says don’t let fear prevent you from taking care of yourself. You remove the gift of time with others because of fear…..so instead take care of yourself.

The other survivor I talked to was Heather Kinlaw. Sadly I only talked to her for a few minutes. I was hoping we’d be able to talk again so she could share her story with me. 

Heather is an event planner and has been involved with RFL for many years. She was event chair during part of her time with Relay but over the past few years she has been traveling so she hasn’t been able to be as involved with her local event as a member of the event staff. However she has been attempting to attend whatever relays she can in the states she’s traveling to.

Heather Kinlaw and me

Heather shared a few of her fundraising ideas that she has been involved in such as committee members raising money so that one of their co-committee members would receive a pie in the face. Or a T-Shirt contest where each team designed a t-shirt and people bought tickets as a way to “vote” for the design they like the most. Then that team that received the most tickets received the money from all the ticket sales as part of their fundraising money.

She had a lot of idea’s for fundraising and from the few minutes I talked to her it was obvious that family, friends, health, and community were very important to her.

Heather is not only a survivor, she is a mother, grandmother, businesswoman and volunteer. Cancer didn’t slow her down!

Two of the many people who made the Brunswick Relay such a great success were Teresa Houser and Kecia Taylor. They both took the time out of their busy day to sign my shirt and make me feel welcome.

Kecia Taylor, me and Teresa Houser

Kecia signing the T-Shirt

Teresa Houser signing the t-shirt

There was lots of fun at this event. People participated and enjoyed the day while raising money and honoring those who have been affected by cancer. The community not only raised a lot of money to fight cancer, they also shared in showing love and support for one another (such as dressing up). 

Relay supporter, raising money to help others fight and cure cancer

Myrtle Beach, South Carolina - May 5, 2018

Dr. Christopher Bach shared his story during a speech at the Grand Strand Relay for Life. 

He was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia that had spread to his nervous system when he was 18 months old. For the next 3-4 years he spent his time receiving chemotherapy and radiation at the National Institute of Health in Washington DC, trying to get his cancer under control. Chris said he was lucky. His cancer responded quickly to the chemo and he has been leukemia free for 33 years.

Dr. Christopher Bach and me

Chris developed a lot of respect for the medical community because of his experiences, so he started the path to becoming a medical doctor. He is now a gastroenterologist, helping prevent cancer in as many people as he can! As wonderful as that sounds his life has also had some additional dramatic events.

As with all treatments there are side effects that can linger for month, years, or even a life time. During his training to become a doctor a co-resident was practicing an ultrasound of the heart on Chris and found a tumor. Luckily, he was at John Hopkins and one of the best cardiothoracic surgeons took him to the operating room just a few days after the tumor was discovered. They found an myxoma of the left ventricle. He was told after the surgery that he was only days away from a piece of the tumor breaking off and causing a stroke or possibly death. Chris said that this “near brush with death” caused him to want to know more about the treatments he received and the type of cancer he had. He requested his records from NIH so that he could find out more information. He  also reached out to his pediatric oncologist.

The chemotherapy Chris received was experimental, a treatment regimen that was new at the time of his cancer diagnosis. This regimen was so successful that it became the standard for treating his type of cancer and many lives were saved because of this new chemotherapy. The doctor told Chris that he didn’t know of a correlation between the type of chemo he received and the tumor he had but there was a great deal that the doctors didn’t know about the adverse effects that patients would incur years later.

Chris mentioned that although he is considered cancer free of the childhood leukemia he had, he is reminded of the fact that there are still residual effects that can occur. The reminder comes whenever he applies for life or disability insurance and is turned down. He also said that you take the good with the bad when you currently have, or previously had, cancer. If he hadn’t had cancer he wouldn’t be in the medical field preventing cancer and curing early colon cancer. He also says that cancer influences him but it doesn’t define him. I love the way he said “I use my past experiences to better appreciate my present, my family, my health”. He reminded us that the Relay was to celebrate life, our family and friends, and to remember who we love who did not survive. I was inspired when I listened to this man’s speech. Dr. Christopher Bach is many things….husband, father, doctor, survivor, and a man striving to destroy cancer as early as possible!

I was also privileged to meet Joe and Lee Magnani. Joe is a soft tissue sarcoma survivor of almost 8 years. He is a retired custodian that thought that the lump in his left thigh was just the result of bumping into something on his job. He was incorrect.  

Joe and Lee Magnani

Lee noticed that Joe was very quiet the whole weekend which was uncharacteristic for Joe. Then Joe felt numbness in his leg so he went to Immediate Care. When he saw the doctor, she was concerned with what she was seeing so she sent him to see an orthopedic doctor to receive an MRI. While Joe was heading to receive his results Lee was fighting pneumonia and was receiving an x-ray. Lee said Joe had to receive the devastating news of his cancer alone. The MRI showed a tumor that measured 22 x 17 cm. (The size of a small football)

The doctor told Joe that he would need surgery to remove the sarcoma that was almost wrapped around the artery (there was just 1.35 mm or the thickness of a dime, between his artery and the sarcoma). If it had been wrapped around the artery there would be no way to save his leg. There was still great concern due to the size and location of the sarcoma. 

On July 1, 2010 Joe had surgery. The surgery was supposed to take 4 hours but actually ended up taking 9. Lee said she prayed every prayer she knows to every Saint she could think of as she waited with her brother and sister for news on Joe’s condition. When the doctor finally appeared, he told Lee he had good news and bad. Lee asked for the good news first. The doctor said he was able to save Joe’s leg. The bad news was that they had to remove a lot of his quadriceps muscle and nerves so he would most likely need to wear a brace for the rest of his life because his leg was numb in the area of the surgery. (a brace much like people with polio wear)

Joe had some issues during his healing including gangrene that developed because he was on the operating table for so long. That same leg had previously had a hernia and now also developed a clot. During the 23 days Joe was in the hospital, he had 4 different surgeries. The Magnani’s said they had the best surgeon, Dr. John Healey, orthopedic chief surgeon at Sloan Kettering. The doctor is an expert at what he does and is world renowned, having patients from all over the world.

Joe and Lee also had to drive into New York for 23 days to receive radiation treatments. This is a feat during normal circumstances especially with traffic and riding in the car for hours, etc. but they did it!

Lee has had her own health issues, some because of the stress of watching her spouse go through so much. So Joe had additional great caregivers besides his wife Lee. Lee’s sister and brother took turns visiting Joe at the hospital because Lee couldn’t due to her lung issues. (it also happened to be the hottest summer in years in New York which contributed to Lee’s lung problems)

On one of the many visits to New York to see the doctor Joe saw a girl around 15 years old that no longer had one of her legs. Joe said he was so very thankful he was able to keep his leg.

Joe has a really good attitude. He and Lee made a pact for Joe to walk every morning when he got home from the hospital. The first few days he’d walk with Lee for about a half block. Lee was still working and Joe told her that she needed to go to work and he would walk by himself. Lee was worried about Joe falling but he promised to “fall on the grass”. See, good attitude! He did walk and continue to add steps every day to build up his strength. It worked! To also keep his leg working properly he goes to water aerobics 5 days a week. In the winter they walk in the mall and stores.

Joe now wears a compression sock that he puts on every day. He also uses a compression boot a couple of times a day to keep the circulation working correctly so he doesn’t get swelling in his leg. Having lymphedema seems to be a small price to pay to keep his leg.

Because of Joe’s condition with his leg bugs seem to love him. These bites cause cellulitis and it can be dangerous. Lee can tell exactly what is going on so she watches Joe closely. Joe is also great about saying when he doesn’t feel good. He also wants to make sure that people (especially men) say something when they aren’t feeling right. If something is wrong, don’t ignore it. Get it checked before it becomes too far advanced.

Joe and Lee were great fun, they really like each other and have grown so much stronger with having to deal with cancer. They continue to live life to the fullest and remind people of the importance of taking care of their health and paying attention to their bodies.

Keri Wells was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in February 2007. While she was visiting her family in Iowa at Christmas time, December of 2006, she had flu-like symptoms and decided to go to urgent care. When they were checking her glands the doctor said she thought Keri might have a goiter and wanted her to see her own doctor to follow up.

Me and Keri Wells

Keri went to the doctor and he wanted her to have a biopsy. Thyroid biopsies can be very uncomfortable and she had 16 spots they biopsied. She received the call at work giving her the diagnosis. Keri finds that tough because you need to focus on your job but “cancer” is all you can think about. She called her mom who took the diagnosis hard as well. Looking back at family pictures she and her mother realized that the goiters had been growing for years. As she was growing up it seemed she was developing an Adams Apple but because it was so gradual no one really noticed.

Keri went to a surgeon who said that she actually had 2 goiters (one in front of the other) and because of the size they needed to be removed. When Keri went to see the surgeon he didn’t have her pathology report yet. As she was on her way home from the appointment the surgeon called and said he had just received the report. He didn’t realize how large the goiters were. He told her that she needed to have them removed as quickly as possible. The problem was he was going out of town so he was going to have to pass her to another surgeon to have a full thyroidectomy. 

Keri didn’t meet the new surgeon until just before the surgery. As a corrections officer Keri asked her new surgeon to make sure her scar didn’t make her look like she’d been shanked. He did a fantastic job!

It was also discovered that Keri had a lot of cancer cells wrapped around her vocal cords that they weren’t able to remove. Most “normal” people have a single dose of radioactive iodine to kill the cells but Keri has had 5 doses. She’s had one impatient and 4 outpatient treatments.

The hardest part of her treatments was the high dose of radioactive iodine she had to receive. It was so strong that she had to live in an isolation room during the treatment, throw away her clothes once it was complete, the nurses had to wear hazmat-type suits, and it took 3 days for her to get her levels low enough to leave the hospital. It is very unusual to have so many rounds of this treatment. Keri also said she has had to eat a low iodine diet 3 times and it is very hard to follow (and not appetizing at all).

Before she left Minnesota in April 2011 she had a scan and has been cancer free since then. She has yearly scans now but from 2007-2011 she had scan’s every 6 months. Keri said she also has breast cancer in her family so she is very careful to be checked.

Keri has blood work every 3 months to make sure she is doing well. Although I’ve heard often that thyroid cancer is one of the best cancers to get Keri reminded me that any cancer can kill you. Also, the thyroid regulates everything in the body so it’s function is very necessary. She said that with any type of cancer you always have to continue to be careful and pay attention to your body.

Keri has some non-thyroid issues but other than that she is feeling great. She has been participating in the Relay’s in her area since she came to South Carolina in 2011.

Keri said she isn’t someone who would go to the doctor often because she has always been fairly healthy but she realizes now the importance of having a yearly, full body checkup. Catching cancer as early as possible is vital.

I also met Susan and Scott Berman. Susan is a 24-year breast cancer survivor. (I just LOVE hearing that) She discovered her cancer during her self-exam. She found the lump in December of 1994 and when she called for an appointment her doctor’s office didn’t have any available until January. Susan was so concerned with what she felt that she called the clinic. They had an available appointment on Friday of that same week. The lump she discovered was the size of a golf ball (3 1/2 cm).

Me, Susan and Scott Berman

The doctor that examined her was also concerned so she called the head of surgery to get Susan in for a biopsy. The head of surgery did the biopsy that same day and told Susan he wanted to do a lumpectomy on Monday (yes he could tell it was cancer and even more amazing he wanted her to have surgery just a few days later).

The surgeon called a few days after the lumpectomy to say he wasn’t sure they got all the cancer. Susan told him that she wanted a mastectomy to “get all the cancer out”. The doctor wanted to make sure Susan understood what she would look like so she wouldn’t be surprised when she came out of surgery. Susan was very sure of the decision she was making. They moved very quickly through the whole process. One-week later Susan had the mastectomy. She said after the surgery she was relieved. She knew that for her this was the right decision.

After the surgery Susan had to have chemotherapy. Her treatment regimen was a three-week repeating cycle - one week she had chemo and the two weeks in between she was on an oral medication. She did this for 6 months.  The doctor gave her many options when he discussed chemotherapy, including breast reconstruction, and told her they weren’t going to do anything yet. He wanted her to think about the decisions she was going to make.

Susan hated the way she was feeling from the chemotherapy so by the fourth month of treatment she talked to her oncologist and told him she didn’t want to continue the treatments. She was so tired and depressed. She had no hair, no energy and just felt really bad. The doctor understood and said they would change her dose that day and make it her last treatment. He gave her anti-nausea medication before the treatment and when she was done that day she went home feeling better than she had for any of the other treatments.

Susan was glad because she had a trip to Virginia planned with her husband and she already hated that she had no hair and had to wear a wig, she didn’t want to be feeling sick as well.

After 3 years Susan was cleared by her doctor. She did have reconstruction for the breast that had been removed and a reduction on the other breast.

The other issue that Susan has had is lymphedema. She isn’t sure if it developed on its own but she feels that it may have been brought on by a spider bite she received when she was out hanging clothes one day. It is tough to deal with sometimes but she faces it head on.

Susan said if she could tell someone what she feels would help them it is to not be so afraid that they don’t do anything. Go to the doctor, hit it head on, get the cancer out and move on. It’s tough but important for survival.

Susan and Scott are very close. Scott is a supportive husband and partner. He also has words of advice.

He said he realizes that this disease was devastating for his wife. It is hard because he sees that it can make a woman feel awkward, uncomfortable, etc. but he says as Susan’s husband, lover, and partner he has always looked at her as beautiful and amazing (and he always will).

This couple has lost many family members and friends to this disease. They also had friends who have survived or are dealing with cancer currently. They have been involved with Relay for 20 years.

Scott and Susan, and relayer’s enjoying dancing portion

Susan and Scott continue to live fulfilling and busy lives. They enjoy each other’s company and do things together, always busy with something like dancing or being involved with their children and grandchildren. They laugh at the fact that they are busier now than when they were younger. They take care of themselves and others, and hope everyone will do the same!

Nan Hastings is a mom, grandma, coworker, runner, friend, and a 2-time breast cancer survivor.

Nan Hasting, me and Troy Matheny

She and her good friend Michele Hartman formed a cancer support group in 2013 when Nan had just finished her treatments for her 2nd fight against breast cancer. Michele's husband was still battling papillary thyroid cancer.  A good friend of these two ladies was going through treatments herself and mentioned to Michele and Nan that she wished there was more support for people going through treatments. Michele and Nan said they didn’t see why they couldn’t start a support group for all cancers. 

During that time someone asked about donating to their support group. At first, they didn’t know what they would do with the money, but as they talked about it more, they decided to become a 501(c)(3).  All donations they receive go to residents in Horry County, helping local people with bills such as electric, gas cards, phone, and food. As Nan said, people fighting cancer worry about not only their health but also the bills. So many bills come in, work life is often affected, and it isn’t healthy for people to be struggling with these worries. They lose sleep or are affected in other physical ways but that energy needs to be used to fight their cancer.

The group is having a 5K on June 30th. You can see more information on their Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/CopingTogetherNorthStrandSC/

For Nan, she was a single mom for her first round of cancer, and she had a son that wanted to join the golf team but she didn’t have the $30.00 because every dollar went to bills and medical costs. Then one day she received $500 from a dear friend. The friend told her to use the money for whatever she needed. Nan knew at that moment that when she was able to she wanted to do the same thing. It is amazing that her second round of cancer is where that desire became a reality.

Now Nan is healthy, helping others through some of the financial issues they are going through, and enjoying life every day!

Troy Matheny is the Senior Community Development Manager for Myrtle Beach and a very energetic, caring person. He has the most amazing drive to help others, is exceptional at fundraising, and has a big heart.

As part of promoting the Grand Strand Relay for Life event I participated in a live show called Carolina & Company with Troy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_JpvlWW0Is  I was so nervous that I didn’t say the main reason I am Relaying in every state. The goal is to share peoples’ stories so that others may be impacted in some way, as I am impacted every time I hear their journey. The hope is that someday we will Relay to celebrate the end of cancer and the people who have made the cure possible.

The theme at this year’s Grand Strand event was Dr. Seuss and Troy had a pair of light up tennis shoes that he wore when the sun went down (during the rain). His enthusiasm was contagious! 

Troy Matheny signing the Relay shirts

Troy signed my shirts. He also has some great contacts that seem very willing to help in other ways than just financial. He had a contact at the Crown Reef Resort at Myrtle Beach that help me tremendously with the financial burden of a hotel room. Being self-funded means the cost of travel can really add up. The Crown Reef went above and beyond to help with that financial burden. Not only did they help me but their facility was great to stay at, beautiful ocean view, and fun activities for people to enjoy. I would love to visit again someday and would highly recommend them! https://www.crownreef.com/

Both Carolina relays were enjoyable and raised a lot of money for American Cancer Society. The people were kind, friendly, and supportive....not only to others in their community, but for a couple from Michigan as well. A common goal shared by uncommonly kindhearted and caring people!

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

18. Am I the Adult?

Word Count: 4349 Trigger Warnings: Mentions of child endangerment

Previous

Hazel was very excited for Grace’s upcoming birthday. She spent every day that she went outside trying to find the perfect leaf, and she DID! A very red one that would go great with her strawberry dress that would match the theme of the party she was throwing. The caretakers were going to bring Hazel to Grace’s quarters for a scheduled “play date,” and Hazel would take that time to decorate and set up gifts. Staff had gone to the store to get some things for Hazel and basically… They just grabbed all this strawberry stuff from the bargain store party supplies, so Hazel was gonna work with it. 

Grace’s caregiver had even gotten permission to take photos and post them! Which was HUGE for Hazel, as she was never able to be featured online for safety measures, but she guessed that they worked some details out in order for her to be able to be featured on Grace’s page! There would be a photo of them out there, somewhere! It may seem small, but to her, that meant so much. All of this did. 

On the morning that Hazel was setting up things in Grace’s quarters, one of the other staff members came to find her current chaperone. They were talking quietly, in that voice that made Hazel suspicious, so she listened a little harder than she might have if they had just not been sneaky. 

“I promise to take care of it personally, but she’ll be heartbroken if we do it right now.” 

That was all that Hazel heard before she had to pretend to still be doing stuff, like she hadn’t been listening in. “What just happened?” She asked.

“Oh, they were telling me what we need to do after the party. Do you need any help setting things up?”

“Hmmmm…” Hazel studied her, then shrugged her shoulders and said, “I think it’s all set.”

Grace had woken early that day, getting her morning therapy done a little bit earlier than usual. She hadn’t had the time to do any meditation or anything… which was usually her just sitting there trying to think of stuff that she was happy about. The list was short, so it tended to be a quiet time for her. Today, it was even shorter, because her thoughts were irrationally loud. This was the second birthday since her 10th that she was without him. Today was about her, not him. Hazel had asked her to wear something with strawberries on it. Whatever that kid had planned, Grace wanted to be excited about it.

“And that stinks, you know? I’ve got this really good friend in my life and I’m constantly thinking about the one that got away. The one that pushed me away. The one that hurt me. I’m still wearing his stupid charm bracelet.”

“You don’t have to wear that charm bracelet, Grace,” her psychiatrist said.

“I know this, but also… I lost my hope chest. Whenever I gave it to the police, there was even my other gifts from Simon in it. Ones that weren’t related to crimes, but I couldn’t take them out. They gave me the chest back empty and the rest of it was all evidence. This is the only gift that I still have from him, and it is sort of all encompassing too. This pumpkin, because of our visits to the pumpkin patch. This train, because that’s what took us to most of our adventures. This skateboard, the tube of lipstick, the little soldier… They ALL have a part in our childhood and our friendship. The charm bracelet tells the story of who we were before it went wrong.”

“When would you say it went wrong?”

This was a trick question, or one to make her think more carefully about her words. From 10-12 she was sneaking away to frolic with him, and while that may have been a little mischievous, it wasn’t anarchy or anything. But, whenever they were 12, she started unleashing all of the rage that she had to keep pinned up at home. Simon had rage of his own to release and seeing her so boldly accept hers helped him to do the same for his own. The next few years were borderline sociopathy… So, like… maybe it had always been wrong, but it didn’t always feel wrong. That came later.

“I’d say that it went wrong whenever it started to feel wrong for me and not for him. I think whenever I began to deny certain things in myself, he probably felt like I was rejecting them in him, and I was, a little bit. I felt like certain things should have stopped. But, that wasn’t what did it for him. For him, whenever I wanted to find my own avenues… it was betrayal.”

“Have you felt that it was betrayal?”

“No. I wouldn’t have left him or hurt him.”

“I want to focus on you more, instead of him. What do you think of when you think of betrayal?”

“Turning against someone, doing things to them that are inexcusable.”

“So, to be disloyal to someone.”

“Yes. That’s a good way to put it.”

“What would you say that you were loyal to, prior to where it went wrong?”

Grace thought for a moment. “I was loyal to Simon. When it went wrong, I was still loyal to Simon. Nothing that I did was disloyal.” She scoffed and shook her head, “Nothing that I did was disloyal, and I’ve been trying for over a year to figure out what I did, instead of being loyal enough to myself to realize that I didn’t do anything to deserve any of that. Is that what you were trying to get me to see?”

“I’ve been helping you to come to healthy conclusions, whatever you feel and know is best for you. I haven’t been trying to get you to see this so much as get you to know what you make of the information. You’ve passed over this many times. Sometimes semantics is helpful. The word “betrayal” is commonly used in gritty young adult series and memes on the Internet. “Disloyal” isn’t so much. It’s less convoluted. You were struggling to realize that you didn’t betray anyone, because you’ve heard the word a lot and it’s taken on many forms. The word disloyal has the same meaning, but for you, it felt like a different, more serious accusation.”

“Because I know I was loyal, for a fact… So I know that I wasn’t disloyal. Ma’am… You couldn’t grab your thesaurus a year ago?” Grace joked. She appreciated a new POV, for once. It felt like she had maybe made some sort of breakthrough.

.

When she got back to her quarters, Hazel and her caregiver were there and there were cheap decorations and Hazel had a sign with “Happy Birthay Grace!” written on it and a drawing of the two of them in strawberry dresses. Though, Grace had a strawberry romper in real life.

“Oh, Hazel! You are so sweet!” She cheered and picked her friend up to hug her and pelt her with kisses as she laughed. 

They played a few games, had a couple of cupcakes from the cafeteria, made dancing videos, and then talked while the caregivers ‘monitored.’ Both were on their phones and not really paying attention to the conversation too deeply. 

Eventually, Hazel said, “Whenever I was out there, I used to tell people that Tuba was my mom.”

Grace furrowed her eyebrows, “You used to say that your mom was a tuba?”

Hazel laughed, “No, Silly! Not A tuba! THE Tuba! The Mighty Tuba and her Musical Bunch!”

Grace gasped, “OOOOOOOH!!! The big gorilla with the,” she gestured towards her shoulders, “With the tubas. Why her?”

“Because I didn’t really get TV. I thought she was there with me. Every time she sang Don’t Be a Worry Baby, I just felt like she was singin’ to me. I also didn’t know that she wasn’t real! So whenever I told kids that she was my mom, they’d say stuff like, “Your mom wears the gorilla suit?” I’d just lie and say yes. Even if I switched homes and somebody said that I can call them mom… I knew that they probably wouldn’t be there for me later on, and Tuba always would. She was only a TV away.”

Grace smiled, sadly. “That’s kinda cool… You got to pick yourself a mom that you approved of!”

“You’re doing it again, Grace.”

“No, I mean it. I wish I could've picked my mom. Heck, maybe Tuba can be my mom too. That show is BIG, so I know she’s got bank.” 

Hazel laughed and Grace brushed her hair from her face to look at her. Hazel leaned into her touch and confessed, “Whenever I leave, I’m gonna tell people that you’re my mom.” Grace froze and forced a smile, despite feeling very uncomfortable at the moment. “Our little introduction… remember?”

“Right! Right…” Grace laughed and took her hand back. “I was just thinking, if you get out there and say my name… if people remember me, they might not have nice things to say. I don’t want you to have to look at me that way.”

“Grace… We’re both in here. I know how people outside are. They judge us very meanly. I won’t pay attention to them.” Grace gave her a big hug. Their gathering was over a short while later. She was happy about the gifts that Hazel made her and since she did have her old hope chest, she stuck them in there, with the leaf in the baggy, from the day that they became friends. “You can’t replace Simon with Hazel. You’ve gotta have a healthy sense of self and a healthy sense of friendship.” She said. She shut the chest, “This is healthy. I mean, we’re 12 years apart in age, but I think that as far as 18 year olds with child friends goes, we’re doing great. No, 18 year olds aren’t usually friends with 6 year olds, BUT, they also aren’t usually in an institution for a year.”

Whenever I leave, I’m gonna tell people that you’re my mom. “You really should have nipped that in the bud. You’re not her mom, and never could be. It was wrong of you not to remind her of that and to advise her to look at you as just another patient here that happens to care about her. You’d make a terrible mom, and you’re returning to the cycle of being a terrible friend. NO! I was a good friend! I was loyal.” She took a deep breath and sat down to meditate. 

.

She awoke with a start and put her hand over her chest. For some reason, she’d thought that she heard some loud crash or something. But, now the room seemed totally silent and it was too dark to see if anything was out of place. She took a deep breath and laid back down. “Grace!” A loud whisper called. She screamed, but a small hand cupped her mouth. “It’s me.” Hazel.     

“Hazel?” Grace said, removing the girl’s hand from her mouth. “How did you get in here?”

“The vents,” Hazel said. “We’ve gotta go!”

“Yeah, back to your room, before you get in serious trouble, young lady.”

“They’re sending me away,” Hazel said. Grace’s heart stopped. Hazel continued, “After the party, they started packing up my things and making inventory. They’re sending me to a foster home!”

Grace wanted to cry, but she knew this was good news for the child, even if she didn’t seem to. “Hazel, that’s great! You get to get out of here.”

“I don’t want to get out of here! Here is where you are,” Hazel sobbed. 

Grace sputtered air and collected Hazel to herself. “Hey… I know that this is rough. It’s scary out there. But your workers care about what’s best for you. If you’re getting out, that means that you’ve gotten better. They don’t wanna keep you here if they don’t have to.”

“It doesn’t mean that I’ve gotten better. It just mean that I’ve had some good days! Whenever I start having bad days, then what? They’ll put me back in a place like this, and what if it isn’t here? What if it’s not with you? I have bad days because I get scared and the turtle is the only thing that keeps me safe. I haven’t had bad days because I’m with you and I know that you keep me safe!” Grace rubbed her arm and Hazel climbed on her and held her tightly, sobbing. “We’re supposed to protect each other, and they’re sending me away.”

“It’s okay. Just hold on to me. It’s okay.” She let Hazel sleep there, but as soon as the sun peeked through the blinds in the morning, she scooped her up to take her to the staff. 

Hazel hoped that maybe this little scheme would land her a longer stay, but all they did was revise the way that they rooms were, to try to ensure that she couldn’t get to the vent to crawl through it. She was filthy and needed to be made presentable before it was time for her social worker to collect her.

“Did she have something with her?” the staff asked.

“No. Not that I saw. I could check the room, I guess. It was pretty dark whenever she showed up. What am I looking for?” Grace asked. 

“We’ll send someone to search her room and then stop by yours.” 

They didn’t want to tell her. She went back to the room searching, not knowing what for. Her caretaker was waiting outside and would check in with her every few minutes. She was in her room that day anyway. After searching everywhere, she sat on top of her chest and surveyed the room. Maybe she left whatever it was in the vent? She moved to try to push the chest and see if it could help her to reach, but she noticed that the flaps weren’t secured. She opened it and there it was… a file. Hazel Doe. 

Grace’s hands shook as she picked it up. She didn’t know if Hazel put it there because she wanted to take it with them wherever she wanted to run away together to, or if she just needed Grace to see her. Whatever the case, Grace picked it up and began to read it.   

The medical reports from being left in the bushes at almost 2 (and unable to walk by that time???) She was malnutritioned, had multiple illnesses picked up from the elements, was covered in insect bites, some very infected, had drugs in her system, organ issues… GOD! This kid had it tough. They had her in a children’s hospice… They didn’t even expect her to survive. But, she did. “Of course she did. She’s a trooper.” 

However, she suffered from some behavioral problems from age 3 on, thought to possibly be related to exposure/ingestion of drugs from a parent via neglect or breastfeeding, though she began recovering at the time... Bounced around to multiple homes between ages 3-5 (the turtle “transformation” began at age 4, too early to consider a dissociative disorder), and from children’s mental health centers to foster care from 5-6… 

Hazel… was probably correct in thinking that she might be sent elsewhere again. This poor kid had been bounced around like a pinball. That’s not even covering some of the incidents surrounding her turtle persona, like crawling out into the street and nearly being hit by a car at one of her homes, prompting them to send her to get help… eating poisonous leaves and having to be rushed to the ER… She had emotional AND physical trauma. More than Grace could imagine, and all Grace wanted to do was to help her. She hoped that the help would be in finding a proper family. All she knew for sure was that the mature thing to do was not get in this girl’s way of help just because she was lonely. She had been down that road before.

Her caretaker peeked in and Grace said, “Oh! I think I found what they were looking for. Hazel’s file.” 

She came to retrieve it, “That girl’s definitely crawled those vents before. Got into the office. Hers was on the desk, because they were going to put it in the outpatient ones as soon as she leaves...Did you read this, Grace?”

“Who do you think I am?” Grace asked, avoiding answering honestly. The tears in her eyes said it all. “Do you think they’ll let me say goodbye to her, when she leaves?”

“Sure. I’ll set that up while I go bring this back to them.”

“Can you also get her a gift from me?”

“I can take you to pick something out. Get ready, and we’ll go when I get back.”

Grace didn’t go out much, but sometimes, her caretaker took her on trips to the store, a food place, or just to the mall to grab something really quickly. As long as they had the proper permissions, it was fine. She could take her out more, but Grace wanted to be inside the amount of time that she was. 

She couldn’t seem to decide on a gift though. None of this stuff could say, “Sorry that life has treated you so poorly that I seemed like a good mother figure. Hopefully, it’ll stop doing that shit to you.” She heard Don’t Be a Worry Baby playing and followed the sound. There was a huge Tuba display with toys, games, and other fanfare. She found one of those oversized birthday cards and looked in it. It was too birthday-ish, so she put it down. Hazel didn’t need any of the keychains or... lighters? Why would there be Tuba lighters? Grace picked up a stuffed Tuba, with speakers on the inside of her tubas. When she pressed the try me button, it began to play the song from the tubas. Grace put it in her cart and went to look at the other cards that weren’t for birthdays. She found one with a turtle on it that read, “You’ve come out of your shell!” And on the inside, the turtle is still in its shell but it reads, “Just kidding, but you’re turtley cool, no matter what!” She cried as she put it in the cart too. Her caretaker placed an arm around her and led her to the checkouts.

Hazel looked like a different kid whenever Grace arrived to see her off. She wasn’t smiling. She just seemed defeated. “Hey… I came to give you something to remember me by…” Hazel’s eyes looked up at Grace, but she wasn’t prepared to change her face yet. Grace presented her with the card and the Tuba stuffie, which she liked a lot and hugged her for them. She still seemed… sad. “Also…” Grace took off her charm bracelet and placed it on Hazel’s arm It was too big. 

“Grace, this is the only good thing that you have left of your friend.”

Grace shook her head, “We laid that to rest in the bush, remember?” Hazel started crying and Grace knelt to her level. “Hazel. You are going to do so well. You’re smart, brave, special, a survivor. You are so much better than so many of us already, and in the right space, you’ll become even greater.” Grace was crying too, but she meant it all. 

Hazel jingled the charms on the bracelet and said, “I have this. You keep her.” She gave Tuba to Grace. I know that you’ll take care of her.” 

That defeated the purpose of Grace buying it, but she said, “I’ll guard her with my life.” 

As Hazel got into the car with the social worker, the woman said, “I’ll speak with the family about allowing you to keep in touch. They might be open to it…” Grace nodded. 

Hazel rolled the window down and said, “Good luck Grace,” before the car pulled away and Grace finally let herself cry as hard and loud as she wanted to. She also determined that she needed to get out of here as soon as possible… She was ready, right? Or very close to it…

.

The semester was nearly over, which meant very little to him, with the exception of midterms, because his work schedule was a constant, anyway. He had numerous projects, several business ventures. The man rarely slept and always woke up in a rush to move along with whatever was happening for him. 

Currently, he was looking at the plans for a weapon that he had been trying to design for an electrical engineering project. Professor Hughes had commented that his choice of a weapon, of all things, for the project was, “bold and unexpected.” He knew that to mean that she did not support his decision and would be extra hard on him for making said decision. Therefore, the product had to be perfect.

Simon had become interested in weapons designs. He didn’t necessarily switch interests so much as he liked to explore various mediums within the fields of study that he was involved. For some reason, he liked the thought of pioneering a new and amazing weapon. He started some theoretical designs a few years ago as equipment used in his fantasy novel, but now he was officially working on one.

His other projects included robotic action figures, software for a virtual reality social network, and his most ambitious stunt - carrying on Professor Hughes’ noble work of nanotechnological eugenics… She left behind the attempts within the past couple of years, but Simon found it fascinating a thought - to be able to use science in such a way that perhaps mankind could be better physical specimens. The woman had lost her fiance in an accident and became obsessed with artificial evolution and the concept of building stronger bodies - more durable humans, without robbing them of their humanity. She made several various attempts in several fields of engineering until eventually realizing that even if she did find an ethical way to proceed with any of her work, it would never bring her lover back.

Simon was of the mindset that maybe it could, given the right possibilities. If it could do that, it could also potentially grant humans immortality. But, he never actually said that much out loud. He simply just became fluent in her research and devoted to progressing it. Many scientists had gone off into trying to establish wider boundaries of the human body and human experience. Professor Hughes wasn’t the first or even the brightest or best... But, she had research and work on the matter that was more advanced than anything he’d ever been privy to, and he was confident that he was better and brighter than her.

He had other things for other classes, too, but those listed were the main ones that he knew would take a while and also could change the world if he was successful.If he started right out of the gate on his biggest ideas, he’d have more time to work through them during his educational journey.

He still kept various tabs open, but now that was done on three different laptops that he carried with him. NO distractions while working, so he generally had his phone both muted and put away. After several hours in whichever lab he was working out of on any given night, he would pack everything up, grab his skateboard and head home while listening to a podcast or something. 

Checking his messages on the way home, he saw one that was from somebody with a pic of red lips as their profile (he assumed they were likely fringe Apex) and the caption, “Is this YOUR Grace?” 

He looked at a report of a woman with a bountiful afro, sunglasses and bags getting into a car. He read the caption, “Will Teen Queen Grace Monroe be Home for Christmas?” He stopped to read about how the reports claimed to have not only seen her getting into this vehicle outside of a mental health facility, but to have seen her on the campus of the Monroe estate, and a few times around Monroe Square’s gated community. Reports were unsure if the prosperous princess is home to stay or simply allotted a visit for the holidays. 

Simon felt something nagging at him whenever he saw her face in the photo. Whenever she was inside, and all of random moments he might come around an image of her was either old or from the institution, she still felt like a concept that no longer touched his life. Like old photos of his sister. He could look at them and remember, but he could also put them aside and forget her. If she was out now, who knew what she would try? She can’t harm you. She can’t affect your work. You solved that issue…

Or, you created a bigger problem. Had you just let her go, you could call her and see how she was doing. Had you just let her go, you’d have been ok by now, instead of wondering if she’s going to try to strike back. You know her better than anybody. She’s the vengeful type, just like you. Strike first! 

“No!” He grumbled and a passerby stared at him momentarily before awkwardly moving away. “She’s not going to come anywhere near me. I showed her what I’m capable of. She’s done. Over with. She’s not going to do anything but try to get on with her life… without me.” He felt a pang in his heart. If she was out, that meant that whatever damage he caused had most likely been repaired. Maybe she was better than ever now, stronger than ever. Without him. He played one of his music playlists made specifically for The Void, and got onto his skateboard. Sleeping pills tonight, it is. 

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